A Patchwork Family

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/48525295.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: Gen
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco
Malfoy & Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Characters: Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Severus Snape Adopts
Harry Potter, Severus Snape Adopts Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy &
Harry Potter are Siblings, Severus Snape Being a Bastard, he improves
eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse,
Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Panic Attacks, anger issues,
Severus Snape Has a Heart, Hogwarts Third Year, Parent Severus Snape,
Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Slow Build
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of A Patchwork Family
Stats: Published: 2023-07-12 Updated: 2024-02-12 Words: 272,268 Chapters:
38/48
 A Patchwork Family
by aspionage

Summary

When Harry blows up Aunt Marge, Dumbledore decides he can't be left to his own devices in
Diagon Alley for the whole of August and sends him to stay with the only person available -
one highly displeased Severus Snape. Harry, for his part, doesn't think this summer could get
any worse. After all, what could be more unpleasant than living with Professor Snape?

Finding out Draco Malfoy is also staying at Spinner’s End, of course.

None of them know how they'll survive a month in each others' company, but they might just
come out the other side with something they all need the most: a family.

Updates weekly.

Notes

Finally decided to try my hand at some Severitus! I'm doing my best to keep everyone in
character, so this will be reasonably slowburn. It takes a few chapters before they start
tolerating each other.

Also, I'd just like to put a blanket warning at the beginning of this, as this fic will contains
scenes of child abuse, panic attacks, and disordered eating. If these things trigger you, you
may want to be mindful of that before reading.

See the end of the work for more notes

 New Arrivals and Old Grudges

Harry stared into the dregs of tea at the bottom of his cup, a strange buzzing in his ears
drowning out the chatter of the Leaky Cauldron. His chest felt tight and crushed, like Dudley
was sitting on it. Had Harry recently suffered a blow to the head? Perhaps he’d concussed
himself during the chaotic Knight Bus journey last night. That seemed like the only plausible
explanation for Professor Dumbledore showing up here and telling Harry that he was going
to spend all of August living with Professor Snape.

“Harry?” he glanced up at Dumbledore. The Headmaster was watching him with an

expression of slight concern.

“Can’t I just stay here, sir?” Harry asked, gripping the mug so tightly he thought it might
shatter between his palms.

Dumbledore sighed. “I’m afraid not, Harry. You’re too young to be left in Diagon Alley alone
for such a long time. It’s just not appropriate.”

Harry bit his lip. “But - well, you know that Snape doesn’t really like me, right?”

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore gently rebuked him.

“Right. Well, I’m sure he’d much rather I stay here!”

“Professor Snape has already agreed to watch over you for the rest of the summer at his
home,” Dumbledore said.

Harry was now wondering if Snape had been the one to suffer a recent head injury, as he
could not imagine any other circumstances that would compel the man to agree to allow
Harry to stay with him. After all, as far as Harry knew, full personality transplants were not
available.

“I assure you, everything will be fine," Dumbledore said in a tone that was probably intended
to be soothing. As he'd just used the phrase 'everything will be fine' while referring to Harry
and Snape being forced to cohabit for a month, it ended up falling a bit flat. "I’ll be keeping
on top of the situation, and will deal with any potential problems that arise.”

“But sir, if I’m staying at his home, couldn’t I just stay in Gryffindor Tower or something
instead? I bet we'd both prefer that!”

“Professor Snape doesn’t live at Hogwarts during the summers,” Dumbledore said, a hint of a
smile playing around his lips. “Us teachers do have lives outside of school, you know!”

Huh. For some reason, Harry had always imagined his professors staying in their Hogwarts
quarters year-round. That was ridiculous, of course, but still…Snape in Harry’s mind was
inextricably tied to the dungeons. Of course, there was nothing stopping Snape from living in
some sort of dungeon or cave outside of Hogwarts. That certainly wouldn’t surprise him.
“Just - are you sure there isn’t anyone else?” Harry said, a hint of desperation shining through
into his voice.

“This is the only solution,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. Harry’s heart sank.
“Professor Snape is the only person who I’d trust with your safety.”

Harry tried not to groan as he nodded, lips pressed tightly together. This was just his luck,
really.

“We really ought to get going,” Dumbledore said, glancing at his watch. Harry noticed it
didn’t have any numbers - instead, it was lined with different planets, floating across the face.
“Professor Snape is expecting us. I have some spells that can help you pack quickly, if you’ll
direct me to your room?”

Harry nodded again. He felt strangely drained and couldn’t bring himself to speak as he led
Dumbledore to the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron and took him upstairs to the room he’d been
staying in since last night.

Things had been looking bright for the first time in a while. He wasn't in trouble with the
Ministry for blowing up Aunt Marge, he didn't have to stay with the Dursleys and he had
weeks of time in Diagon Alley at his fingertips.

Of course it was too good to be true. Now he was staying with Snape, of all people, for the
whole of August? He couldn’t think of a person he’d like to stay with less! Well, maybe
Voldemort would be worse. That thought unsurprisingly didn't help Harry feel any better.
After all, Snape really, really hated Harry. It was bad enough spending two hours of Potions
with him every week, but actually living with the man, in the confined quarters of a house? It
sounded positively hellish.

He watched distantly as Dumbledore waved his wand, causing the few belongings Harry had
bothered to unpack to fly through the air and settle into his trunk, which shut with a noisy
click. Dumbledore tapped it with his wand, and the trunk and Hedwig’s empty cage shrank
until they were small enough for Dumbledore to place in his pocket.

"Now, Harry, have you ever Apparated before?" he asked as they headed back down to the
main floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom gave them a toothless grin and a wave as they walked
past the bar.

"No, sir," Harry said.

“It shouldn’t be too bad, although it may feel a little odd your first time," Dumbledore said,
stopping in the pub's foyer. "Now, please take my arm."

Harry nervously complied. He was suddenly overcome by the sensation that he was being
squeezed through a very small, very narrow tube that crushed the air out of his lungs. They
landed with a crack and Harry doubled over, hit headlong by a wave of nausea.

"Apparating can have that effect for a first-timer," Dumbledore said serenely as Harry took
deep, gasping breaths, trying not to lose the contents of his lunch. "Now, Professor Snape's
house is just a few streets away. If you'll follow me…"

Harry hurried after Dumbledore, still feeling a bit ill, and did his best to take in his
surroundings. They were on a road lined with terraced brick houses, all in various states of
disrepair. A group of teens were standing on a street corner smoking. They looked Harry and
Dumbledore up and down as they walked by and started snickering behind their hands. Harry
assumed it was because of Dumbledore's bright magenta robes, which looked very out of
place in such a mundane, Muggle area.

Eventually, Dumbledore turned down a road named Spinners End and walked up a cracked
driveway to the front door of one highly derelict house. As Professor Dumbledore knocked
on the door, causing flakes of grey paint to fall to the ground like dirty snow, Harry was half-
afraid the door would fall back off its hinges. He thought such a dingy place was appropriate
for his most hated Potions professor.

The door swung open almost instantly, revealing Professor Snape. He’d been so quick that
Harry half-suspected he’d been waiting by the door, prepared to pounce. Snape was wearing
the same high-necked black robes he always wore when school was in session that reminded
Harry so much of a bat.

"You're late," he hissed, beady eyes darting between Harry and the Headmaster. Snape was
glaring at Harry in particular, like he was a bug that Snape would dearly love to stamp out.

"My apologies, Severus," Dumbledore said, stepping forward and into Snape's hallway. Harry
noticed he didn't look particularly happy with the Headmaster, either. "We had some things to
discuss."

Ah, yes, the discussion. That had mostly consisted of Harry listing every possible person he
knew that lived in Wizarding Britain who might let Harry live with them, while Dumbledore
shot each and every one of them down. It had taken a while before Harry had reluctantly
accepted defeat.

Dumbledore resized Harry's trunk and Hedwig's empty cage in Snape's hallway. Harry
remained on the doorstep. He really didn't want to step inside. Harry remembered hearing
that vampires could only attack you if you invited them into your house or something.
Perhaps that was still true if Harry went inside of Snape's house; he'd always been half
convinced that Snape actually was a vampire, after all.

"I trust you'll also remember our conversation, Severus?" Dumbledore said rather pointedly,
his head inclining ever so slightly in Harry's direction.

"Yes," Snape said in a tightly controlled voice while shooting daggers at Harry. He felt his
stomach flop like a fish. Yes, the old hatred was certainly still there...

And now Harry had to actually live with the man that despised him so intensely.

"I do apologise, but I’ve got an important appointment at the Ministry soon, so I’m afraid I
must take my leave," Dumbledore said, sounding far too cheerful for a man that was sending
Harry to his doom. "I'll see you soon, Severus! Goodbye, Harry."
He stepped past Harry and began to walk back down the road. Harry longingly watched as
the Headmaster left, wishing he was accompanying him.

"Well, don't just stand there dawdling like an idiot!" Snape snapped, jolting Harry back to his
senses. "Get inside!”

Harry hopped over the threshold, feeling his sense of foreboding grow as the door slammed
shut behind him. The slightly medicinal smell of herbs hit him immediately. The whole house
smelled faintly like the Potions storage cupboard back at Hogwarts.

Harry barely had time to take in the dark, dingy hallway he was standing in before Snape
rounded on him in a flurry of black robes.

“Now you listen here, Potter,” he growled. “The Headmaster has filled me in on your little
stunt, and he has given me free reign to do whatever I please about it. Blowing up your aunt?
I already knew you were an insubordinate, spoiled child, but this is a new extreme even for
you!”

Harry ground his teeth and didn’t reply.

“Of course, you would spit in the face of your relations’ goodwill,” Snape sneered, “but
because you decided to push your family too far, I’m the one stuck with you in my house for
the rest of the summer. I’m highly displeased and believe me, you’ll soon be just as unhappy
as I am.”

“Already getting there,” Harry muttered mutinously.

“Do not talk back!” Snape barked. Harry couldn’t help but jump back, suddenly feeling
horribly certain the man was about to strike him across the face. Snape did no such thing,
however. “I will have none of your insolence, is that understood? I have complete control
over you and your life for this month, and I can make you utterly miserable if you choose to
misbehave."

Harry scoffed. He could be the model of manners and decorum, but Snape wasn't able to see
past his overly large nose when it came to Harry. It was pointless trying, really.

"Rule-breaking will not be tolerated here, Potter, let that be known," Snape said, shaking his
finger at Harry. "You’ll soon be sorry you ever left your relatives’ tender care.”

Harry resisted the urge to snort. Tender care. Anyone who spent more than five minutes in
the company of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would be quickly corrected about that
assumption, particularly when it came to their relationship with Harry.

"Do not test me, Potter," Snape said in a soft, dangerous voice. "I can happily make your life
hell."

It was with that final ominous statement lingering in the air that Snape finally stepped back
and gestured towards the rest of the house. On the left hand side of the tiny hallway Harry
was standing in was a rickety-looking staircase. His eyes automatically went straight to the
cupboard underneath it. The hallway also contained two doors, both of which were closed.

"Leave your trunk," Snape ordered. Harry quickly did so as Snape briskly stepped forward.
He threw open the furthest door.

"The kitchen," he said, gesturing to the interior of the room without making room for Harry
to step inside. The kitchen was rather grimy, with scratched-up wooden cupboards and a
cracked tile floor. A small table was crammed against the wall at the far side of the room. A
sliding glass door revealed a brown and weed-ridden garden that Harry thought would have
sent Aunt Petunia into a fit. It looked truly wretched, and was a far sight from the perfectly
manicured lawns of Privet Drive.

Snape seemed to pick up on Harry's disapproval and scowled. "I don't live in a mansion like
you're no doubt used to, Potter. See, some of us have to actually work for our money instead
of getting everything handed to us on a silver platter. If this doesn't meet your oh-so high
standards, you'll just have to find a way to cope."

"It's fine," Harry muttered. This seemed to be the wrong thing to say, judging by Snape's
hostile glare, but it was always the wrong thing with him, wasn't it?

Snape spun on his heel and opened the second door.

"The living room," he said brusquely. Snape was apparently determined to give Harry a tour
while using as few words as humanly possible. Harry peeked through the doorway, almost
toppling over with shock when he saw who was sitting on the sofa like it was a throne,
scowling up at Harry.

It was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy?" Harry gasped.

Malfoy shut the book he was reading and glowered at Harry. "Potter."

"Did Professor Dumbledore not mention?" Snape asked silkily. He seemed to be greatly
pleased by Harry's horrified face. "Draco is also staying with me at the moment."

Harry hadn't known it was possible to dread the rest of August more than he had been since
Dumbledore had told him about this awful arrangement. How wrong he'd been…
 A Lion Amongst Serpents

"Why are you staying here?” Harry asked, feeling completely and utterly 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.

 An Ill-Fated Shopping Trip
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry stared at the thin, ugly curtains of the room he was staying in, which had begun to
glow with the reddish early light of dawn. An old saying he’d once heard came to mind: red
sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. Harry grimly reflected that he didn’t need the sky to
remind him of the troubled territory he was navigating. He was, after all, staying in Snape’s
house. The whole situation was inherently perilous.

Harry sighed quietly and decided to finally give up on sleep and get dressed. He always
tended to rise with the sun - his entire childhood had consisted of Aunt Petunia sharply
rapping on his cupboard door as soon as daybreak struck so he could make breakfast for the
family. She didn’t believe in lazing about and sleeping the day away.

Of course, Dudley was always allowed to stay in bed until the early afternoon if he wished.

Harry stared at the ticking hands of Malfoy’s alarm clock. Six-thirty, it read. Snape had said
that they would eat breakfast at eight, and Harry felt far too uncertain about his place in the
household to dare to leave the room before then. He was a little more confident about
sneaking around Privet Drive in the small hours, but that was because he knew what
floorboards creaked and which doors squeaked. He did not have that knowledge of Spinner’s
End, which made that sort of activity far riskier.

Still, Harry was itching to go downstairs and get a glass of water. His mouth was bone-dry,
and it was really starting to bother him. Besides, Snape hadn’t explicitly banned him, right?
He’d certainly listed a lot of rules, but needing permission to get water hadn’t been one.

And, Harry thought, he could have a poke around before anyone was awake. That way, he
could see where the food was stored, so he knew where to look if Snape started banning him
from meals as a punishment. Maybe he could even squirrel some away in his trunk.
Following his horrific summer before second year, Harry always kept a small store of food in
the bottom of his trunk for when the Dursleys banned him from eating. It was mostly things
that didn’t spoil, like Chocolate Frogs and a few Pumpkin Pasties. They had some sort of
spell on the packaging that stopped them from going stale, which was extraordinarily useful
for the long stretches between meals he often experienced.

Still, Harry knew it wasn’t really smart to rely on a meagre store of sweets to get him through
the summer, and even Chocolate Frogs started to get old after a while, so he tried to nick
whatever he thought the Dursleys wouldn’t miss. Dudley wouldn’t notice if an apple
vanished, after all. It would be smart to start doing that here, especially if he was going to be
spending all of August at Spinner’s End. That was a long time to go without eating if Harry
accidentally made Snape really angry.

With a sigh, Harry slid out of bed and cautiously started making his way towards the door. A
floorboard squealed and he cringed, casting a fearful look over at the sleeping Malfoy.
Luckily for Harry, the noise didn’t wake him. He mumbled something that sounded like
“Hinkypunk” before rolling over to face the wall. That was another thing Harry had
discovered about Malfoy - he talked in his sleep. A lot. It was slightly irritating, and had
contributed to Harry waking up so early that morning.

It was rather odd to see Malfoy sleeping, though. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen Malfoy
with a hair out of place, but it actually became quite messy overnight. It had flopped over his
eyes, partially obscuring his face, which looked a lot younger without the usual scowl affixed
to it.

Harry cautiously slipped through the doorway and stared across the hallway at Snape’s closed
bedroom door. He hoped the man stayed asleep and crossed his fingers as he stepped onto the
staircase with the softest tread he could manage, and made a mental note of which steps
creaked as he continued the agonising journey to the kitchen. Harry could barely breathe
through his nervousness. It felt like his lungs had shrunk to half their regular size.

Finally, Harry made it to the kitchen and carefully shut the door. He leaned against the
cupboard, breathing a sigh of relief. He’d made it down unhindered.

After a moment, Harry gathered himself and scanned the kitchen, trying to remember which
cupboard contained the mugs and glasses. He managed to locate the correct one on his
second try and took the glass over to the sink. The pipes groaned as he wrenched on the
faucet.

Harry had just filled the glass when the kitchen door abruptly slammed open. “What exactly
are you doing, Potter?”

Harry jolted so violently that the glass slipped out of his hand and clattered noisily into the
basin. The only small mercy in the situation was that the glass didn’t shatter, Harry thought,
as he turned around to face Snape. Despite the fact it was so early in the morning, Snape was
already fully dressed in his dark, high-necked robes. He didn’t look quite normal, though. His
oily hair was strangely mussed, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it before hurrying
downstairs.

“What are you up to?” Snape demanded, eyes narrowing. He looked very irritated. Harry
took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. Snape would just like it more if he was
freaking out, since he took such pleasure in Harry being miserable.

“I was just getting a glass of water,” he managed at last. “I swear.”

Snape glared at him suspiciously, like he didn’t fully trust Harry’s answer. “If you’re going to
skulk around at such an early hour, you could at least do me the service of respecting my
crockery. I do not want to have to replace all of my glasses because you’re incapable of
holding things properly! Not all of us are endowed with large fortunes that allow us to throw
away kitchenware without due care.”

Harry just nodded, not daring to respond. There had been a couple of incidents where he’d
dropped plates or cups at Privet Drive, and they almost always resulted in Aunt Petunia
slapping him and screeching at him about how useless he was. He raised a hand to his cheek,
the ghost of that smarting strike prickling across his flesh. If he was just going to get off with
a sharp lecture about caution, Harry would gladly take it.

Of course, he wasn’t quite out of the woods yet. Snape was still glowering at Harry like he
wanted nothing more than to catch him doing something truly outrageous.

“Well, get your water, then,” Snape growled, shutting the kitchen door behind him and
storming over to a cupboard. Harry quickly refilled the glass and retreated to the corner of the
kitchen. He pressed himself into the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible while
he sipped his water and attempted to relax some of the pressure building up in his chest. He
felt horribly anxious, since he had no idea how he was supposed to proceed in this situation.
Harry felt a little like he was a soldier on a battlefield, valiantly attempting to avoid the active
landmines dotting his path, all buried and hidden so he wouldn’t know he was even stepping
on one until everything exploded, blowing him to smithereens.

As Harry watched Snape, trying to work out if he was allowed to leave the kitchen or not, he
realised Snape had retrieved a frying pan and some eggs, which he made crack themselves
with a flick of his wand. They instantly began to sizzle as soon as they hit the pan despite the
fact that Snape had only just turned on the stove. More magic, Harry presumed. He bit his lip.
Should he offer to help? He always had to make breakfast at the Dursleys…

Snape noticed Harry watching him and scowled unpleasantly. “What?”

“Er… do you want me to do that?” Harry offered, shuffling his feet.

Snape scoffed. "If your Potions work is anything to go by, I wouldn't trust you within a mile
of a kitchen, Potter. You'd likely poison us, or burn the place down. Set the table and wait for
me to be done."

Resentment surged through Harry. He’d been helping Aunt Petunia cook since he could reach
the stove, and had been doing meals entirely on his own since the age of eight! He might
struggle in Potions, but Harry was certainly capable of putting together what looked like
scrambled eggs!

None of these thoughts could be voiced to Snape, of course, so Harry pressed his lips
together and gathered up the knives and forks, taking great care to stay as far away from
Snape as was physically possible.

Snape didn’t fetch Malfoy once he’d finished cooking. It was only just past seven in the
morning, Harry realised. Too early.

Instead, Snape and Harry sat opposite one another, dining in complete silence save for the
scraping of cutlery. There was no small talk, of course - Harry couldn’t stand Snape, and that
feeling was certainly mutual. Besides, even if he’d wanted to chat with the greasy git sitting
opposite, Harry couldn’t think of a single thing he could even talk to Snape about. They had
literally nothing in common. Still, Harry wondered if the stifling silence felt just as awkward
and oppressive to Snape as it did to him.

When they'd both mostly finished, Snape cleared his throat. "So, Potter."
Harry looked up and nodded slowly, unsure of what Snape could want with him.

“I have been doing my best to think up a suitable punishment for your appalling treatment of
your aunt,” he said. Harry felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. “Ideally, you would be forced
to apologise to the woman in person, but the Headmaster has informed me that Marjorie
Dursley has been Obliviated and has no memory of the incident. As it would be unwise to
remind her, she will be saved from suffering through what I presume would be a pathetic and
insincere attempt at an apology.”

Harry had to concede to Snape there - it would be a rather pitiful apology, since Harry wasn’t
sorry in the slightest about Aunt Marge, considering the way she treated him. Anyone who
has to suffer through days of being called a subnormal idiot in need of a good thrashing ought
to be forgiven for snapping when their long-dead parents started being openly and wrongfully
insulted!

Despite Harry’s silence, Snape had somehow picked up on Harry’s clear lack of remorse. His
scowl intensified. “You may not be feeling particularly penitent at the moment, but you’ll
certainly be more than contrite when I’m through with you, Potter.”

Harry shrank back as Snape’s lips curled back into a snarl. “Perhaps we should start with a
good lesson in the value of hard work.” He pointed into the brown, wilted garden beyond the
glass sliding door. “Starting today, you will be weeding, mowing and clearing up that entire
garden until it is pristine. Without magic, I might add.”

Harry presumed Snape had forgotten he was Muggle-raised in his efforts to make Harry look
like a lazy wimp. He hadn’t even known magic existed until his eleventh birthday, for God’s
sake! He didn't naturally go to use magic for things even when he had access to spells!

“I’ll have no weaponised incompetence, either,” Snape warned, shaking his finger. “You will
complete the task to a standard which I am pleased with, or I will have you out in that garden
working from dawn to dusk until I’m satisfied with your work.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry ground out.

“Don’t dawdle, then,” Snape said, waving a hand. “The tools are outside."

Harry grabbed his empty plate and shoved his chair back with more force than was strictly
necessary. He began to walk in the direction of the sink, but the plate flew from his hands
before he could reach it and started to wash itself. Harry looked over his shoulder and saw
Snape emphatically rolling his eyes as he tucked his wand away. Harry’s cheeks heated up as
he stalked out of the kitchen. He really didn’t think it was fair that people expected him to
know all this magic stuff instinctually…
Harry wiped the sweat from his brow as he wrestled another weed out of the ground. He'd
gardened for Aunt Petunia for years, but the garden at Privet Drive was never in the state that
Snape's was in. The grass was long and overgrown, while the weeds were hardy and
practically everywhere. Harry was deeply unimpressed. It was as if Snape hadn't touched it in
years!

Harry flexed his swollen, scratched fingers and winced. Snape’s garden was almost entirely
thistle, and the thorny plants had turned his hand into a painful mess. Of course Snape would
give him an impossible task like this, Harry reflected bitterly. It had been a favourite trick of
his aunt and uncle. Give Harry a long list of chores, tell him he wouldn't be able to eat until
they were done, and let him go hungry after spending all day slaving away.

Harry glanced at his watch. It was half-past one, and he'd barely made a dent in the garden.
Snape hadn't called him in for lunch, so he assumed that he was going off Petunia rules - no
eating until you were done. Harry certainly wasn’t stupid enough to help himself, so he
simply sighed, ignored his rumbling stomach and got back to work.

"Potter!"

Harry's head snapped around at the sound of Snape's voice. He hadn’t seen the man all day.

Harry felt his heart speed up - he was nowhere near done! Was he going to be in trouble for
not working hard enough? He probably would be - Snape just loved any excuse to tear him
down, after all…

“What on earth are you still doing out here?” Snape asked angrily. “I believe I told you
yesterday that you’re expected to dedicate appropriate time to your summer assignments?"

“I didn’t know I was allowed to stop,” Harry bit out, brushing the dirt from his oversized
jeans.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Snape snapped. “I don’t appreciate you playing the fool. Stop
trying to worm your way out of your schoolwork and come inside.”

Harry felt his shoulders slump. Now he didn't even have a chance to fix his lack of work.
Still, he was absolutely exhausted. It was almost three o'clock, and Harry had been at it since
about half-past seven that morning. His arms were jelly-like and trembling from all the work,
while the scrambled eggs he'd eaten for breakfast felt very distant.

As he walked into the kitchen, where Malfoy was already sitting at the table doing
homework, Snape frowned. "Potter, what on earth have you done to your hands?"

Harry gave him a confused look as he glanced down at his reddened and cracked hands. They
were stinging and itchy, but that was nothing new. "I was weeding, sir. That's just what
happens."

"Why didn't you use the gloves I left out?" Snape asked icily.

Harry shrugged. Aunt Petunia didn't like him using gloves to weed - she said it made him do
a worse job. Still, it made his hands get chapped and irritated, especially when he had to deal
with the nasty thistles that Snape's wrecked garden was teeming with.

"Idiotic child," Snape growled, shaking his head. "Do you really think this little martyr act
you’ve conjured up is going to garner my sympathy? Resorting to this type of self-injurious
behaviour to prove a point is really quite pathetic, even for you."

"I wasn't doing it on purpose!" Harry said loudly, hoping the 'you git' he'd left off the end of
his sentence was implied. Judging by Snape's stormy expression, it translated.

"I should have assumed I'd need to explain such a basic activity as weeding to a spoiled brat
like yourself," Snape drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You'll need gloves, surprisingly
enough! I didn’t leave them out for you to wear as a fashion accessory! Ensure you wear
them next time - and yes, there will be a next time. This attention-seeking stunt has only
confirmed my opinion that you are in desperate need of some correctional manual labour…"

"Whatever," Harry muttered, crossing his arms and glowering up at Snape. His eyes
narrowed and his large nostrils flared.

"You're filthy. Go upstairs and shower," he ordered, jabbing his finger in the direction of the
hallway. "You can get started on your homework after."

Harry fled upstairs, grateful to be finally free from the man's scorn. Why did Snape insist on
being an insufferable prat at any given moment?

Harry slammed the bathroom door as loudly as he could, stripped his dirty clothes off and
wrenched the water on, wincing as it pounded the bruises and welts on his back. Still, he
relished the sensation of the delightfully warm water massaging his sore muscles after all that
labouring in the garden.

He used the smallest portions of soap and shampoo that he could. At Privet Drive, if Harry
used too much of either, Petunia would notice and go on at him about wastefulness for hours.
Harry was actually quite shocked Snape even owned shampoo - he didn’t think Snape had
actually washed his hair in his life. It was probably Malfoy’s, Harry decided. That only
reinforced his decision to use as little of the stuff as possible.

Harry didn’t dare to take too long in the shower, since if he spent longer than five minutes in
the water at Privet Drive, Petunia would start banging on the door and screeching about the
hot water bill. He had a brief moment of internal struggle where he debated what might make
Snape angrier - using a towel without permission, or dripping water onto the bathroom floor.
In the end, Harry glumly realised Snape would probably punish him for whatever he decided
to do and made the decision to dry off, since he’d rather not walk around in soaked clothes.
When he was finished, Harry grabbed his Charms textbook. It wouldn't hurt to get started on
Flitwick's essay next.
As he approached the kitchen table, where Malfoy was writing something in a notebook,
Harry noticed Snape leaning against the counter with his arms folded. He shivered
involuntarily - here came the punishment for not finishing the garden…

But Snape only reached out to a small pot on the counter and opened it. It was filled with a
light green paste that smelled faintly of liquorice.

"For your hands," he said. "I ought to let you suffer the consequences of your daft decisions,
but this may be the only way your already appalling handwriting has a chance of being
legible. Apply it liberally."

"Oh. Um, okay," Harry said, feeling a little confused about how to proceed. It seemed far
more Snape's style to leave his hands, make him write the essay, and then redo his work on
account of Harry's awful penmanship like he had last night. Harry still doubted Snape's
motivations were rooted in kindness, though. In all likelihood, he just wasn't creative enough
to curate the same punishment Harry had just thought up.

Snape simply made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat and swept out of the
kitchen as Harry started rubbing the paste into his hands. To his shock, they instantly felt
better. The angry red scratches faded, and the chapped, flaking skin knitted itself back
together. Harry flexed his fingers and smiled. He’d have killed for this stuff back at Privet
Drive.

Malfoy sneered at him. "Having fun with your house-elf work, Potter?"

"Yeah. Loads," Harry bit out, feeling a surge of annoyance. He'd been slaving away in the
garden all morning, all while Malfoy spent his time swanning around and doing whatever he
pleased. Even at Spinner’s End, he seemed unable to escape a Dudley-like presence.

While it was typical of Snape to favour Slytherins over Gryffindors, especially when it came
to Harry and Malfoy, that didn't stop it from being utterly infuriating. Harry ground his back
teeth, struggling to resist the urge to fight back properly. Luckily for him, Snape swept back
into the kitchen and shot a sharp look in their direction which silenced any further snide
comments from Malfoy.

That was another weird thing Harry had noticed about Snape's behaviour. Typically at
Hogwarts, Snape's reaction to Malfoy's nasty remarks had ranged from ignorance to outright
support in the form of points from Gryffindor or detentions when Harry and his friends dared
to fight back. Here, though, Snape wasn't letting any insults or bickering fly on either side.
Granted, he was still blaming Harry for the majority of it, but it was an improvement in what
Harry had expected from the rule. He'd assumed it meant Malfoy could say whatever horrid
things he wanted to Harry without him being allowed to respond, but that just wasn't the case.

Once again, Harry still doubted that it was out of any kindness on Snape's part. It seemed far
more likely that as he'd said, he just didn't want Harry and Malfoy to burn his home to the
ground in a vicious battle or something. That was probably smart of him, since Harry had
been here a grand total of twenty-four hours and was already on the verge of plotting murder.
Malfoy's snarky comments were a surefire way of earning the number one spot on Harry's hit
list.
Harry was only able to work on his Charms work for half an hour before Snape abruptly
cleared his throat.

"That will be all for today," he said. Harry shut his Charms textbook, curious. "We will be
going out."

"Where?" Malfoy asked, his eyes glinting with anticipation.

"To the shops," Snape said. "We are running low on food, so we have to stop by the Muggle
supermarket."

A comically horrified look crossed Malfoy's face. "Severus!"

"Draco!" Snape echoed Malfoy’s dramatic tones and rolled his eyes.

"I can't go to a Muggle shop, sir!" Malfoy said, wrinkling his nose with disgust.

"You have two legs and the ability to walk on them, correct?" Snape inquired acidly. "Then I
believe you can."

"I refuse to rub shoulders with filthy Muggles!" Malfoy spat. "It is unacceptable!"

Snape’s lips thinned, and Harry scoffed. Malfoy's ridiculous attitude was really starting to get
to him. Malfoy heard this and snapped his head around to glare daggers at Harry. “And
what’s your problem?”

"Are you too chicken to go?" Harry jeered. “Scared of a few shopping trolleys, Malfoy?”

"Oh shut up, Potter," Malfoy snapped. "I know you must be used to the foul stench of
Muggles, but some of our family lines aren’t polluted by mudbloods-"

"Lavare!” Snape barked, jabbing his wand in Malfoy’s direction. His eyes widened and he let
out a muffled yelp as his mouth was suddenly filled with foaming white suds. Malfoy
sprinted over to the kitchen sink and spat the bubbles into it.

"I've told you a dozen times now, Draco!" Snape shouted, clenching his wand in his fist. "You
are never to say that disgusting word inside of my house!"

Malfoy looked up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, glowering at Snape the
whole time. "Fine. Sorry."

"You will go to the shops," Snape said in a quiet dangerous voice, "and you will do it now.
I've coddled this ridiculous prejudice of yours long enough. Potter!"

Harry jumped as Snape's narrowed eyes darted to him.

"Get Draco some of your Muggle clothes to wear out," he ordered. "Preferably something
presentable? It's enough of a tragedy that you choose to traipse about in those ridiculously
oversized rags, and I'd prefer it if I didn't have two scruffy children trailing behind me."
"Okay," Harry said, quickly jumping up and exiting the kitchen. As he walked up the stairs,
Snape and Malfoy following closely behind him, Harry pondered what he'd just seen and
tried to stop his twitching lips.

Snape just told off Malfoy! he thought gleefully. Pigs would fly next!

And, shockingly enough, he’d told off Malfoy for an insult towards Muggleborns. He’d
always assumed Snape was just as bigoted as the rest of the Slytherins towards anyone who
wasn’t a Pureblood, but apparently he was mistaken. Actually, Harry realised, he’d never
seen Snape openly condone any of the Slytherin bigotry. Still, it surprised him that Snape
actually felt so strongly about the matter, and went to such extremes to try and correct it. It
shocked Harry even more that he still did that when it was linked to an insult towards Harry’s
family - after all, Malfoy had essentially just insulted his mother. Since Snape hated Harry so
much, he was surprised the man hadn’t actually given Malfoy an approving pat on the back
for making rude remarks about Harry’s family.

Once they arrived upstairs, Harry quickly rooted through his trunk while Snape loomed over
his shoulder, watching closely. He did his best to make quick work of it, since having Snape
so close to all of Harry’s worldly possessions was making him rather uncomfortable,
especially considering the way he was glaring at the trunk’s contents. Finally, Harry found his
nicest pair of jeans and his smallest t-shirt for Malfoy. Naturally, he gave Harry a thoroughly
dirty look as he handed the clothing over.

"I can't believe you actually wear these things," he said sniffily, holding the clothes as far
away from himself as possible.

"I can't believe you go around in those weird-looking robes," Harry shot back.

Malfoy opened his mouth as if to respond, but Snape held up a hand for silence. "Go and
dress."

Malfoy huffed and stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Snape, who appeared to be in a thoroughly foul mood by now, raked his eyes over Harry and
raised his wand.

"Parvos!" He jabbed his wand at Harry, and Dudley's cast-offs suddenly shrank to fit him
snugly. Harry eyed his top with wonder. The only other clothing Harry owned that actually fit
him was his school uniform.

"Don't complain," Snape hissed, clearly mistaking his look of fascination for something else.
"I do not care one whit for these preposterous teenage fashion fads. If you choose to wear
such disgraceful Muggle clothing on your own time then so be it, but I refuse to be seen with
you in public when you’re in such a state."

"Okay," a confused Harry said. He was just glad to be rid of at least one pair of the oversized
clothes. He felt just as embarrassed wearing them as Snape apparently felt being seen near
them. Fashion fad indeed... Harry didn't know how clothes that utterly dwarfed you could
ever be considered trendy.
Snape scowled at him before sweeping out of the room. Through the open door, Harry
watched as he disappeared into his bedroom. He twiddled his thumbs until Snape resurfaced
about two minutes later, having changed his usual black robes for a white button-down shirt
and black trousers. If he’d added a suit jacket and tie, Harry wouldn’t have thought him out
of place with any other Muggle businessman.

They stood around in awkward silence as the two of them waited for Malfoy to finish
changing. Harry could have sworn the alarm clock on Malfoy’s bedside table was actually
ticking more slowly than usual.

How long does it take a person to put some clothes on?!

Over five minutes later, the bathroom door finally unlocked and Malfoy skulked out of the
bathroom. He had his robes bunched up in his arms and dumped them unceremoniously on
his bed.

Snape frowned at him. "You'll be folding those later."

Malfoy shot Snape an utterly withering look, which the professor ignored. Harry thought that
was slightly unfair. Snape had a go at him over imaginary looks, but Malfoy could do that
and get away with it?

"Let's go," he said briskly. "We're walking."

After they went down the stairs, Harry tied his shoes and stepped out onto the street. The
scorching August heat hadn’t relented much, even though it was very late in the afternoon by
now.

Snape began to walk swiftly through the maze of run-down streets, while Harry and Malfoy
did their best to keep up. Since Snape had much longer legs, it meant that both of them were
half-jogging. They were so focused on matching his pace that they didn't even have time to
bicker or glare at one another, which was a small mercy. Malfoy was clearly simmering with
badly-contained resentment, and Harry didn’t want to get dragged into the crossfire when he
inevitably decided to take it out on someone.

Soon enough, they reached a large Tesco. Much like the rest of the Muggle town, it wasn’t
particularly well-maintained. As they walked through the car park, Harry noticed multiple
broken bottles scattered across the concrete, as well as a discarded trolley that had been
unceremoniously rammed into a bush.

These were all fairly normal sights for Harry, but Malfoy looked completely disoriented as he
took in the area. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and he was looking around wildly at the
passing Muggles. A car roared past, clearly speeding, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

"What, you've never seen a car before?" Harry asked, snorting.

Malfoy scowled. "I've seen them on occasion… I'm just rarely up close."
That was absolutely unbelievable to Harry. If it wasn’t for the barely concealed anxiety
hiding in Malfoy’s eyes, he’d have been convinced the other boy was having him on. Cars
were just such a normal part of life to Harry that he found it hard to believe you could go
through life without really interacting with them.

The automatic doors of the supermarket opened, and Malfoy flinched.

"Severus!" he said in an accusatory tone, wheeling around to stare at Snape. "Muggles can't
use magic! How did those doors open without us touching them?"

"Electricity," Snape said simply. “And keep your voice down.”

"Is that a Muggle version of magic?" Malfoy asked, much more quietly this time.

"No," Snape said. Harry thought he was being surprisingly patient for a man being asked
such ridiculous questions. "It's similar, I suppose. It's a kind of power they use, but it doesn't
have as many uses as magic does."

Malfoy scoffed. "Obviously not. Muggles would never be as capable as wizards."

Harry rolled his eyes and started tuning out Malfoy while Snape grabbed various food
products off of the shelves. It was odd to see him like this, wearing a normal if rather Snape-
like Muggle outfit, doing the weekly shop. It was strangely humanising.

Harry didn’t like that.

"Is there anything specific you two want to eat?" Snape asked. Malfoy began rattling off
kinds of meals, many with complicated foreign names. Harry stayed silent, his eyes drifting
to the nearby toy aisle. A mother was shopping with her small son. He couldn't have been
older than six.

"Mummy! Mummy!" the little boy waved a toy truck he'd picked up in her direction. "Can I
have this? Please?"

The woman hesitated before her face softened. "I don't see why not. You've been a very good
boy lately!"

The boy jumped up and down excitedly and ran at his mum, hugging her tightly. "Thank
you!"

She smiled, holding her son close, and Harry felt something in his chest twist unpleasantly.
He had a similar memory from when he wasn't much bigger than that boy.

Aunt Petunia had taken Harry and Dudley with her to go shopping. It was before the days
where she'd kept Harry locked in the cupboard for those occasions. She was afraid the
neighbours would notice her leaving Harry home alone so young and judge her, especially
since Dudley always accompanied her.

When they’d walked through the toy aisle, Harry had discovered a wonderful stuffed monkey
with silky, soft fur. He could still remember the feeling of the glossy fur brushing against his
fingers as he’d picked it up and hugged it close to his chest. At that moment, Harry had
thought the stuffed monkey was the most amazing thing ever created. He had hopefully
presented it to his aunt.

"Could I maybe have this please?" he asked shyly. After all, Dudley got toys all the time.
Maybe, just maybe, Harry would finally be allowed something of his own!

Aunt Petunia's face darkened and she snatched the monkey from Harry's grip. She shoved it
back onto the shelf, higher than he could reach. "No. I’m not spending any more of Vernon’s
hard-earned money on you than I have to.”

Harry lowered his gaze to the ground as his lip began to tremble.

"Oh don't start snivelling!" Aunt Petunia snapped. "Whiny brat. Go stand by the trolley, and
don’t move."

That same day, Aunt Petunia had bought Dudley a whole new Lego set. It was typical.

"Potter!"

Harry flinched as Snape's hand clamped onto his shoulder, wrenching him from the
unpleasant memory.

"When I say your name, I expect you to respond," Snape said irritably. "No wonder your
Potions work is so appalling! You need to learn how to pay attention when someone talks to
you!"

"Sorry, sir," Harry muttered, shaking himself. He tried to push away the aching sadness rather
unsuccessfully.

"As I was saying," Snape continued, "I asked you what food you'd like for dinner."

"Oh."

In all honesty, Harry didn't know. He'd gone from the Dursleys, where he was lucky to get
their scraps, to Hogwarts, where every food you could possibly dream of was on the table
during meals. He'd never really had a choice about what food he consumed. Besides, he was
almost certain Snape didn’t actually care what Harry did or didn’t want. It was a trick
question.

"I don't know, sir."

"You don't know?" Snape repeated incredulously.

"I eat pretty much anything, sir," Harry mumbled, shuffling his feet. He got the impression
that whatever this test was, he’d somehow failed it.

Snape seemed incredibly confused and slightly irritated. "Well, I don’t want to hear any
complaints in future, then. You’ll eat what you’re given.”
“Um… okay.”

Harry, who considered a day where he was actually fed three meals to be a good one, was
never going to be one to complain about what food he was presented with. It was oddly
accommodating of Snape to even ask. Strange, since Snape was the least accommodating
person Harry knew…

Snape in general was being weirdly hospitable, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure why. He’d
gone on that massive rant yesterday about how miserable he was going to make Harry this
month, but so far, he’d fed Harry, gave him a place to sleep, and had even gone so far as to
give him that balm for his hands after he’d hurt himself weeding. Sure, he also insulted
everything Harry did, but that was almost expected, really. It was ironic; Snape despised
Harry and was hell-bent on punishing him for simply existing, but as things stood, he was
actually treating Harry better than his own family did.

Well, this was still Snape, Harry reflected. Things would probably get worse once he had a
few days to cook up something truly miserable.

After a brief stop in the appliances section, where Malfoy was momentarily fascinated by an
electric kettle before he remembered it was Muggle technology and conjured up an exterior
of cool indifference, Snape finished the shopping and headed towards the checkout. Harry
noticed Malfoy staring at the conveyor belt carrying their items with intense fascination. He
looked like he was barely restraining himself from asking Snape how it worked.

That was just endlessly odd to Harry. How did someone go thirteen years of his life without
ever going to Tesco’s? Or any supermarket, for that matter? Did wizards even have
supermarkets? He couldn’t remember Mrs Weasley ever going to one last summer, but she
had to have gotten her food from somewhere…

Harry annoyingly found himself in a similar position to Malfoy; buzzing with a million
questions he didn’t dare ask Snape. His were about the wizarding world, not the Muggle one,
however.

"Would you like a bag?" the cashier asked, snapping her bubblegum.

"Yes, please," Professor Snape said, ripping off some of the plastic and beginning to put the
shopping inside. "Harry, Draco, help."

Malfoy shot Snape a resentful look and muttered something about 'house-elf work' before he
began putting the food away. He was doing it slowly and badly, to Harry's annoyance. He was
almost entirely certain it was on purpose, too. Harry would almost rather do it all on his own.

The shop assistant frowned at them. "Draco? That's an odd name."

Malfoy scowled. "Well I wouldn't expect a filthy Muggle like yourself to -"

Snape clamped a hand down onto Malfoy's shoulder, and he abruptly stopped speaking.
Despite his terrible attitude, Malfoy could obviously sense Snape’s outrage. Either that, or he
was just aware of the man’s fingers, which were visibly digging into Malfoy’s shoulders.
Snape was certainly unhappy. Even though he was attempting a strangled smile for the shop
assistant, a twitching muscle in his jaw indicated that an explosion was brewing.

"He's my sister's son," Snape lied smoothly. "She has… interesting taste in names."

"Oh." The shop assistant shrugged, unperturbed. "Would you like to pay with cash or card?"

As Snape paid, shooting a furious look back at the scowling Malfoy, Harry just tried to make
himself as small and unobtrusive as possible. He could sense a fight coming and he did not
want to be in the line of fire as it went down.

Snape shoved a couple of shopping bags at Harry before he led them out of the store. As soon
as they reached the car park, he stopped walking and glowered at Malfoy, his lips pressed
into a thin, white line.

"We will be discussing that little slip when we get home," he hissed through gritted teeth.
Snape walked off at an even quicker pace than he'd taken on the way to the shops. Harry was
practically sprinting as he tried desperately to keep up, the shopping bags smacking
uncomfortably into his legs.

As they went in the direction of the house, Harry noticed a peeling sign saying Cokeworth's
Finest Fish and Chips! Harry guessed that Cokeworth was the name of the town, then. It
faintly rang a bell, although he wasn't sure why. In fact, it gave him an incredibly strong
sense of deja vu. Why did Harry think he’d been here before? He couldn’t have been,
obviously, since the Dursleys never took him anywhere…

Eventually, they arrived back at Spinner's End. Snape ushered them inside and slammed the
front door shut before rounding on Malfoy. He jabbed a single finger in the direction of the
living room. Malfoy unceremoniously dumped the shopping on the ground and stormed into
the living room. He threw himself down on the sofa and crossed his arms with a huff. Harry
quietly slipped into the kitchen to start putting the shopping away as an irate Snape followed
Malfoy inside. Their voices were easily loud enough for him to hear.

"How irresponsible can you be?" Snape growled.

“I’m not irresponsible, I -”

"You called a shop assistant a filthy Muggle!” he said angrily. “I know that you aren't stupid
enough to do that accidentally, Draco! What on earth were you thinking?"

"Well maybe I wouldn't have done that if you hadn't dragged me to that disgusting place to
begin with!" Malfoy seethed. "I didn't want to go to some stupid Muggle shop, I told you!"

"Sometimes in life we have to do things we don't want to do," Snape said in a low, dangerous
voice. “Seeing as you live with me now, that includes going to Muggle shops so you can
adapt to the Muggle town you will be spending your summers in until you reach your
majority. It’s not exactly a lot I’m asking of you!”
“I don’t even want to live with you!” Malfoy shouted. “I want to go to the Notts, or the
Parkinsons, but nobody asked me what I wanted, did they?!”

Harry paused in putting away a packet of biscuits and creeped into the hallway so he was just
out of sight from within the living room. He wanted desperately to know what on earth
Malfoy was doing here and this might be an opportunity to find out, since Malfoy and Snape
didn’t seem particularly keen to tell him on their own terms.

“As a matter of fact, you did agree to live with me,” Snape pointed out icily. “Don’t forget it
just because I did something you disagree with.”

“Well I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, then!” Malfoy said. “I assumed you’d be
normal, not the secretly Muggle-obsessed fool you’ve turned out to be!”

“Remember who you’re talking to,” Snape said sharply. “And I consider it normal to try and
weed out any bigotry my ward is possessed by!”

“It’s not bigotry if it’s true! We are better than Muggles!”

“Like it or not, you need to learn to get along with people from all walks of life, and some of
those people might just so happen to be Muggles or Muggleborns,” Snape said, ignoring
Malfoy’s shouted protests.

"I’d never choose to spend time with Muggles when I’m old enough to be on my own!”
Malfoy hissed. “You know, my father wouldn't have ever made me go into the Muggle world.
Unlike you, he knew a wizard's place! He understood the proper way for men of my status to
behave!"

"Well your father's not here, is he?" Snape said through gritted teeth. "And as you're living
with me until you reach adulthood, you will be following my rules."

"It's not my fault my father's in Azkaban!" Malfoy shouted. “I shouldn’t have to suffer
because of it!”

Harry’s jaw dropped. What?! Whatever he'd thought was the reason for Malfoy being here,
that certainly hadn’t been it! Once again, he lamented the complete lack of news he received
at the Dursleys. Surely Lucius Malfoy being locked up in prison would be well-known news,
given his prestige. Curious, Harry crept closer to the living room, wanting to get a better view
of what was going on.

"No, it's not your fault, but unless you get your behaviour under control you'll go down the
same Dark path that he did!" Snape yelled. "I'm trying to help you so you don’t do something
stupid and get yourself locked up like Lucius!"

"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT MY FATHER!" Malfoy screeched. Harry winced as he heard
something shatter. "I HATE YOU, SEVERUS, I HATE YOU! I WISH I'D NEVER COME
HERE!"
"Draco, stop!" Snape shouted as something else loudly smashed. Harry looked up just in time
to catch sight of something flying out of the doorway and towards his head. He ducked and
staggered back into the wall, instinctively throwing his arms over his head as broken glass
rained down from barely half an inch above him. Harry crouched on the floor, arms still
protecting his face and knees drawn close to his chest, trying to make himself as small and
unobtrusive as possible, waiting for it all to be over, breathing hard and fast. They lost
interest if you kept quiet. That was what worked with Vernon, and with Dudley, and it should
work with Malfoy…

But after a couple of minutes, Harry realised no more projectiles were flying at him and he
chanced a glance up and into the living room. The shouting and fighting had completely
stopped. Snape was now holding Malfoy, who had started to cry, with his arms pinned tightly
to his sides.

What on earth is going on?

It sort of reminded Harry of when Dudley threw tantrums. Petunia would always comfort
him, and try to placate him with promises of toys and sweets if he stopped screaming. That
wasn't what Snape was doing, though. He appeared to be restraining Malfoy, probably so he
didn't smash anything else. Harry was grateful for that, at least. He didn’t particularly enjoy
having things lobbed at his head.

"Let’s go upstairs," Snape grunted, moving one arm to Malfoy’s shoulder and steering him
out of the living room. As they walked through the hallway, Harry cringed away on instinct,
worried Malfoy would lash out again. This finally seemed to bring him to Snape's attention.
His dark eyes raked over Harry, whose arms were still raised protectively, and a strange
expression that Harry couldn’t quite interpret twisted his features. He almost looked
disturbed.

"Don't move, Potter," he ordered. "There's broken glass everywhere, you'll cut yourself."

Harry nodded, watching carefully as Snape led Malfoy up the stairs. He still had tears
trickling down his face. That, he reflected, was a very odd sight. He’d never seen Malfoy
show any kind of emotion apart from rage or hatred. Seeing him cry of all things felt
incredibly wrong. Malfoy never displayed that kind of vulnerability, especially in front of
Harry.

It was actual, proper crying, too. Whenever Dudley threw tantrums, they were all crocodile
tears that disappeared as soon as Aunt Petunia gave him what he wanted. Malfoy seemed
genuinely upset…

What was going on with him? Why had the conversation he’d been having with Snape made
him lose control like that?

Harry remained crouched in the hallway, still as a statue. Every single one of Harry’s instincts
were screaming at him to leave - normally, after an outburst of Dudley’s or a fit of rage from
Vernon, the best thing to do was to get out of sight so they forgot you were there. Still, Snape
had instructed him to stay and he didn’t want to get in trouble for disobeying…
In the end, Harry remained paralysed by indecision on the hallway floor until Snape came
back down alone a couple of minutes later. He got out his wand.

"Evanesco." The broken glass on the floor vanished, as well as several pieces that had been
caught in Harry’s hair. Snape crouched down next to him and observed him closely. "Are you
hurt?"

Harry shook his head. He'd managed to duck whatever Malfoy had thrown at him before it
connected, so he'd only gotten a cut on his arm from some of the falling glass. Snape
certainly wouldn’t care about that, though.

"What were you doing out here?" Snape asked, frowning.

"Just putting the shopping away," Harry said, resenting the fact that this was still somehow
his fault. "Is it true that Malfoy's dad is in Azkaban?"

Snape grimaced, and glanced to one side. He hesitated for a moment before responding. "Yes.
So is his mother."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"It's none of your business, Potter," Snape said sharply. "If Draco wants to tell you, then he
can. It’s incredibly rude to pry into his private affairs, so don’t."

Harry sighed, realising that he wasn't going to get any further with Snape. Maybe if he wrote
to Ron, he'd be able to tell Harry something more. Since Mr Weasley worked in the Ministry
of Magic, he might have heard something, even though he was on holiday at the minute.

Snape’s eyes narrowed and he snatched up Harry’s wrist, quick as a flash. Harry tried to jerk
away, expecting Snape to twist his arm back painfully, as Dudley was so fond of doing, but
instead the man began closely inspecting his forearm. "You’re bleeding."

Harry looked at the cut on his arm and shrugged. "It's not that bad."

"Please don't lie to me when I ask you if you have any injuries, Potter!" Snape said, huffing
exasperatedly. "Is that the only one?"

"Yes," he said truthfully.

"Really?" Snape asked in a disbelieving voice. "Do I have to check myself, or are you being
honest?"

"No! I mean no, I'm being honest, sir. I'm fine. It's just a scratch, anyway."

Snape raised an eyebrow, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. If Snape checked Harry over for
injuries he could potentially see the bruises from Privet Drive, and that was an entire
uncomfortable conversation that he really didn't want to have.

Luckily, Snape left it, and got his wand out of his robes again. He waved it in the air and a
small first-aid kit flew through the kitchen door and into Snape’s hand.
“You do realise,” Snape muttered, clicking open the box, “there could be broken glass
embedded in the wound, no matter the depth? That causes infection, which potentially leads
to sepsis! That can be deadly, even with the aid of magic, you idiotic child!”

Harry couldn’t help but think Snape would be pretty thrilled if Harry dropped dead from
blood poisoning, but he nodded anyway. The man seemed pretty serious about it. He’d
probably get in trouble with Dumbledore if Harry snuffed it on his watch, after all. Well,
maybe that wasn’t entirely fair, Harry realised reluctantly. Snape had saved his life a few
times back in first year, hadn’t he? That was even considering how intensely he hated
Harry…

As Snape continued to lecture about infection while Harry attempted to look like he was
paying attention, he took a peek inside the first-aid kit. Instead of containing the usual
contents Harry would expect, like bandages and plasters, there were instead several small
vials of various different potions. Snape uncorked one containing a viscous, blue liquid, and
poured a drop of it onto Harry’s arm. The cut began to smoke and sting. Snape then drew his
wand and dragged it in a line beneath the cut, muttering a spell under his breath. The skin
knitted itself together, leaving Harry’s arm unblemished.

"It's literally that easy, Potter,” Snape said, shaking his head. “I don't know why you'd lie
about it."

He wasn’t just being snide, Harry realised after a moment. Snape was genuinely confused. He
was staring at Harry like he was a puzzle he couldn’t quite fit together. Harry just decided to
nod, unsure of what he should say. He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was having a
borderline civil conversation with Snape, and he was afraid of putting a foot wrong and
starting an argument.

"You should go out into the garden while I speak with Draco," Snape said, inclining his head
towards the kitchen.

"Why did he flip out like that, sir?" Harry asked tentatively.

Snape paused for a moment before he started speaking. "Draco is having a hard time
adjusting to living here and is processing his parents’ incarceration. The difficulties working
through these things that can occasionally make him rather…aggressive. It is not something
to be concerned about - that sort of violence is not a regular occurrence here.”

"Okay," Harry said hesitantly, although he was still pretty worried.

“Do you understand?” Snape said, his tone oddly urgent. “That is not going to happen here
again. Ever.”

“I understand,” Harry said quickly. Snape’s fervour was the thing beginning to scare him,
now. He seemed strangely shaken by the whole incident, and Snape was never shaken.

"Leave," Snape instructed. Harry got to his feet and headed through the kitchen. He cast one
last glance over his shoulder before pushing over the sliding door and realised Snape was
watching him. At first, Harry thought his features were twisted into the usual expression of
 disgust, but upon closer inspection, Harry realised it was a different emotion entirely. No,
Snape looked worried.

Snape looked away moments later and swept away, out of sight. Harry slipped onto the patio
and sat against the wall of the house, staring into the overcast sky. He took a few breaths,
trying to calm his racing heart. It didn’t help.

Harry wondered why Snape looked so concerned about the whole situation when all of it
really wasn’t that serious. He’d had ornaments and other objects thrown at his head before
when Vernon got very angry. Sure, it wasn’t nice, but he could cope. He wasn’t a baby. You
just needed a good sense of when to duck, which Harry was blessed with.

It all seemed to have really freaked out Snape for some reason, though. So much so that he’d
been civil with Harry, something which he’d never previously been capable of. Maybe it was
because he wasn’t used to things being thrown around in his house, but in Harry’s opinion,
that was pretty normal behaviour and not something to fret over.

He sighed and drew his legs close to his chest. Malfoy’s crying was still lingering in his
mind. It felt really wrong to see the other boy lose control of himself the way he just had, and
Harry felt slightly uncomfortable. He never knew how to deal with tears. Crying at Privet
Drive always got you into more trouble. He’d learnt pretty quickly how to keep his emotions
in check. If he dared to lose control of himself in the manner Malfoy just had, he didn’t even
want to imagine what Uncle Vernon would do to him.

Snape couldn't have had a more contrasting reaction. He had been strangely nice to Malfoy,
even though Harry was fairly certain he’d thrown one of those ornaments right at Snape. That
seemed unusually considerate of the foul-tempered Potions Master. He’d have expected
Snape to completely flip in a situation like that, but he’d been incredibly calm. Harry didn’t
know he was capable of that kind of emotional control.

With Malfoy, Harry reminded himself. There was no telling if Harry would be hexed within
an inch of his life by Snape if he dared to put a toe out of line while he was stuck here. He
was well-versed in favouritism, after all.

Well, Harry reflected glumly, things could always be worse. Things at Spinner’s End were
strange, and uncomfortable, and altogether unpleasant, but so far, it had been a bit more
bearable than Privet Drive. That wasn’t shining praise, and Harry still hated it here, but he
wasn’t one to reject life’s small mercies.

Chapter End Notes

I intend to keep this as a majority Harry pov story, so there won't be anything from
Snape's perspective quite yet, but I'd be interested to hear what you all think he's
thinking right now! This was a bit of a long one, but I hope you liked the chapter.
 Teatime Tales and New Betrayals
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry sat outside for a long time until afternoon turned to evening, unsure if he was allowed
back in. Aunt Petunia had the tendency to lock Harry out of the house for hours on end back
on Privet Drive. Harry would normally just wander around Little Whinging when she did
that, though. It was alright, since it meant Harry wasn't stuck at home with his horrid
relatives, but on hot days it could get pretty miserable between the thirst and Dudley’s gang.
Harry didn't dare leave the garden here, however; Snape seemed to care a little more about
what Harry did in his free time, for whatever reason. He didn't feel like getting in even more
trouble than usual by leaving without permission. Besides, Spinner's End was terraced, so
there was no way for Harry to leave without going through the house.

Eventually, after an indeterminable amount of time, Snape opened the back door. Even
though his expression was often difficult to read, Harry could easily tell he was exhausted.

"Dinner," he said curtly, pointing to a steaming bowl of spaghetti on the kitchen table.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, hurrying over to the table. He hadn't eaten since breakfast and
he was utterly famished.

As he started cramming spaghetti into his mouth, Harry noticed that Snape had already left
the room. There wasn't any sign of Malfoy, either. It wasn’t like Harry particularly wanted to
see either of them, but he did think it was a little odd that nobody else was here eating. Was
Snape punishing Malfoy for throwing things by taking his dinner away? That was incredibly
worrying, since Snape liked Draco a fair bit more than Harry. What would he do to Harry if
he got in trouble? Starve him for the rest of August?

Besides, where had Snape disappeared to himself? So far, all three of them had taken meals
together. Harry just thought it was strange that if Snape could avoid Harry at mealtimes, he'd
only start doing it tonight. What was he up to?

Harry spent the entire meal pondering these things, but no one returned downstairs before he
finished eating. He stood up and quickly washed his plate in the kitchen sink. Even though
Snape could clean it in a second with magic, Harry still didn’t think it was wise to leave dirty
dishes lying around. After a moment's hesitation, he also made the decision to grab a pear
from a fruit bowl Snape kept on the kitchen counter. He slipped it into his pocket. Just in
case.

Since Dudley's hand-me-down clothes were so large there was no telltale bulge in his pocket,
but Harry thought it might be better to hide the pear in his food store at the bottom of his
trunk, so he made to go upstairs.

He’d just left the kitchen and reached the bottom of the staircase when Snape emerged from
the door on the upstairs landing that led to his laboratory. He noticed Harry moving around
and stared down at him, frowning as usual.

"Draco has been confined to his room for the evening," Snape explained, jerking his head in
the direction of the closed bedroom door. "You aren't to go in there at the moment."

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug. "Er - do you want me to carry on gardening?"

Snape scowled. "Cut the martyr act, Potter. It would be absurd to garden at this late hour!”

Harry thought that was rather unfair, since Snape had threatened to have him working from
dawn to dusk if Harry didn’t meet his impossible standards, but obviously didn’t say so.

“I’m sure at the grand age of thirteen you can figure out something to occupy your time,” he
said with a sarcastic bite. “Just stay down there. I have an important potion to attend to.”

Harry just rolled his eyes and walked away down the hallway. Snape was back to being his
usual, nasty self, it seemed. At least he was staying far, far away from Harry while he did it.
Harry walked aimlessly into the kitchen and back again. Snape’s snarky comments
unfortunately held some truth - he really didn’t know what to do with himself, especially
while in Snape’s house.

In the end, Harry ended up standing in the hallway, staring at the cupboard under the stairs. It
didn’t look like the one at Privet Drive. For one thing, there was no grate in the door. Nothing
that could provide Harry with weak slits of light to see by when the lightbulb in the cupboard
gave out while he was locked inside…

But Harry couldn’t be locked in there. For one thing, there was no lock. Normal people didn’t
install locks on cupboard doors to keep their nephews in.

Wizards don’t need regular locks to trap people inside.

Harry angrily shook himself, hating that little voice in the back of his head. Snape was a
bastard, but he wasn’t going to lock Harry up in a cupboard. After all, Malfoy had just broken
some of Snape’s belongings, and he’d only been sent to his room.

But Snape favours Malfoy over you. If you did something like that, who’s to say he wouldn’t
lock you in a cupboard?

Well, then don’t throw a massive fit and break his stuff and he won’t do it, then!

Snape’s never treated you fairly. He’ll find fault somewhere…

Harry gave an exasperated sigh and smacked his head against the wall behind him, squeezing
his eyes shut. The problem with being raised by the Dursleys was that Harry couldn’t just go
through life feeling secure in the knowledge that adults wouldn’t lock him in cupboards when
he did something they didn’t like. The Dursleys were Harry’s family, after all - he was their
nephew, for crying out loud! That was a pretty close blood relation, and even if Harry wasn’t
their son, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were the closest thing to parents Harry had ever
known.
And they’d locked him in a cupboard for things he couldn’t control.

If Harry’s own family treated him that way, who was to say Snape wouldn’t? A man who
truly despised Harry, and didn’t even have the flimsy tie of family to restrain him from truly
vile treatment?

So he had to check. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Harry reached out a hand, grabbed the knob
of the cupboard door and yanked it open.

It was far smaller than the cupboard at Privet Drive. It was full to bursting, too, with
mismatched household paraphernalia. A bucket and mop. An old bottle of bleach with a
faded label. Stacks and stacks of empty plastic bags. A few dusty cardboard boxes.

Nothing else could be shoved in there.

Harry shut the door and sank against it, staring at his shoes. He did his best to breathe, but it
felt like his lungs had locked up, banning the entry of any oxygen. He was being so stupid.
Why did Harry always end up freaking out whenever he stayed at someone else’s house? The
same thing had happened at the Burrow last summer. Harry remembered just being so
shocked that there were so many people in the house who actually wanted to spend time with
him. He should have been happy about that, but for some reason it had evoked such a heart-
wrenching sadness in him. He hadn’t been able to properly enjoy it as a consequence.

Then, there was the food. Mrs Weasley was such a lovely woman, and Harry knew
intellectually that she wasn’t going to starve him, but he’d just been so hungry. He’d been
living off of one stone-cold can of soup a day that he’d needed to split with Hedwig for a
long, long time, and when he’d seen all that food, Harry’s brain had just been screaming at
him to eat it all, eat it now while it was still there, just in case. In the end, he’d excused
himself after the meal to throw up in the loo, unable to keep the rich cooking down. Nobody
had heard, luckily, except Fred and George. They apologised profusely - a prank meant for
Percy must have made him sick, they’d said. Harry was just relieved they hadn’t guessed the
real reason.

Harry didn’t understand why he couldn’t just forget about all of this. He wanted not to think,
to ignore all of the crap things that had happened to him while he was at the Dursleys. He
wasn’t there, now, was he, so why did he just keep thinking about it? Why did these awful
feelings of anxiety always rear their ugly heads at the most inopportune of moments?

In the end, Harry decided the best thing to do was to take himself away from that stupid
cupboard and try to distract himself in Snape’s living room. It didn't look like the one at
Privet Drive, mostly because of the glaring absence of a television. Harry assumed that was
something to do with magic. He vaguely remembered Hermione mentioning something about
magical frequencies messing up electricity.

No, instead Snape's living room was completely crammed with bookshelves, floor to ceiling
ones without a single gap in the volumes lining them. Unlike the rest of the house, which had
a general air of neglect, the books on the shelves were pristine and completely free of dust.
Most of them were thick, leatherbound Potions manuals, many in French or Latin which
Harry couldn't even read, but he smiled to himself as his index finger ran over Most Potente
Potions. Snape loved to rag on Harry's brewing abilities, but he had helped Hermione brew
that Polyjuice. He couldn't be completely useless.

Potions books weren't the only topic of research featuring on Snape's shelves, though. There
were a couple of novels, including, oddly enough, Pride and Prejudice, as well as textbooks
and journals from other areas of magical study. Harry paused his scan of the shelves at the
title Manipulation of the Dark Arts. Now that certainly looked interesting…

But to Harry's immense disappointment, when he tried to open the book, the cover wouldn't
budge an inch. It was as if it had all been glued together, although Harry had a gut feeling it
was actually linked to some more sophisticated magic. Snape, of course, would be able to
guess that Harry or Malfoy would be interested in his Dark Arts books and would have
locked them up.

All the other Dark-looking books Harry picked up had that same spell on them. Well, at least
the first three did. Harry had been on the verge of picking up a fourth book when he realised
that if Snape could bewitch the books shut, he could probably hook them up to some kind of
spell that let him know if other people touched them. Harry really didn't want Snape to find
out he was poking around what essentially was Snape's own personal restricted section, so he
dropped his gaze and looked over to the small side table next to the armchair Snape seemed
to favour. Behind an extraordinary ugly-looking lampshade was yet another book, which
caught Harry's attention because of how simply mundane it was.

While the majority of the books in Snape's shelves were leatherbound volumes with gold-
lettered titles, this book was a paperback with the same cover art style of the self-help books
and diet guides Aunt Petunia occasionally bought but never read. It even had a photo of a
woman with a slightly choppy fringe on the front. Harry knew then this had to be a muggle
book, since wizarding photographs always moved. Above the woman was a large, bold-
lettered title: A CAREGIVER’S GUIDE TO ADOLESCENT TRAUMA.

Now that confused Harry. This seemed remarkably out of place amongst Snape's other
reading material. What was he doing with a Muggle psychology book, of all things? Curious,
he walked over and turned over the book to read the blurb.

Whether you're a new foster parent or a seasoned veteran, this book will help you find new
ways to help the children in your care. Whatever background the child you're caring for
originates, Dr Stephanie has a number of handy tips and tricks for helping them flourish, in
her new novel specifically geared towards foster care of teenagers…

Harry tilted the book to one side and noticed several pages were dog-eared. He flipped to
one.

…displaced teens may lash out, but that is to be expected. Leaving behind everything they've
known, including parents or siblings, is an incredibly distressing and traumatic experience
that can manifest itself in a number of behaviours…

Harry flipped another page and found it opened to a whole section on 'navigating parental
incarceration'.
Dealing with the implications of a parent in prison can be difficult. Here are some helpful
ways to navigate this sensitive area…

It was then that the penny dropped.

Snape had gotten this book to figure out what was going on with Malfoy!

Interest flared up in Harry as he held the book out before him. Snape wasn't the only one who
wanted to work out what the hell was going on with Malfoy; Harry was wondering that same
thing himself, especially since no one here could be bothered to tell him anything. Maybe if
Harry looked through these dog-eared passages, he could start to understand Malfoy's
behaviour a bit more.

But Harry had just started flipping through the pages to the next marked one when a chapter
title practically screamed out of the page at him, stopping Harry in his tracks. 'CHILD
NEGLECT'.

All of a sudden, he was violently slammed back in time, to a memory from Dudley's seventh
birthday party.

It had taken place in the garden of Privet Drive. Harry had been hiding at the sidelines while
the other children played, because if Harry tried to join in the party games, Dudley would
beat him up. It was easier to hide in the alleyway down the side of the house, out of sight and
out of mind. That obscured alleyway also had remarkably good acoustics. Harry could easily
hear the conversations of the mums on the patio who didn't know he was there listening.

"They neglect that poor nephew of theirs terribly, don't they?" Mrs Lambert clucked.

Harry didn't know what neglect meant, of course, but the world felt cold and sharp as he
rolled it around in his mouth. He knew it was a bad thing.

"He's never dressed properly, is he?" Mrs Ashton said sniffily. "They could certainly afford to
get him some decent clothes, just look at all the presents Dudley's gotten…"

Harry tugged on the base of his t-shirt and bit his lip. He couldn't help not being dressed
properly. He was so scrawny that Dudley's hand-me-downs just always looked so monstrous
and ugly on him…

"Petunia doesn't even touch him, have you noticed?" Mrs Smith said in her rather nasally
voice. "She fusses over Dudley at the school gates every morning, and he just stands there
like a lost little lamb. It's downright strange, I'll tell you that."

"Well, the boy is disturbed," Mrs Ashton said in low, dramatic tones. "You've heard the
stories of him, he's a terror! Just imagine what it's like dealing with him at home!"

"But, they don't get like that on their own, do they?" Mrs Lambert murmured. "Maybe if
Vernon and Petunia were a little more attentive…"

"Well, how much can you do with brain damage involved?" Mrs Smith asked. "His parents
were drunks, I heard. They died in a drink driving accident, while he was in the car and all!
I’ve always thought it knocked his head wrong, you’ve seen that nasty scar…"

“Speaking of scars, have you seen Debbie?” Mrs Ashton said, her voice dripping with horror.

Harry had continued to unwillingly listen in as Mrs Ashton, Mrs Smith and Mrs Lambert had
gossiped viciously about every other child and parent at that party, saying things that were
just as vile as the things they'd said about Harry, but those words still stuck with him to this
day. The Dursleys may have been neglectful, but it was Harry's fault, since he was such a
terror.

Harry put the book to one side, his mouth bone-dry. All of a sudden, digging into Malfoy's
mysterious psychological issues felt far less interesting and more of an invasion of privacy.
He didn’t want to act like those nasty, nosy women.

Harry shook himself and moved to the opposite end of the living room. He'd done more than
enough thinking about his relatives for one evening, that was certain. Instead, Harry did the
only thing he could think of to distract himself - he took out a pencil and paper from his
pocket and began to draw.

Drawing had been one of the only things Harry could do for fun as a child. Any of his toys
had been broken, discarded things of Dudley's that almost always ended up being broken
further when Dudley noticed Harry playing with them. Pencils, paper and crayons, on the
other hand, could be easily nicked from school whenever Harry needed them, and the
drawings themselves could be hidden under his mattress in the cupboard. He never showed
them to his aunt and uncle, of course; Harry had a vivid and painful memory of the time he'd
made the mistake of giving Aunt Petunia a scribbling of a dragon when he was little. He'd
thought she would have put it up on the fridge, like she did with Dudley's drawings. Instead,
she’d ripped it up and threw it in the bin.

Harry always hid his drawings now.

So, he sat alone in Snape's living room, time blurring around him as he sketched away. He'd
been drawing the view from his room in the Leaky Cauldron before Dumbledore had so
abruptly sent him here, so Harry was doing his best to fill in the gaps from memory. He'd
gotten quite good at doing that, since being locked in a cupboard while you drew meant there
wasn't a lot to look at for inspiration. He scribbled away, forming the spiralling, cobbled
streets twisting between the narrow buildings, the pointed hats of the witches and wizards
doing the shopping, the brick arches of the Diagon Alley entrance…

He'd just finished off the distant train tracks when a creaking noise from the door broke Harry
out of his focus. He shoved the drawing under one arm and looked up at Snape, who had
materialised behind him. As usual, he was frowning.

"What is that?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Harry said a little too quickly, dragging the drawing further away from Snape. Of
course, he once again forgot about magic. Snape flicked his wand and the drawing flew
straight into his hand.
"Hey, that's mine!" Harry said angrily, trying to grab it back. Snape quickly moved it out of
his reach, and a strange expression that Harry couldn't quite read settled over his features.

"I didn't know you drew," he said finally. His tone of voice was odd. Harry was expecting
him to immediately begin criticising it like the drawing was a Potions essay, but no follow-up
comments came. As a matter of fact, Snape looked oddly spooked, like he’d just seen a
ghost.

"Yeah, well you really don't know anything about me, Snape," Harry muttered, still feeling
resentful about the stolen drawing.

Snape's eyes hardened and the corners of his mouth twisted downward. He dropped the
drawing back on the table.

"Oh, I know plenty about you, Potter," he growled. "Namely about the endless bounds of
your disrespect and cheek. What are you even still doing down here?"

"You told me I had to stay down here!" Harry said loudly. How was he getting in trouble for
following Snape's rules?

"Keep your voice down, Draco is asleep," Snape hissed, "and you should be, too. It's past
eleven. Go."

Right. Snape and his stupid ten-thirty bedtime. Harry snatched his drawing up and stalked
away up the stairs, feeling exceedingly glad when Snape didn't follow him up. Harry wasn’t
sure if he’d have been able to control himself if that had been the case. As soon as he entered
the darkened bedroom, Harry picked up a pillow and punched it as hard as he could, anger
surging through him.

Harry was so worked up over Snape's unfairness that it took him well over an hour to get to
sleep. The next morning, he awoke with a groan. Every single muscle in his body ached
horribly from the weeding he'd been doing yesterday, the bruises from Privet Drive were
throbbing with renewed vigour, and his eyes were oddly sticky. He rubbed them before
putting his glasses on to check the time.

It was 7:55.

"Shit!" Harry hissed, all tiredness replaced by adrenaline as he jumped up from bed. Sleeping
in always earned a punishment from his relatives, and Snape was almost certainly looking for
a reason to make Harry's life even more miserable than it already was. Even Malfoy was
awake by now, for God's sake! Harry needed to get downstairs as quickly as possible.

He threw on some clothes as quickly as he could, ran down the stairs and skidded into the
kitchen, where Snape was frying something at the stove. Malfoy was already at the kitchen
table, scowling at the wall. Well, at least someone here looked as miserable as Harry felt. Of
course, he quickly noticed Harry’s entrance, and turned his ire upon Harry.

“Great Merlin, Potter, have you ever seen a hairbrush in your life?” Malfoy sneered at
Harry’s hair. He self-consciously started trying to flatten it with his hands as Snape finally
turned around from the stove. Harry felt his heart speed up, expecting a sharp reprimand for
being late to breakfast or something, but Snape's eyes only momentarily glanced over him
before he returned to cooking.

Harry slid into his seat at the kitchen table, barely believing his luck. He was still half-
expecting Snape to make some sort of snide comment and punish him as he served up
breakfast, but nothing of the sort happened. It almost felt too good to be true.

"So," Snape said once they'd all made decent headway into their meal. "You will both be
doing chores today."

Malfoy pointedly refused to look up.

"Potter, you can continue in the garden," Snape ordered. "Perhaps you could deign to actually
put some gloves on this time so I don't have to waste potions on a perfectly preventable
injury."

Harry nodded and did his best to look like he even slightly cared about anything Snape had to
say.

"And Draco." Snape turned his beady black eyes towards the other end of the table. "As
punishment for your behaviour yesterday, you will be cleaning this entire kitchen without
magic. You will mop the floors, clean the countertops, anything and everything that needs to
be done will be done. I'll be writing a list for you."

"I don't know how to do any of that," Malfoy groused, folding his arms.

"I will be here to show you," Snape said briskly. "When the two of you have finished eating,
you can get on with it."

Harry finished his food as quickly as possible, eager to get away from the glowering Malfoy
who appeared to be on the verge of another explosion. Unlike Harry, he was eating as slowly
as humanly possible, probably to procrastinate his chores. Snape seemed highly displeased
with this, of course, so Harry was rather relieved to be outside and away from the two of
them. He didn't want to be caught in the crossfire of another fight.

Occasionally, Harry glanced up from his gardening and looked through the sliding glass door
into the kitchen. Malfoy was, in fact, being made to work. Harry tried to be as inconspicuous
as possible while he watched the other boy half-heartedly drag a mop across the kitchen tiles
as Snape supervised, occasionally giving some pointer.

The surprises just kept coming. What was this strange world where Malfoy actually faced
consequences for his actions? Aunt Petunia would never have punished Dudley for throwing
something at Harry…

After about an hour of work, Harry heard the back door creak open. It was Snape.

"I'm going to a meeting," he said. Harry got the vague impression that Snape wasn't
particularly happy to be attending this, judging by the depth of his scowl. "I'll be back before
lunch. You two boys behave yourselves… if you don't, believe me I'll know."

"Yes, sir," Harry said quickly. He was half-certain that Snape could find out how many times
Harry blinked if he so desired.

As the back door shut behind Snape, Harry heard a woman chuckle.

"He's being rather stern with ya, isn't he?" Harry looked up and saw an elderly lady watching
him from the other side of the fence. She had flyaway white hair and large, round glasses,
which gave her an owl-like appearance. She also had a very strong Yorkshire accent. As they
made eye contact, her mouth gaped open slightly before closing into a thoughtful frown.

"You're not…no, you can't be…" the woman muttered, raking her eyes up and down Harry.

"Can't be who?" he asked curiously.

"Would you be of any relation to Lily Evans?"

Harry felt his heart speed up. "Yeah?" he said, feeling a bit confused. How could Snape's
neighbour know his mother's name? "She's my mum."

"Ah!" The woman's face brightened. "I knew it! I'd recognise those eyes anywhere…the
exact same as Lily's, they are. Absolutely striking."

"Did you know her?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Ah, a little," the woman said with a smile. "Lily lived right around the corner from here, she
did. She and Severus were quite good friends, as I'm sure you know!"

Despite himself, Harry's jaw dropped. Snape knew his mum? How would that have ever
happened?!

"How is Lily doing, by the way?" the lady asked, unaware of Harry's shock. "I haven't seen
her around here in years!"

"She's dead," Harry said, swallowing hard. "She died when I was a baby."

"Oh dear!" The woman's face fell. "I'm so sorry, love. What a shame! She was a lovely girl,
she was…"

"Do you think you could tell me a bit about her?" Harry asked hopefully. He knew so little
about his mother - all he really had were the photos Hagrid had given him in the album and a
couple of stories from his Hogwarts professors who had taught her.

"Oh of course, my love!" The woman beamed. "She was just the sweetest girl, your mother.
She used to water my plants for me when she popped round to see Severus. Your mum
always had a knack for flowers…my late husband, Robert, well he would always kill the
poor things, but I swear Lily could bring them back from the brink of death! She had a real
knack for things like that. I'd always give her a couple of my cookies to get her by as a thank
you. She'd always say to me, Maureen, it's my pleasure! You don't need to give me anything!
But I liked to spoil her a little, I did."

Maureen laughed and sighed a little.

"Warmest heart she had, too," she said fondly. "Always picking up strays! She was ever so
kind to young Severus, you know. The other boys round here gave him a hard time, but Lily
was always in his corner. She had quite the temper, you know! I saw her slap a boy silly
when he tried to poke fun at Severus' clothes once. She was a feisty little thing! I tell you,
once Lily made a friend she would defend them to the bitter end."

Harry stayed silent, drinking in every last detail. He tried to imagine his mother's face from
his photographs, fiery with fury as she faced down a bully. Of course, the image was rather
tainted by the presence of Snape, sneering in the background.

Snape, who had never once mentioned knowing Harry's mum.

"You two must be rather similar," Maureen commented. "I saw you out here all day yesterday
weeding! Do you like to garden?"

"I do," Harry said. It wasn't entirely a lie. Out of all the chores the Dursleys had him do, it
was by far his favourite, since it got him as far away from his relatives as possible.

Harry peered over into Maureen's garden. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as Snape's, but it
was still a bit overgrown and the flowers were looking rather wilted.

"Tell you what," Harry said with a sudden surge of determination, "let me at your garden. I
can water the flowers for you, if you'd like?"

"Oh you don't have to do that, my love!" Maureen protested.

"No, but I want to," Harry said firmly. "I insist."

From what he could tell, Harry’s mother seemed to like Maureen, if she'd taken care of the
woman’s plants all the time. Harry really wanted to carry that on. Perhaps it would help him
feel closer to her, something which Harry struggled with at the best of times. He had no real
memories of his mother, after all.

He walked over to a small, overgrown gate at the end of Snape's garden which allowed
passage between the two fences. It took a lot of huffing and puffing, but eventually the gate
opened with a noisy screech. The thing clearly hadn’t been oiled or even used in quite a
while.

"Thank you very much, young man," Maureen said, putting a hand on her heart. "I haven't
been able to properly take care of the poor things in years, I tell you! I'm getting up in the
years, and I've neglected them terribly, and there's only so much my granddaughter can do
when she stops by to visit.”

"Well I'm here for the rest of the summer," Harry said, filling up a watering can with the
hosepipe. "I'd be happy to do it for you while I'm here."
"Oh you're too kind my love, too kind," Maureen said, patting Harry on the shoulder.
"Goodness, I haven't caught your name! What is it?"

"Harry," he said. "Harry Potter."

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Harry," Maureen said warmly.

Tending to the plants with the background of Maureen's stories was an exceedingly pleasant
pastime. She’d led an extraordinarily interesting life, Harry found. She had all sorts of tales
from World War II, where she'd worked in an ammunitions factory making bullets for the
soldiers. Still, the best of her stories had to be the ones about Harry’s mother. It wasn’t a lot,
since Maureen had only seen Lily occasionally over the course of many years, but since
Harry had scarcely heard anything of his mother’s childhood, it still felt precious.

Maureen also dropped frequent references to Snape that Harry was too scared to pry into; he
didn't want to raise any questions about why he didn’t know that the man he was currently
living with used to be friends with his mother. Because what kind of person didn’t tell an
orphan that?

Severus Snape, apparently.

As Maureen told him more and more stories, a hot core of anger began to burn in Harry’s
stomach. From what she was saying, Snape and his mum hadn’t just known each other -
they’d been best friends! How could Snape just never mention that? Harry knew so pitifully
little about her as it was, and it was just another layer of cruelty he hadn’t anticipated from
the professor. This stung even more viciously than the constant insults and unfair treatment.
This was personal.

Eventually, Harry finished watering Maureen’s plants, and ran the lawnmower through her
garden, but he decided not to go back to Snape’s house just yet. After all, why should Harry
weed the garden of a man that didn’t even have the decency to tell him that he knew Harry's
dead mother?

Luckily, Maureen seemed perfectly happy to have him.

“Oh, do come in for a cuppa, dearie!” she said once Harry was done. “I don’t get many
visitors these days, and it would be my pleasure after all you've done for me.”

As Harry sat in Maureen’s kitchen while she pottered around, brazenly refusing all his offers
of help, he reflected how strange it was that a house identical in build to Snape’s could have
such a different feel to it. Snape’s house was all browns and greys and dirty creams, while
Maureen’s was filled with colour, and small trinkets, and pictures of her family. It felt far
more lived in and homely.
“So, dear,” Maureen said, sitting down with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits, “I've been
going on and on at you all morning, but you haven’t told me a thing about yourself yet! I
suppose you live with your father? Is he a nice man? He’d have to have been to marry our
Lily!”

“He’s dead, too,” Harry said, his eyes glued to the gingham tablecloth.

Maureen clucked her tongue. “Oh, that’s awful, my love. I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “I don’t really remember them. I was only a baby when it happened."

Harry sometimes felt like people expected him to be sadder than he was about his parents, to
miss them more. The thing was, Harry didn't actually have anything tangible to miss. The
only thing he really knew to grieve about his mum and dad was the life he ought to have had
with them. A world of possibilities that had been ripped away when Voldemort had murdered
them.

Grief was more to do with the absence of someone from your life, he thought. The pain of
someone who you were so used to having around suddenly disappearing. When all you knew
was the absence, it didn't hurt as badly. Harry had gone his whole life with that sadness and
grief hardwired into his brain. It made it easier to bear when you didn't know any other way.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how did it happen that you lost both your parents so young?”
Maureen inquired.

Harry took a sip of his tea, ignoring the fact it was still too hot to drink, trying to buy himself
some time to think of a reason.

“They died in a car crash,” he lied. That was the old tale Aunt Petunia had told him when he
was younger, and would work well enough here. He couldn’t exactly tell a Muggle woman
that they’d been murdered by a dark wizard, could he?

“So who have you been living with all these years?” Maureen asked. “Any of your father’s
relatives?”

“No,” Harry said. As far as he knew, James Potter had no living, close relations. “I’ve been
staying with my Aunt Petunia.”

“Oh.” Maureen pursed her lips. “I remember her, too.”

From her reaction, she clearly didn’t think much of Harry’s aunt. Seeing as he felt the same
way, this only made Harry’s opinion of Maureen grow.

After a brief silence, Maureen cleared her throat. “So why is Petunia letting you visit with
Severus at the minute? From what I knew of her, she and Severus didn’t exactly, ah…get
along.”

Harry once again raised the teacup to his mouth, further burning his already scalded tongue.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to say here. What if Snape had a specific cover story
that Harry was going to ruin somehow? He was so secretive about everything, after all…
Just as he put down the teacup, still trying desperately to think up a lie, there was a loud
knock at the front door.

“Goodness me!” Maureen said, starting. “I’m not expecting anyone…let me get that.”

She got to her feet and shuffled in the direction of the front door, and Harry’s shoulders
sagged with relief. That had been close.

Of course, all that relief immediately disappeared when he saw who Maureen opened the
door to.

“Is Potter here?” Snape inquired icily.

“Why, yes,” Maureen said, gesturing behind her. “He’s out in my kitchen! We were just
having a cuppa and he was telling me a bit about himself.”

“Was he now?” Snape asked, his beady eyes glaring down the hallway at Harry. He gulped.
Snape was visibly fuming.

“He’s really a lovely boy, Severus!” Maureen gushed. “His eyes are the absolute double of -"

“Indeed. He's just a pleasure," Snape drawled, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm as
he cut across Maureen. "Potter! Get over here!”

Harry jumped to his feet and ran over to where Snape was standing, not daring to dawdle.
The man looked even angrier than he had yesterday following Malfoy's filthy Muggle
comment, which was rather frightening to behold.

“It was lovely to meet you, Maureen,” Harry managed. Speaking was a little difficult with
Snape standing right beside you looking prepared to begin your slow and painful murder.

“Oh it was my pleasure, love,” Maureen said. She patted Harry on the head, even though he
was quite a bit taller than her. “Do come over and have a chat with me again sometime! I get
so lonely in this big house, all by myself.”

“I’d love to,” Harry said genuinely. Although, judging by the look on Snape’s face, that was
unlikely to happen since Harry was almost certainly going to be thrown into a dark cellar for
the rest of his sorry life.

“Goodbye, Maureen,” Snape said, grabbing Harry’s shoulder so hard that his nails dug in and
half-dragging him back into the house next door. As soon as the front door slammed shut, his
icy yet polite facade disappeared, replaced with a look of utter outrage.

“What the hell were you thinking, Potter?!” Snape said loudly, shaking Harry’s shoulder. He
wrenched himself away as the man continued ranting. “There is a mass-murderer on the loose
and you just went wandering off without telling anyone where you were! I knew you were
stupid, but this blatant lack of self-preservation is shocking even for you!”

“I was only next door!” Harry shouted. He was done with being polite to Snape. The fury at
his silence over Harry's mother was practically all-consuming, and he certainly didn’t think
Snape was worthy of even the most basic civility.

“Next door is not protected against Sirius Black by my wards!”

“Oh, don't even bother with that!” Harry said with a scornful laugh. “What would some
random nutter want with me? You’re just making excuses so you can control me, you stupid
git!”

“Don’t you dare call me stupid,” Snape growled. Harry thought that was pretty hypocritical,
seeing as Snape had called him the exact same thing not one minute ago. “I know that the
famous Harry Potter is used to being able to do what he wants when he wants to, but that
ends here. You aren’t in charge, I am.”

“I don’t get to do what I want!” Harry yelled.

“Oh, please!” Snape snapped. “I’ve seen you! Precious Potter, running around at night like he
owns the castle, breaking rules like it’s a hobby, believing the whole wizarding world needs
to be saved by a thirteen-year-old boy… you’re so arrogant, just like your blasted father.”

Harry crossed his arms and glared at Snape with all the venom he could muster, too furious to
even speak. He hated Snape so much. He was the worst.

“Go to your room!” Snape ordered, pointing a finger at the staircase. “You aren’t to leave.
And from now on, let me make it explicitly clear that you are banned from putting a toe off
of this property, understood? You aren't to so much as look in the direction of the neighbours,
and if you dare to disobey me again I will happily chain you to the house if that's what it
takes to keep you here!”

“Fine!” Harry shouted, clenching his hands into fists. He stormed up the stairs and slammed
the bedroom door shut so hard that it rattled. He furiously kicked the frame of his bed before
throwing himself on top of the covers. The unfairness really rankled. Not only had Snape
kept Harry in the dark about knowing his mum, he was now barring Harry from the one
woman available who could actually tell Harry things about her! It was downright cruel.

Realising that he was still filthy from all the gardening, Harry sighed and jumped up from the
bed, kicking his muddy trainers off. He obviously couldn’t shower, since Snape had confined
Harry to the bedroom, but a change of clothes would probably stop him from feeling quite so
wretched.

Harry had just taken his shirt off when he heard the bedroom door bang open. He turned
around and locked eyes with Malfoy, who had frozen in the doorway.

“Hey! I’m changing here!” he shouted indignantly. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?
Get out!”

Instead of apologising and leaving the room, (like a normal person would, in Harry’s opinion)
Malfoy just stood there with his mouth agape.
“What happened to you, Potter?” he asked, his eyes drifting down Harry’s torso. With an
unpleasant jolt, Harry suddenly realised that all of the injuries Vernon and Dudley had given
him that summer were on full display.

“It’s - it’s nothing!” he stammered, crossing his arms defensively over himself, feeling
horribly exposed. “I… I got into a biking accident. Yeah. And if you tell Snape about it, I will
murder you in your sleep. Seriously, Malfoy, if one word of this gets out, I will end you.”

“Okay, okay!” Malfoy said, holding his hands up and looking mildly alarmed. “Calm down,
Potter! I wasn't going to anyway… I'll just come back in bit, then.”

He finally left the room, shutting the door behind him. Harry quickly threw a shirt on and
collapsed against the side of his bed, before he buried his face in his trembling hands. Harry's
heart was beating a frantic rhythm against his ribcage, and no matter how many shallow,
rasping breaths he took, he couldn't stave off the feeling of light-headedness or the ringing in
his ears.

Malfoy had seen the bruises. Would he believe the lie Harry had told him? If he didn’t
everything would go so horribly wrong, Harry just knew it. If he worked out that the
Dursleys had caused them, Malfoy would tell all of his Slytherin friends, and they’d laugh at
him mercilessly. He’d tell Snape, who would have even more material for his Potions lesson
taunts. Harry could practically hear them already. Poor little Potter, can't even defend himself
from his Muggle relatives…

Worst of all, it could even get back to the Dursleys, who would definitely not be happy if
they thought Harry had been spreading facts of their private family life around. His mouth
turned dry at the mere prospect. Harry still remembered what had happened when a teacher
had been concerned about some finger-shaped bruises on his arm and had called a social
worker to check in on the Dursleys. They’d branded Harry a liar, of course, because what
kind of well-to-do family like the Dursleys would hurt a child? No, Harry was just their
disturbed, traumatised nephew who had whacked his head a little too hard in the car crash
that his parents had died in. Sure, they’d stopped hitting him for a while after that, too scared
of being caught, but the Dursleys were adept at expressing their fury in ways that didn’t
necessarily leave a mark. He’d been locked in his cupboard without food for over a week
after the visit.

Even when the Dursleys hit him, Harry had never actually thought they’d cause him
irreparable damage. That long, long period without food, though? That had been the first time
he’d been truly convinced the Dursleys were going to kill him. The incident had been second
only to that awful summer before second year. If anyone found out again, Harry was almost
certainly in store for a truly hellish summer when he was forced back to that awful place.

Everything was going wrong, and Harry didn’t know how to keep everything under control
anymore. No matter how much he tried to calm himself down, nothing worked; the panic was
too great. He felt like he was balancing on a tightrope, and at any moment, he could fall off
into the murky depths beyond, right to his doom.
Chapter End Notes

Full disclosure that the book in Snape's living room is loosely inspired by the
psychology book in A Year Like None Other, the fabulous Severitus fic which inspired
me to write this. I would definitely recommend it if you haven't read it. Also, thank you
all so much for all the support on this fic so far! I'm surprised and delighted, especially
since it's still so early on, so I wanted to get this chapter out before I went on holiday as
a thanks for the kudos and the comments. I hope you enjoyed :)
 Blackmailed
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

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.
Chapter End Notes

If you noticed any weird spelling/grammatical errors this chapter, please let me know! I
edited most of this on my phone on a plane, and google docs can be a bit weird about
highlighting mistakes offline. Things are finally starting to come to a breaking point, so
I'll see you all soon for the next part ;)
 The Boiling Point

The strange thing about living with people was that you ended up learning a lot about them
through sheer proximity. After two years at Hogwarts, Harry knew that he had to get up at a
certain time before Seamus started hogging the shower, and that you had to check before you
stepped into your shoes in case Neville’s toad, Trevor, had crawled into them. It was one of
those things you couldn't help, and this principle also unfortunately applied to living with
people who you didn’t like.

He knew that Aunt Petunia had trouble sleeping most nights, and generally got up even
before Harry because of her insomnia. He knew Uncle Vernon always read the Telegraph at
breakfast and was allergic to bees. He knew about Dudley’s severe hay fever, which made his
cousin’s eyes turn red and swollen without fail every spring. Harry couldn’t help picking up
this information about his relatives, just as he couldn’t help learning more about Malfoy and
Snape than he would have otherwise liked over his next few days at Spinner’s End.

Snape was always accompanied by a chipped blue mug, which was without fail full of
steaming black coffee. He even drank it at night, which Harry was almost certain couldn’t be
good for you.

Every morning and evening, Malfoy spent what seemed like forever hogging the upstairs
bathroom, which was the only loo in the house, doing some sort of intricate skincare routine.
There was more than one occasion on which Snape ended up shouting at him through the
door, threatening to take away something called a Glow Elixir.

Malfoy also read a lot of books. Fiction, if the titles were anything to go off, although they all
seemed to be wizarding books because Harry had never heard of them and the cover art
moved. In fact, Harry almost never saw him without a novel tucked under one arm or open in
his lap.

Snape was left-handed. He always wrote up their class instructions onto the chalkboard with
a flick of his wand, so Harry had never noticed that until now when he actually had an
opportunity to see the man write something down. Snape also often switched his wand
between hands depending on what spell he was casting, which Harry thought was odd but
didn't ask about.

Malfoy's fingers were often rhymically tapping away on a surface. Sometimes, when he
thought no one was listening, he hummed.

Snape exclusively wore closely fitted, long-sleeved robes, even on the boiling hot day where
it hit thirty degrees and the house felt more like a furnace.

Malfoy still talked in his sleep, and the words he was saying became more and more
comprehensible with every night Harry spent here.

And Snape always seemed to be watching Harry. He had the ability to move soundlessly
through the house, which was horribly unnerving, and sometimes Harry would turn around
and catch Snape staring at him with one eyebrow arched, expression thoughtful. It made
Harry wonder if he and Malfoy had picked up on any habits of Harry’s during his stay at
Spinner’s End. He almost immediately dismissed the idea, but Snape's watchful behaviour
was starting to get under Harry's skin. What was he doing? What was he trying to work out?

Of course, Snape and Malfoy didn’t have much opportunity to learn things about Harry
because he was doing his best to make himself as unobtrusive and invisible as physically
possible in order to avoid any further confrontations with Snape. The twisted rage on Snape’s
face when Harry had dared to ask about his mum had thoroughly scared him into silence. As
much as Harry was aching to find out why Snape had never mentioned knowing her, he was
far too worried about what Snape might do to him if he dared to bring up the topic again.

So, they had settled into something of a routine. The three of them generally ate breakfast,
lunch and dinner together, excluding the times when Snape was upstairs brewing. Malfoy and
Snape would talk, Harry would sit in sullen silence and try to eat as quickly as he could so he
could get away from them. Snape made Harry garden in the morning, then do his homework
in the afternoon, which he generally insulted and occasionally described with words that
almost sounded like compliments. Of course, as this was Snape giving feedback, Harry
assumed they were just further insults he couldn’t quite understand. The evenings were free
for Harry to hide in the bedroom he shared with Malfoy and pretend like he didn’t exist.

Malfoy and Snape tended to sit together in the living room while he hid upstairs, or they
brewed together. That suited Harry just fine, as he didn’t want to spend any time with the two
of them if he could help it. His problem was when Malfoy was left with nothing to do. While
Snape was perfectly happy to hold up his end of the bargain and ignore Harry’s existence,
Malfoy seemed to take vindictive pleasure in taunting Harry whenever Snape was out of
earshot. Whatever fragile truce they’d had for the first couple of days had vanished the
minute Malfoy had seen the bruises under Harry’s shirt. Harry was simply thankful that
Malfoy hadn't guessed it had been Harry's relatives who had caused them. No, all he seemed
to realise was that he had information Harry wanted to keep secret, and that was that. Now,
he knew Harry had to sit by and take it whenever he wanted to make snide comments about
Harry, his friends, his parents…

Just a few weeks, Harry told himself. That was it - a few weeks here, and then he’d be back at
Hogwarts and his proximity to Snape and Malfoy would lessen. Just a few weeks of dealing
with this, a few weeks was all…

And Harry did his best to control his temper, he really did. Unfortunately, the hellish
environment that was Spinner’s End meant Harry was really struggling with that, and he felt
his patience gradually wearing thin as his first week drew to a close.

After he seemed moderately satisfied that Harry wasn’t going to set the house alight, Snape
had started spending all of his mornings and most of his afternoons holed up in the laboratory
brewing that potion of his - whatever it was, it seemed to have a time limit. That left Harry
and Malfoy alone to get on with either their homework or chores unsupervised. Malfoy had
long since finished having Harry clean up the kitchen for him, leaving him with a lot of spare
time. Naturally, he had taken to insulting Harry as he got on with whatever tasks he’d been
set, since he knew Harry couldn’t fight back. It had been just about bearable so far, but today
was different. Harry was rapidly running out of the ability to keep his cool, while Malfoy had
woken up in a particularly foul mood, which he’d decided to take out on Harry, of course.

“Hey Potter, are you digging out a new hole in the ground for the Weasleys to live in?”

“Imagine if they could see the famous Harry Potter, digging about in a garden without
magic…”

“There’s mud all over you, Potter, have you noticed? Of course you wouldn’t - you’re used to
muddy things, considering your bloodline…”

“Oh, just shut up, Malfoy!” Harry shouted, the last comment finally pushing him over the
edge. Draco had been sniping at him for days, and he was going to lose it and hit him over
the head with a trowel if it didn’t stop -

“Potter!” Harry couldn’t help his groan at the sound of Snape’s voice. Of course he had to
materialise now. “Stop being rude to Draco. Get inside, it's time for lunch.”

Why is everything always my bloody fault?! Harry wouldn’t be surprised if Snape had
overheard the barely concealed slur towards his bloodline and just didn’t care. Nasty, bigoted
Slytherins always stuck together…

Harry picked at his food, feeling far too angry to eat. This was becoming a frequent
occurrence. Unfortunately for him, as the meal progressed, it turned out Malfoy wasn’t the
only one with a giant stick up his arse.

“Potter, must you always engage in this infernal sulking?” Snape hissed, slamming his fork to
the table. “I am sick of this sullen adolescent moping! Would it kill you to act politely?”

It was like something in Harry snapped. “Oh, will you just shut up for once in your bloody
life!”

Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously. “What did you just say to me?”

“You heard me, or are you too stupid to understand me?” Harry asked snarkily. “You greasy,
slimy old -”

The words leaving Harry’s mouth abruptly turned to silence before the string of expletives
he’d been about to unleash. Snape’s lips curled up unpleasantly. “I’m sorry, Potter, what were
you saying?”

Harry tried to shout, but was once again met with nothing but silence. Horrified, he grabbed
at his throat.

“When you find yourself able to speak respectfully,” Snape said silkily, “I will lift the
Silencing Charm.”

Unable to bear his smugness for another moment, Harry fled the kitchen and back out into
the garden, where he hid in the narrow gap behind the shed again. He tried everything from
whispers to flat-out screams that tore through his throat like ragged knives, but no matter
what he did, sound wouldn’t leave his mouth. It was utterly awful. What was he going to do?
Was Snape going to leave him like this for the rest of August, silenced and powerless?

Harry had just given up on his futile screaming attempts when he finally registered the sound
of steady breathing behind him. He whirled around and saw Snape leaning against the shed,
arms crossed and eyebrows raised. He still looked unbearably smug. “Finished?”

Harry glared at him, hoping his gaze could convey the depth of his hatred.

“Now,” Snape said, twirling his wand between his fingers, “When I lift the spell I want an
apology. If I don’t get one, I’ll leave it on for the rest of the day.”

Stupid old bastard…

Snape flicked his wand and looked at Harry expectantly. He half-considered remaining silent
- the idea of apologising to Snape was utterly loathsome - but then Harry realised he’d be
confined to silence during Malfoy’s taunting if Snape left the spell on, and he really didn’t
think he could bear that.

“Sorry,” he ground out in a hoarse, strained voice. The screaming hadn’t done his throat any
good.

“I will be brewing,” Snape said, turning around. “Do not disturb me with another one of your
temper tantrums, or I will be highly displeased.”

He flounced back into the house without another word. Harry rubbed his eyes despairingly,
feeling more miserable than he could have ever imagined.

After a little while longer of feeling sorry for himself, Harry just about managed to pull
himself together. He wasn’t going to bother with lunch again - instead, he decided to go back
to gardening, since the prospect of going back into that horrid house actually made him feel a
little bit ill. Harry brutally chopped at a shrub with a pair of gardening shears, fairly mangling
the poor plant, which he was currently imagining to be Snape’s stupid face.

“Well good afternoon, Potter.”

Someday, Harry reflected, he was going to murder Draco Malfoy. Between the sharp
gardening shears he was currently holding and the simmering anger just waiting to boil over,
Harry thought it rather likely that today might just be the day.

“You might want to show me some manners when I speak to you,” Malfoy said mockingly.
“Severus is rather insistent on that, after all…”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry snapped, grinding his back teeth.

“Aww, are you upset about a little Silencing Charm?” Malfoy asked, sidling closer. Harry did
his best not to look at him. “Poor, little baby Potter…”

“JUST SHUT UP!” Harry roared, throwing the shears to the floor, blood pounding in his
ears.
“I don’t think I will,” Malfoy said quietly. “I think I’ll just talk and talk, all about that biking
accident…”

“Oh yeah?” Harry challenged, trying to think up anything he could use back. He was done
tiptoeing around Malfoy, he just couldn’t take it anymore. “Well then I’ll tell the whole
school about how your darling parents got themselves locked up."

Malfoy’s features twisted into a snarl. “Don’t you bring up my parents -”

“Or I’ll tell them about your little tantrum!” Harry shouted. “Poor Draco Malfoy, throwing
fits and crying like a three-year-old! Oh, or I’ll tell them about Snape’s book for traumatised
teenagers -”

The sound of Malfoy’s blow hit Harry before he felt it connect with his face. Sharp pain
blossomed in his cheek. He shoved Malfoy back, and Malfoy stumbled, struggling to keep
his feet. Harry took advantage of his distraction and kicked him hard in the shins. Malfoy
grimaced, then pushed forward and pinned Harry against the fence with surprising strength.
Harry could feel him actually trembling with fury as his forearm pressed into Harry’s neck.
His grey eyes were narrowed and glistening with hatred.

“At least my relatives actually want me!” Malfoy growled. He dug his arm in so hard that
Harry couldn’t breathe past the pressure. “Those filthy Muggles you call a family threw you
out, didn’t they Potter? No one can stand you - in fact, I bet your parents were glad they died
so they didn’t have to put up with you anymore.”

He slammed Harry back against the fence one last time, knocking the wind out of him, before
storming back into the house. Harry fell to his knees, gasping for air. He half-considered
chasing after Malfoy and getting another blow in, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead,
Harry sank backwards against the wall.

He was surprisingly hurt by Malfoy’s words, and he hated himself for it. It was stupid -
Malfoy didn’t know a thing about Harry’s parents, after all - but he’d always been very
skilled at getting under Harry’s skin. Being unwanted…that was something Harry had
struggled with his whole life. The Dursleys had hardwired it into him that nobody wanted
anything to do with Harry.

And they were right - nobody did. That was why he was stuck at Spinner’s End with a man
who hated Harry with a passion, since Snape was the only person who Dumbledore had
managed to force into looking after Harry. That was why he’d originally been planning to
live above a pub for the rest of August. Harry didn’t have anyone.

For what felt like the hundredth time that week, Harry considered just dragging his trunk out
of the house and taking the Knight Bus back to the Leaky Cauldron, away from this horrid
place. The only thing that had stopped Harry was the fact that Snape would probably hear
him dragging his trunk down the staircase and stop Harry before he got out the door.

Harry's face was throbbing from where Malfoy had punched him. He raised a hand to it and
gingerly ran his fingers over his cheek. Uncle Vernon had certainly hit Harry plenty, but
never in the face. Aunt Petunia's slaps certainly stung, but she never hit Harry hard enough
for it to bruise by any stretch. They were too scared of someone noticing something like that.
The only person who dared to go anywhere near Harry's face was Dudley, who declared it a
win every time he managed to break Harry's glasses when trying to bloody his nose.

Harry really hoped Malfoy’s punch wasn’t going to bruise. Knowing Harry's luck, Snape
would see it and go completely nuclear. How bloody fantastic.

Snape didn't spend very long brewing, considering how vehemently he'd insisted on being
left alone. It had to have been just shy of an hour since his and Malfoy's fight when Snape
resurfaced and wrenched open the back door. His face was the picture of outrage. Harry
wearily got to his feet, preparing to be shouted at…

But Snape didn't say a word. He stalked over to Harry, grabbed him by the upper arm, and
practically dragged him inside. He only released Harry once the back door was tightly shut.
A muscle in Snape's jaw was ticking.

"Where is it?" he said through gritted teeth.

Harry gave him a blank look. "Sorry?"

Snape's lips drew back into a snarl. "Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm referring to!
Where did you hide it?"

"Hide what?"

"The necklace!" Snape shouted, slamming a hand onto the kitchen counter. Harry flinched.
"Where did you hide his blasted necklace?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Harry protested.

"Do not lie!" Snape bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth.

"I'm not!"

"Perhaps I ought to jog your memory, then!" Snape took a step closer, until his hooked nose
was barely an inch from Harry’s face. "Instead of employing a fraction of basic empathy, you
decided to follow in the footsteps of your arrogant bully of a father and pick on Draco in
regard to the situation with his parents.”

“What?” Harry demanded. He went to continue protesting, but Snape wasn’t done.

“If that wasn't cruel enough, you then decided to steal one of the only items Draco has of his
parents!” Snape yelled. His face had gone rather red by now. “So, tell me now, where did you
put the necklace?!"

"I didn't put it anywhere because I didn't take it!" Harry shouted. "I didn't even know he had a
necklace!"

"And what makes you think I would trust a single word out of your mouth?" Snape asked
angrily.
"I don't know, but you certainly shouldn't trust Malfoy!"

"Why are you fighting this?" Snape asked, crossing his arms. "We both know perfectly well
that you took it. Just give it back."

“You’re a wizard, aren’t you?” Harry challenged. “Don’t you have some sort of spell to find
things you’ve lost?”

“A Summoning Charm would not work on heirloom jewellery like that, as you knew
perfectly well when you took it!” Snape growled. “Stop trying to wriggle your way out of
this and say where you’ve hidden it!"

A sudden wave of despair washed over Harry. He took a step back from Snape and leaned his
head against the kitchen wall dully. He hadn't taken the necklace, but Snape was never going
to believe that Harry was telling the truth. As far as he was concerned, Harry was a nasty
bully, and nothing he said was going to change Snape’s mind. He couldn’t even tell Snape
about Malfoy’s horrid taunts over the last few days, since Malfoy was still blackmailing him.
This was all a part of that torment, wasn't it? As revenge for Harry's comments earlier,
Malfoy was intentionally getting him in trouble with Snape, knowing he couldn't get out of
it.

It was so viciously clever, and Harry hated Malfoy even more for it.

"Well? Potter?"

Harry didn't respond. He just didn't have the energy to fight anymore. It was so pointless…

"This really is extraordinarily cruel, Potter," Snape muttered. His hand shot out, quick as a
flash. Harry tried to duck away from the blow, but Snape's hand instead latched onto his
upper arm. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Considering your own parental
circumstances I'd have liked to imagine you could muster a modicum of understanding for
Draco's situation, but I suppose an expectation of basic human compassion from the likes of
you was far too much to ask for. Perhaps some time in your room to contemplate your actions
will loosen your tongue."

Keeping a vice grip on Harry's arm, Snape began to stalk from the kitchen. For a single,
heart-stopping moment Harry thought Snape was about to throw him into the cupboard under
the stairs, but they went straight past it, as well as the living room. Harry caught a glimpse of
Malfoy’s white-blonde hair through the open door and felt a sudden surge of rage. Snape had
the whole situation backwards, and it was entirely that git’s fault! He wrenched himself away
from Snape and stormed into the living room, pushing the door so hard it hit the opposite
wall with a loud bang.

“You’re a right lying arsehole, Malfoy!” Harry shouted. Malfoy didn’t reply - he stared at
Harry imperiously, a single eyebrow raised. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. Moments later,
Harry felt Snape seize him and yank him back into the hallway. He shook Harry’s shoulder
and glowered at him.
“Enough!” he said through gritted teeth. “You’ve done enough to him already! With me,
now.”

He pulled Harry along, up the stairs and onto the landing before he was finally released in the
bedroom.

"I will be in my laboratory when you are ready to confess," Snape said irritably. He slammed
the bedroom door shut.

Harry immediately buried his face under the pillow on his bed, hating how close to tears he
felt at that moment. He should have predicted Malfoy doing something like this when Harry
had made the stupid mistake of attempting to threaten him back. Of course Malfoy would
always be two steps ahead of him when it came to sneaking around and being horrid; he was
a Slytherin, after all. This was their bread and butter.

What had Harry been thinking? He wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy kept the necklace hidden
wherever he’d put it for the rest of August, just so Snape dredged up whatever miserable
punishments he could think of to torment Harry until he finally got back to Hogwarts.
Although, Harry thought gloomily, even the start of term didn’t necessarily put an end to this
nightmare. He wouldn’t put it past Snape to stick Harry in detention at school indefinitely
until he confessed to stealing the necklace. Harry was even half-considering confessing just
to get it all over with, but there was no point, since Snape almost certainly wouldn’t leave
Harry alone until he gave the necklace back, and he couldn’t do that since he hadn’t actually
taken the stupid thing in the first place!

He contemplated trying to find where Malfoy had hidden the necklace, but there was no
point. Harry had only been living at Spinner’s End for a week, and Malfoy would certainly
know hiding spots he couldn’t weasel out since he’d been here for so much longer.

Instead, Harry remained in the room and stared blankly at the ceiling as afternoon stretched
into evening, trying to think of ways to prove his innocence, but none of his ideas amounted
to anything useful. Every explanation about how Malfoy had been just as nasty to Harry as he
was supposedly being to Malfoy somehow led back to what Malfoy was blackmailing him
about, which Harry couldn’t let Snape find out. If he got the Dursleys in any kind of trouble,
next summer with them would be hell, and Harry would much rather be stuck scrubbing
cauldrons all year because of a false accusation than stuck at Privet Drive getting the stuffing
beaten out of him.

Harry was in the middle of trying to come up with some sort of plot to get back at Malfoy
when the door was wrenched open. Snape strode over to the bed Harry was lying on and
loomed over him, arms crossed. “Well? Are you going to put a stop to this ridiculous stand-
off and just tell me already?”

“No, sir,” Harry said in a perfect monotone. “I’m just a cruel little bully, after all, and I want
Malfoy to suffer as much as possible.”

Fury flashed in Snape’s eyes. “Don’t you dare cheek me.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Harry asked, leaning back on his elbows and staring up at Snape, feeling
dangerous. “I’m just like my arrogant father, aren’t I, with no respect for anyone, including
you.”

“Then you will stay in here until you see fit as to change your attitude,” Snape growled.

“Fine by me!” Harry said loudly. “I can do this all day and night if you want me to! Locking
me in a bedroom, that’s nothing! I've had far worse!"

Snape didn’t respond. He was looking at Harry with an odd expression on his face, which
gradually smoothed into a crafty smirk. “Do you know what Legilimency is, Potter?”

Harry obviously didn’t, but the triumphant glint in Snape’s eyes let him know it couldn’t be
good.

“Legilimency is the art of magically navigating another person’s mind,” Snape explained
softly. “A skilled Legilimens can interpret the memories of their subject directly from the
brain." He took a step forward. "I am a Legilimens, Potter.”

Harry jumped to his feet at once, his heart speeding up to a frantic beat. “You can read
minds?”

Snape scoffed. “Only a naive fool would refer to it as such. It is far less straightforward - a
Legilimens has to trawl through all sorts of memories in the journey to find the information
they are looking for.” Snape took a menacing step forward. “So you have a choice, Potter.
Either tell me where you hid that necklace, or I will comb through every single little memory
in your mind until I find what I need to know.”

Harry couldn’t breathe. If Snape really went through his mind, looking for information Harry
didn’t have, he’d see every single one of Harry’s most embarrassing memories. He’d see
Dudley beating him up, Petunia screeching at him about how he was a lazy brat, Vernon
throwing him into the cupboard under the stairs with a bruising grip…

“You have half an hour to give me the necklace,” Snape said quietly. “If you still refuse, then
I will start looking for myself.”

He strode from the bedroom in a flurry of black robes, and slammed the door to his
laboratory shut, leaving Harry alone, feeling like an elephant was sitting on his chest. He was
in an impossible situation. There was no way for him to get that necklace back to Snape, who
absolutely could not see those memories.

Maybe he could beg Malfoy to take pity on him and tell Snape Harry hadn’t taken anything?
No, that would never work. Snape was surprisingly strict with Malfoy, and if he found out
that Malfoy had lied to him to get Harry in trouble, he’d almost certainly be furious. Malfoy
wouldn’t dare incriminate himself.

Maybe he could ask Malfoy to give Harry the necklace so he could confess to stealing it and
hand it back in? Snape almost certainly had some sort of miserable punishment that Harry
would be stuck with either way, so that would make Malfoy happy…
But Malfoy wanted Harry to feel as wretched as physically possible, so he was probably
thrilled that Snape was going to read Harry’s mind. No, there was no way to get out of things
that way, so there was only one thing to do. He had to get away from Snape before he could
see those memories and use them to torment Harry for the remainder of his Hogwarts years.

Harry grabbed a worn old backpack that he’d inherited for Dudley which he’d used for
primary school. With his heart in his throat as he glanced at the alarm clock on Malfoy’s
desk, ticking away the precious seconds until his half an hour was up, Harry started to pack.
Nothing but the bare essentials, of course. A change of clothes. His Gringotts key and any
money he had. His food stash. The photo album of his parents. He was loath to leave his
other belongings, like his Nimbus Two-Thousand and the broomstick servicing kit that
Hermione had given him for his birthday, but Harry had to pack light if he was going to get
out of Spinner’s End undetected. He had to leave his trunk and Hedwig’s cage behind, too, if
he was going to successfully manage to escape.

When the backpack was full, Harry zipped it up and slung it over his shoulders. Taking one
last look around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, Harry snatched up his
wand and threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself. Harry did his utmost to try and control
his frantic, panicked breathing as he crept across the landing and towards the staircase. The
only thing that Harry thought would get him in more trouble than what he was in right now
was if Snape caught him running away. Harry was certain he’d at last hit Harry if that
happened. Thank goodness he’d memorised which parts of the house creaked. He was able to
get all the way downstairs without making a sound.

Now came the more difficult part. The living room door was open and judging by the
occasional rustle of a page, Malfoy was currently in there reading. Harry may have been
invisible, but the cloak wasn’t soundproof. He’d hear the door opening. Would he tell on
Harry to Snape? Almost certainly.

Biting the inside of his cheek so hard it drew blood, Harry reached out a hand and placed it
onto the doorknob. Slowly, agonisingly, he twisted it. When the moment felt right, Harry
crouched, ready to run…

And he yanked on the handle. The door swung open, and the sound of a sputtering motorbike
engine filled the hallway.

“Who’s there?” Malfoy called. Harry didn’t even bother to close the front door as he sprang
forward, running out of the house on Spinner’s End and into the street. Years of Dudley’s
Harry Hunting had prepared him for this moment as he sprinted forward, his trainers slapping
against the pavement, occasionally causing the corners of the Invisibility Cloak to flap up.
Harry prayed there weren’t any attentive Muggles eyeing the street. There was a reasonable
chance they’d notice a lone pair of trainers running by themselves, and that could cause all
sorts of problems.

It was easy to get lost in Cokeworth, and even easier to lose any people that were potentially
tailing you. Harry almost immediately ran down an alleyway that completely hid him from
anyone who might have been watching from Snape’s house. As far as he could tell Snape
wasn't following him, but Harry couldn’t be too safe. He didn’t stop running as he navigated
a maze of narrow streets and alleyways, even when he nearly tripped over an irate fox rooting
through an overflowing dustbin. It was only when Harry could no longer breathe through the
stabbing stitch in his side that he dared to stop. He slumped against the brick wall of
someone’s driveway and took deep, gasping breaths. He wasn’t out of the woods yet - he was
still in Cokeworth after all. Harry needed to get away from this town and go somewhere
Snape couldn’t follow him.

When he was fairly certain no Muggles were around to see, Harry yanked off the Invisibility
Cloak and stuffed it under his shirt. Holding it in place with one hand, he stuck out his wand
arm. The violently purple Knight Bus appeared with a loud bang moments later, screeching to
a halt right next to him. A familiar figure jumped from the doors.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick
out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name
is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this -”

Stan abruptly stopped speaking, when he finally realised who he was talking to. His jaw
dropped. “No way! Bloody ’ell, Ern, Harry Potter’s come back!”

“Yeah, yeah, hi,” Harry said impatiently, jumping onto the bus and shoving a fistful of silver
at the conductor. “Is that enough to get me to London?”

“Should be, yeah,” Stan said, counting the Sickles in his palm. “You’ve got enough for an ’ot
chocolate, if ya like?”

“Nah, I’m alright,” Harry mumbled, flattening his fringe down over his scar. The few other
witches and wizards on the bus generally didn’t seem to care who had just gotten on, but a
couple of witches at the back had glanced up curiously - probably when they’d heard Stan
shout his name out, Harry realised with a wince. He sat down on a rickety-looking chair that
nearly shot out from under him as the Knight Bus jumped forwards with a bang. The beds
Harry had seen last time had all been replaced by a number of these mismatched chairs,
which also weren’t nailed down when Harry rather thought they ought to be…

“’Choo doing all the way up here, eh, Neville?” Stan asked, still calling Harry by the name
he’d given last time he’d ridden the Knight Bus. “I fought we already dropped you in
London! How’d ya get up north?”

“I’m up north, then?” Harry asked blankly.

“’Course you are!” Stan snorted. “You need to ’ave a good look at a map, Neville! That
Cokeworth place is right ’round Leeds. We was actually driving through when you flagged us
down, eh, Ern?”

“Ar,” Ernie commented from where he was driving.

Leeds. That explained Maureen’s strong Yorkshire accent, then. And the accent of the shop
assistant who Malfoy had called a filthy Muggle, come to think of it. But Snape had grown
up in Cokeworth, based on what Maureen had told Harry, and he certainly didn’t have a
Yorkshire accent. That was strange…
Harry suddenly found himself wondering what his mother had sounded like.

But any curiosity Harry was feeling was quickly quenched by the thought of Snape’s snarling
features bearing down at him. Harry shivered. He was really beginning to regret his badly
thought-out plan to just sprint straight out of the door. He’d had that whole half an hour to
sneak out quietly, but by wrenching the door open and bolting he’d probably alerted Snape to
his absence within about three minutes of his departure. Was there any way for Snape to
figure out that Harry had taken the Knight Bus? He hadn’t seen him, sure, but Harry was
certain that with the aid of magic Snape would be able to quickly ascertain that Harry was not
in Cokeworth any longer, and there were only so many ways you could travel magically.
Harry couldn’t Apparate yet obviously, and if Snape knew he’d taken the Knight Bus when
he’d run away from Privet Drive he’d almost certainly check… and the Knight Bus appeared
as soon as you flagged it down! Snape could appear and swoop down on Harry at any
moment -

“You ’eaded back to the Leaky, then?” Stan asked.

“What?” Harry said distractedly. “Er - yeah, I suppose…”

Harry hadn’t actually given much thought to where he was headed, just that he needed to get
as far away from Snape as was physically possible.

“You’re in luck, then!” Stan beamed. “Mr Knowles is gettin’ off there, and ’e’s next in the
queue, so you can ’op off with ’im soon as we’ve dropped these lovely ladies in Bath…”

He attempted a pitiful wink directed at the two witches in the back who had stared at Harry
when he’d gotten on the bus. They both giggled and cast sidelong glances at Stan.

Harry stared at his knees, thinking hard. He supposed the Leaky Cauldron could do - he
would just pay to be put up in a room for the last few weeks of August like he’d originally
planned. If Snape came looking and tried to take him back, he’d just refuse to go until the
man was forced to get Dumbledore. He hadn’t argued hard enough originally, but after
spending one terrible week living with Snape, Harry was perfectly willing to shout at
Dumbledore himself if it meant he got to stay somewhere else.

Besides, Harry was rather angry with Dumbledore. Hadn’t he promised to check in on Harry
at Snape's house in the Leaky Cauldron before he’d sent Harry packing to live in hell on
earth? Well, it had been a whole week, and he hadn’t seen hair nor hide of Dumbledore! In all
likelihood, Dumbledore had meant he would be checking in with Snape, who obviously
wouldn’t say if he was being a complete and total git…

The witches at the back of the bus were quickly dropped in Bath, and both craned their necks
to try and get a good look at Harry as they got off. He sank down into the seat, wishing he
could disappear. With every passing minute, as Stan happily chatted with Ernie, Harry felt his
dread only grow. At any moment, Snape might summon the Knight Bus and find Harry
sitting here. He would then proceed to murder Harry right here in front of Stan and Ernie. He
was desperate to get off as soon as possible.
Luckily, the bus finally pulled up to the familiar street outside of Diagon Alley before that
happened. Mr Knowles, a stooped old wizard with a few lonely strands of grey hair clinging
to his bald forehead, made to get off first. He ended up blocking the door, having a go at Stan
for how long the Knight Bus had taken to get him there. Harry rolled his eyes, since waiting
around to shout at the conductor was making the man’s journey take even longer, and glanced
past Mr Knowles to take a look at the Leaky Cauldron. He froze as he saw who was standing
at the entrance.

Why was the bloody Minister for Magic always at the blasted pub? Did he ever work?

Fudge was chatting with a blonde, square-jawed witch who was scribbling away in a
notebook with an acid-green quill. The Muggles walking past somehow didn't notice this.

While Harry didn't get the impression that Minister Fudge was looking for him like he had
been last time, he still was reluctant to get off the bus and walk past. Fudge had given him a
stern talking-to about staying in Diagon Alley and not wandering into Muggle London, Harry
didn't think it was the best idea for the Minister to see him waltz back into Diagon Alley like
that. Harry didn’t know if he knew he’d been moved to Spinner’s End, but he was almost
certain that Fudge would send him straight back to Snape if he was aware. Harry wasn't
exactly about to get in a shouting match with one of the most important men in magical
Britain, especially as he'd just let Harry off lightly for blowing up Aunt Marge, so he knew
Fudge absolutely could not see him right now. He considered using the Invisibility Cloak, but
Harry couldn't put that on while he was on the Knight Bus, or on the street that was positively
crawling with Muggles. He was stuck.

Stan poked Harry’s arm, jolting him out of his thoughts. "Aren't you gettin' off 'ere?"

"Er," Harry said, taking a step back so he wasn't visible through the door, "actually…I'm
super sorry, I just remembered I need to pick something up. Um, a birthday cake for my
friend. We're having a party in Diagon Alley, see…"

"Blimey, Neville, you're a right scatterbrain!" Stan said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Didja
leave it back in that Cokeworth place?"

"Oh, no!" Harry said quickly. "No, it's actually in, er - in Hampstead! Yeah. I need to pick it
up from a friend's house."

"Well, that ain't too far…" Stan said thoughtfully. "Tell ya what. Since it's you and all, we'll
make a quick detour and drop you, eh? Let's go, Ern!"

The bus shot off moments later. Harry generally tried to avoid using his fame for things, but
at moments like this it did happen to be extraordinarily useful to use his name to try and get
to Hermione’s house. It was the only other place he could think of to go…

"Where d'you want to be dropped?" Stan asked.

"Um," Harry said. The panic about someone coming after him was making Harry's brain
short circuit, and he was completely blanking on Hermione's full address. "Just - just the
general area?"
Stan frowned at him. "Pretty big area, innit? Well, we're comin' up to the high street now…"

"Yep, that's it!" Harry said quickly. The bus came to a sudden stop, nearly toppling Stan over.
"It's right around the corner from here. Thanks guys."

"Orright," Stan said, tipping his cap to Harry as he jumped off the bus. "Bye, Neville!"

Harry took a deep, shaky breath as the bus zoomed away down the street. He'd been on the
verge of some sort of nervous breakdown ever since Snape had threatened to Legilimise him,
and for the first time since he'd left Spinner's End, Harry felt like he could actually breathe
again. He still didn't understand why he got like that sometimes - it felt like Harry's lungs
stopped working, and every time Harry was fairly certain he would never be able to breathe
again, and that he was going to drop dead from the stress of whatever was going on. He didn't
know what was wrong with him, and he'd had the problem for as long as he could remember,
but he obviously wasn't going to go to the Dursleys about it. They wouldn't care, for one
thing, and they also tended to make Harry's breathing problem worse. He just had to get on
with it, as unpleasant as it was.

Once Harry was feeling a little calmer, he decided it was time to start moving. Without the
all-consuming panic of getting off the Knight Bus and away from Snape taking up the
majority of his headspace, Harry could at last recall Hermione's address. Unfortunately, that
wasn't very helpful since he didn't have a clue where this random high street the Knight Bus
had dropped him off at was in relation to Hermione's road. Well, there was nothing for it.
Harry hitched his backpack up his shoulders and started walking.

His plan was patchy at best, Harry knew that. He wasn't even entirely sure if the Grangers
were actually back from France yet - it had either been the 15th or the 19th, Harry couldn't
quite remember. If it really was the 15th, Harry would be just about fine, but if it was the 19th
it would still be days before anyone got home. Harry desperately wished he'd packed his
friends' letters so he could just check. If they weren't back…maybe Harry could break into
their shed or something? It was summer, so it wasn't like he'd freeze to death. Besides, Harry
was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places. He hoped the Grangers wouldn't be too angry,
but he could probably get out of the shed and act like he hadn't been staying there before they
got back. Or, he'd head back to Diagon Alley in the morning when the Minister would have
finally cleared off and when there wasn't a chance of Snape finding him riding the Knight
Bus.

Still, if Harry wanted to sleep in the Grangers' shed, he actually had to find their house first,
which was becoming increasingly difficult as the sun slowly set. All of the houses here
looked the same.

He walked, and walked, and walked some more. No luck. Harry considered calling the
Knight Bus again, but was overcome by the vivid image of Snape jumping off in a purple
conductor uniform to seize him and immediately decided against it. Apparently, he was just
going to walk around north London for the foreseeable future. All night, if he had to…

Harry groaned. In his journey through the maze-like streets, he'd found himself in a dead end
alleyway. For some reason, that filled Harry with crushing despair as the implications of his
situation really started to sink in. He was thirteen, alone in a strange part of London,
penniless and homeless. He was no closer to finding Hermione's house than when he started.

He leaned his head against the wall of a house and shut his eyes. Now that the panic had
worn off, Harry was starting to realise how stupid what he'd just done was. Maybe he should
just go back…maybe Harry could pretend he'd been hiding at Maureen's the whole time so
Snape didn't know just how far Harry had strayed? Sure, he'd be in a load of trouble…but at
least he had a roof over his head at Spinner's End. It might be kind of miserable there, but it
was a far sight better than being stranded on the streets. Harry was surprised he thought that -
even when he’d been stranded in Magnolia Crescent with no way to get out of Surrey, he’d
never even considered for a second going back to Privet Drive. In fact, it had been the least
appealing of his options, since Harry could only imagine what awful things Uncle Vernon
would do to him for blowing up his sister…

No, even though Spinner’s End was a pretty grim place, it was a far sight better than Privet
Drive. In fact, if Harry was forced to choose between the Dursleys or Snape and Malfoy, he’d
choose the latter every single time. As much as Harry hated Snape, with the distance he had
from the situation now Harry could reluctantly admit to himself that Snape hadn't been
completely terrible. He didn't like Harry, but unlike the Dursleys, he didn't take that hatred out
through beatings and starvation. In fact, the only missed meals Harry had faced at Spinner's
End had been the ones he'd skipped himself. The worst Snape did was shout and send Harry
to his room. And threaten to Legilimise him, but he did think Harry had stolen something that
was apparently deeply precious to Malfoy, even if his reasons for thinking that were
completely stupid. And Snape hadn't done it immediately, like Harry had expected. He'd just
threatened it…

And maybe, just maybe, if Harry begged enough, Snape wouldn't do it. Snape himself had
even said at the start of his stay at Spinner's End that he knew about Harry and Malfoy's
relationship. Perhaps Harry could convince him that Malfoy really had hidden it himself, or -

"Potter!"

Harry wheeled around and clapped one hand over his mouth. Snape was standing at the end
of the alleyway, blocking Harry’s exit. His expression was strange - clear, obvious panic, and
something else. Something deeper, lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. Terror coiled in
Harry’s chest.

I am in so much trouble.
 He Knows
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“What on earth are you doing out here?” Snape hissed, his nostrils flaring. “Are you truly
mad?!”

Harry pressed himself up against the back wall of the alleyway, his heart beating frantically.

“Of all the foolish, impulsive -” Snape cut himself off and huffed loudly. “You could have
been dead for all I knew! You didn’t inform a single person that you left the house! Do you
have any idea how worried -”

Snape abruptly stopped speaking again, and looked away, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He
was obviously angry - furious, really. Harry was completely dead. He was really in for it now,
wasn’t he?

“How did you even find me?” he whispered.

“I have my ways,” Snape said cryptically. He remained at the entrance of the narrow alley.
There was no way to slip past him unless Harry ran past and ducked under his arms, but he
expected Snape would grab onto him if Harry tried to do that. He braced himself for Snape to
continue his angry rant, but for some odd reason, the man remained silent. That was
unexpected. Shouldn't Snape have started in on a cutting lecture by now?

But Snape hadn't really reacted at all, yet. He was just staring at Harry rather intensely, with a
slight frown tugging at his lips. It wasn’t an irritated frown, though - well, not entirely. In
fact, Harry got the unmistakable impression that Snape was a bit confused, and trying to
work something out.

No one spoke for a long time, until Harry dared to break the silence. “Can you just leave?”

Snape gave him an incredulous look. “I’m not going to allow you to wander Muggle London
alone at night! Are you truly deluded? You are coming back with me immediately! What
prompted you to engage in such an utterly foolish stunt?”

“I was trying to get away from you and Malfoy, actually,” Harry growled. He expected Snape
to snap out a biting reply, but once again, he didn’t say a word. He just continued to stare at
Harry with that odd, inscrutable expression.

Snape slowly took a step forward.

Harry plunged a hand into his pocket and pointed his wand at Snape. “Don’t! Stay back!”

Snape muttered an oath under his breath and slowly raised his hands in a placating gesture.
The expression on his face morphed into something new - a look that was equal parts
horrified understanding and dread. “Merlin’s beard, I’m not going to hurt you, Potter! Put the
wand away, now.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harry challenged. His hand was trembling. “Forgive me if I’m not so sure about
that.”

Snape seemed to deflate somehow. He sighed very loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Let me take a different approach, then. If you cast a single spell, the Ministry will once
again swoop down onto you for a violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of
Underage Sorcery. I’m sure you would rather not risk expulsion for a second time this
summer?”

Shit. Snape was right - Harry couldn’t cast any spells without getting thrown out of
Hogwarts, could he? Harry certainly wasn’t willing to risk that, and that meant Snape was
free to do whatever he wished here…

Harry bit down hard on his lip, tried to calm his shaky breathing, and slowly placed his wand
back in his pocket. Snape nodded at him. “Thank you.”

"Oh, fuck you," Harry spat, trying to mask his terror with anger. It was easier, less vulnerable,
especially when he felt so out of control here. He didn’t have a single thing he could do to
defend himself against Snape, who was bigger, stronger, and had more magic at his disposal.
Harry was shaking, and hoped it was too dark for Snape to tell.

"I'm really not going to hurt you," Snape repeated, and if Harry didn't know better he'd say
Snape was the scared one. His eyes were strangely wide. "Potter, why do you think -"

“Leave me alone,” Harry whispered. He felt defenceless without access to magic, and Snape's
repeated assurances weren't ringing true. He had to be lulling Harry into a false sense of
security. “Please.”

“No. That would be dangerous and negligent.”

Harry hugged himself with his arms and tried to make himself as small as possible. He
watched Snape like a cornered animal, prepared in case he tried to step forward again, but the
man didn’t move an inch.

“So, Potter,” Snape drawled, not budging from the exit. “What exactly was the plan here,
hmm? Did you even have one?”

“Yes, actually,” Harry said defiantly. “I was going to go to Hermione’s family.”

“Miss Granger, who is currently abroad with her parents?”

“She said they’d be back by now!” Harry protested, even though he wasn’t entirely certain if
Hermione had returned from France or not.

“Well, you clearly misunderstood her,” Snape said. He tutted, and shook his head. “Her house
is empty. It is also, I might add, half an hour by foot in the opposite direction to where you
were walking. If this was your plan, you really need to sort out your appalling sense of
direction…”

Harry didn’t respond to that final comment - he was too focused on the first. “You were at
Hermione’s house? What?”

“I was looking for you.”

It was strange to think that Snape had been at Hermione’s house. Or that he even knew where
she lived, actually. Where else had Snape gone while looking for Harry? How many places
had he been before he ended up on this particular street? Harry had been out for a few hours
by now.

“How about we go back to Spinner’s End so we can talk somewhere a bit more civilised than
a dark alleyway?” Snape suggested when Harry's silence dragged on for too long. He rolled
his eyes.

“Oh, we’re going to talk, are we?” Harry said, his words positively dripping with sarcasm.
“Or are you just going to read my mind?”

Snape exhaled loudly. “I was never actually going to do it, Potter!”

“You sure sounded like you were planning to!” Harry said indignantly.

“It was an empty threat to make you confess!” Snape said, the frustration in his tone clear.
“When you still refused to say anything, I did start to realise I could have misjudged the
situation, but by the time I came to speak to you about it you’d vanished!”

“Well what was I supposed to do?” Harry shouted. “You were going to go through my
memories, you wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said or did!”

“That was wrong of me.”

Harry fell silent, his mouth hanging open with shock. Had Snape seriously just admitted
fault?

“I had no reason to believe you a liar outside of my pre-existing prejudices," Snape

continued, expression inscrutable. Only the slight tension in his jaw alerted Harry to how
reluctantly this apology was being given. "I spoke to Draco, and he told me that he framed
you for stealing the necklace so that you would get in trouble. I have been rather unjust, I
fear.”

Harry didn’t respond to any of that. Snape was only now realising he’d been unfair? What a
joke.

“Potter, come on,” Snape pleaded. "You obviously can't stay out here. You realise that, don't
you?"

“Why do you even care?” Harry asked, the volume of his voice climbing. “You hate me, I
know you do! Stop acting like you give a damn about what happens to me and leave me here!
I’ll manage by myself. I always have.”

“No. I am not going to leave,” Snape said for the third time.

Harry just wished more than anything that Snape would stop staring at him the way he was.
Normally, he glowered at Harry like he was a bit of scum on the toe of his shoe. Not
anymore. The look he was giving Harry now was something softer, kinder, and Harry
absolutely hated it. He didn’t know what it meant, and that worried him.

“Harry.”

He jumped slightly. Had Harry just heard that properly? Had Snape seriously just used his
first name?

“I… I first met Lily in the park one day,” Snape said finally, his voice barely louder than a
whisper. Harry stiffened, and strained his ears to listen. “We were both nine years old at the
time. I instantly knew she was a witch, because she simply had the most wonderful magic.
She used to grow flowers in the palm of her hand, or jump from the highest point off a swing
and just float down… you have her eyes, you know.”

A look of great pain had now crossed Snape’s face, and Harry didn’t dare to speak as the man
trailed off, turning his face away from view, hiding in the harsh shadows cast by the
streetlights. Harry inhaled shakily, his chest tight, and waited, praying Snape would continue.
He was hanging onto his every word.

“What I mean to say from all this," Snape murmured, downcast eyes lifting to meet Harry's,
"is that your mother was one of the only true friends I ever had in my life. She was nothing
but kind to me despite my many flaws, and I would be dishonouring her memory if I allowed
you to rot on the streets in the cold. In fact, I already have been dishonouring her by treating
you so unfairly, and I owe both Lily and you an apology. I’m sorry, Harry.”

That got his attention. Not only had Snape actually apologised, but he’d called Harry by his
first name again. That had never happened before. He wasn’t hearing things, then…

What was going on here? What could have possibly prompted Snape to abruptly realise how
horrid he was? Surely it couldn’t just be the necklace incident?

“I’d appreciate it if you came back to Spinner’s End with me so we can talk properly,” he
said quietly. “Things are not going to continue in the manner they have for the past week, I
promise you. Can you please just come with me already?”

I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Harry thought wearily. As much of a bastard as Snape
was, he seemed pretty insistent that he wasn’t going to abandon Harry in this alleyway.
Besides, even before Snape had shown up, Harry had been considering heading back. A
house containing two people he hated was still a house, after all. Sleeping rough wasn’t all
that appealing.

But still, Harry was so scared to go back to Spinner’s End. Even after everything Snape had
said, Harry still felt like he was in a world of trouble, and that Snape would flip the switch
and go ballistic as soon as he was back in the privacy of his own home. Uncle Vernon and
Aunt Petunia were always lying when they promised Harry wasn’t in trouble. He’d learnt
very quickly never to believe them.

“Harry?”

His first name again. That broke Harry out of the anxious loop of his thoughts for a moment.
The usage of his name seemed to have the unique ability to gain Harry’s undivided attention
when it came from Snape.

“If I do come back, will you tell me more about my mum?” he asked in a small voice.

Snape sucked in a breath and pressed his lips together. His eyes seemed overbright, but Harry
convinced himself it was just a trick of the light. A moment later, Snape gave Harry a tight
nod, intentionally not looking at him. “I will endeavour to, yes.”

Harry’s hope instantly died. That wasn’t even a real, sincere promise, and that one small
tidbit would be all he ever got -

Snape noticed Harry’s reaction and his shoulders slumped. “You have to understand that this
is a very difficult matter for me to discuss. That is the reason I reacted in the manner which
you witnessed when you confronted me the morning after visiting with Maureen. Lily’s life
and death is an area of great pain for me, and I struggle to speak about her.”

Oh. Harry hadn’t considered things from that angle at all. He’d automatically assumed that
Snape’s refusal to talk to Harry about his mum had been entirely motivated by spite; that he
hated Harry so deeply that he wanted to keep any last scrap of his mother’s memory away
just to hurt him. Harry had never considered that Snape’s reluctance actually came from grief,
of all things. Seeing this display of such deep, raw emotion which was currently written all
over Snape’s face was incredibly humanising, but it also made a strangely guilty sensation
squirm in Harry’s stomach.

“If it’s too painful for you, I don’t want to make you talk about her -”

“No.” Snape interrupted, holding up a hand. “That is not what I meant. I will talk to you
about Lily if you return with me now, I am simply asking for a bit of patience in the matter.”

“Well yeah, of course.” Harry would take any scrap of information about his mum that he
could get, even if it took Snape a little time to manage it. He honestly couldn’t believe Snape
was offering this at all.

Snape outstretched a hand, palm facing up. “Shall we return, then?”

“Fine,” Harry said reluctantly, rubbing his hands across his arms to try and suppress his
shivers. He could do this - if he was going to hear stories about his mum at last, he would try
again at Spinner’s End. That could make it worth it.

“Splendid.” Snape was visibly relieved. “I will now take your arm to Apparate us back,
then.”
Harry stood frozen in place as Snape slowly walked down the alley towards him. He reached
his outstretched hand and gently took hold of Harry’s bicep. Even though Harry knew Snape
was going to take his arm, he still automatically tensed up. Adrenaline was pumping through
him, and he felt jumpier than usual. He was relieved when Snape didn’t comment, but that
strange, unidentifiable emotion that had been stirring in the depths of his eyes throughout
their entire conversation seemed to intensify.

What was going on with Snape tonight? Why wasn’t he shouting and raging at Harry for
running off after he’d been explicitly warned against it? Why was he being so… nice?

Moments later, Harry’s surroundings vanished, and he was once again overcome by the
unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a tight tube that he was entirely too big for.
When it was finally over Harry’s legs crumpled out from under him, and it was only Snape’s
steadying grasp of Harry’s arm that stopped him from toppling to the ground as he gasped for
air, struggling to force down the looming nausea.

“You don’t Apparate often, do you?” Snape remarked.

Harry shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “No…first time was with…with
Dumbledore.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Snape corrected absently, but it was clear his mind was far from the
conversation. He was currently scanning the streets closely. “Come on, let’s go. It's not safe
out here.”

He began to walk, casting nervous glances into shadowed corners as they made their way out
of the side road Harry had Apparated into with Dumbledore the week before. Harry couldn’t
help but notice that Snape hadn’t let go of his arm, but didn’t dare ask the man to. He
supposed he wasn’t trusted to walk along by himself without doing another runner, and was
scared asking to be released might make Snape finally explode and snap back to his usual
angry self.

What the hell had Harry been thinking, agreeing to come back here? Had he suffered a
temporary lapse of sanity?

A mounting sense of fear rose in Harry as they walked along, drawing closer to the house.
What was Snape going to do to him when they got back inside? He’d clearly been looking for
Harry quite intensively, and was surely furious that Harry had interrupted his evening…
Perhaps Snape was just hiding it, waiting to flip out and smack Harry as soon as they were
out of the watchful eyes of the neighbourhood. The Dursleys had been the same way. They’d
never hurt Harry publicly, but in private…

Harry tried in vain to look for an escape, but how could he get away with Snape holding onto
him? He was screwed. He’d had one runaway attempt and had completely and utterly
butchered it.

All too soon, they reached the front door of Snape’s house, which Harry was escorted inside
of. Snape locked the door behind him with his wand, and Harry’s mouth went dry. No escape.
He was stuck in here with no way out…
“Go into the living room and wait for me,” Snape ordered, oblivious to Harry’s growing
panic. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

Talk. Yeah, right. Harry sat himself on the piece of furniture situated farthest from Snape’s
usual high-backed armchair. The professor didn’t come in right away, which only worsened
Harry’s anticipatory dread. Was Snape getting a cane to beat Harry with, or something
worse? Some magical tool of punishment that inflicted pain Harry couldn’t even begin to
imagine?

But when Snape finally walked into the room, causing Harry to jump a little, he was simply
carrying two opaque white pots, each no bigger than the palm of his hand, which he set down
on the coffee table before taking a seat in his armchair. He examined Harry closely with his
dark eyes. They were like two black tunnels - you didn't have a clue what was happening on
the other side.

“Before we discuss any of this running away business, I have something quite important that
I need you to explain immediately,” Snape said, leaning forward slightly. “You see, when
Draco informed me about the circumstances which forced your departure, I also found out
something else. A secret that you’d asked him to keep from me.”

A sudden wave of nausea hit Harry as he realised what Snape was referring to.

“He’s lying,” he said quickly, desperately. This was worse than any of his nightmares. Snape
couldn’t know about the bruises, he couldn’t. He was too smart, he’d easily put it all
together!

“How can you know that Draco is lying if you haven’t heard what this secret is?”

Damn. Harry was really panicking, and it was making him sloppy. He had to think, he had to
think quickly and come up with something convincing, but his brain was full of fizzling static
and the words weren't coming -

“According to Draco,” Snape said carefully, “he walked into your bedroom a few days ago
and saw a series of strange injuries on your back and torso, which you seemed very defensive
about. Can you explain to me how you sustained these contusions?”

“I - I fell out of a tree,” he lied.

“Why would you feel the need to go to such drastic lengths to hide a tree-climbing accident?”
Snape asked, giving him a piercing look. It felt as though he could see into Harry’s very soul.
"Cease with the lying, Potter."

“I’m not!" Harry said desperately, digging his fingernails into his forearms, "I’m not lying!”

“You are,” Snape said quietly. “And I would appreciate it if you didn’t. As I said to you
earlier, I have no reason to distrust your word or to brand you a liar at the moment, and I
would not like for that to change.”
That was completely unfair. This wasn’t lying, it was Harry doing what he had to so the
Dursleys never found out how dangerously close to the truth Snape was!

“You informed Draco that you were involved in a biking accident, which is where you
claimed the injuries came from,” Snape added, rhythmically tapping one finger against the
arm of his chair. “Not that he knew what that was, of course… I doubt that’s what really
occurred, however.”

“Malfoy doesn’t know what a bike is?” Harry asked blankly.

“No, he does not. Don’t change the subject,” Snape said sternly. “I need you to tell me what
actually happened to you.”

“Nothing’s happened!” Harry shouted. Maybe, just maybe, if he screamed it loud enough,
Snape would finally give up and let it go.

“These injuries can’t have appeared out of thin air,” Snape said with a shake of his head.
“There has to be some sort of explanation, and I demand to hear it. What happened, Potter?"

“It’s none of your bloody business what happened to me!” Harry protested, glowering at
Snape. “I’m fine, he’s exaggerating, so just leave it!”

“It is my business, as a matter of fact,” Snape said coolly, steepling his fingers, “and your
reluctance to explain is only confirming my suspicions. As the person with authority over
you currently, I need to ensure you are safe. Tell me what happened to you, and tell me now.”

Despite Snape’s stern tones, Harry was undeterred. He knew that any amount of irritation
Snape was feeling was nothing in comparison to what would happen to him if he ratted out
the Dursleys. “I - I got into a fight. Back in Little Whinging.”

“No, you didn’t!” Snape made a frustrated noise, got to his feet and began to pace.

“I did!” Harry said, praying the man would believe him. “I just didn’t want to tell you
because I didn’t want to get in more trouble!”

“What have I said about falsehoods?” Snape hissed, halting his movement across the living
room. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at Harry. His face was even sterner than
it had been the time Harry had thrown a firework in Goyle's cauldron to steal Polyjuice
ingredients. “I know you’re not telling the truth, it’s written all over your face!"

He took a few steps forward, and crouched down so his face was level with Harry's, so Harry
had no choice but to meet Snape's dark, fervent eyes. "Your reluctance to explain coupled
with your general behaviour over this past week has told me almost everything I need to
know, do you realise that? Now are you going to say what we both know happened here, or
do I have to come out and say it for you?”

“You don’t have to say anything because there’s nothing to say!” Harry’s heart was pounding
in his ears as the situation continued to spin further and further out of his control. This
couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t -
“Harry,” Snape said in that awful, gentle voice, using his first name once again. “Your
relatives were the ones who hurt you, weren’t they?”

Harry didn’t respond, he could feel himself shaking, and he wrapped his arms tightly around
himself, not meeting Snape’s eyes, because he knew. Snape, of all people, knew Harry’s
darkest secret.

“I need you to tell me, Harry,” Snape said in a strained voice. “Am I right?”

Wordlessly, finally, he nodded, barely registering the way Snape crumpled in on himself after
his confirmation, too consumed by the torrent of his own emotions. After all, what was the
point in lying anymore? The truth was out, it was weighing down on Harry’s shoulders like
heavy chains, and he didn’t know how he was expected to carry it.

And now Snape knew that Harry was pathetic, that his relatives hated him. What if he told all
the Slytherins? What if Snape used it as a weapon in his arsenal of verbal taunts? Harry
didn’t think he could bear that, he just couldn’t. What was he going to do now? Harry
couldn’t breathe, it felt like his chest was caving in on him and there wasn’t a single molecule
of oxygen travelling to his head, he couldn’t breathe and he was going to die -

“Take a deep breath,” Snape said. He’d put his hands on Harry’s forearms. When had that
happened? “Breathe in and out with me.” Snape started inhaling and exhaling in a very
exaggerated manner. “Copy me.”

At first, Harry thought it was slightly stupid, because nothing could ever dislodge what felt
like a rock sitting directly in the centre of his chest. He copied Snape all the same, though,
since Harry thought if he couldn’t get his lungs to start working properly soon, he would
collapse.

To his immense shock, Harry was wrong. Eventually, somehow, his breathing slowed and his
heart calmed, leaving Harry feeling a lot less like he was going to die, yet incredibly
embarrassed. He yanked his arms away and stared at a fixed point on the wall, trying to make
himself as small as possible while he waited for Snape to taunt him somehow over that
spectacle. Shockingly, he didn’t say a word. He just kept watching.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered eventually, utterly mortified.

“There is no need to apologise,” Snape said briskly. Harry couldn’t read his face because he
refused to look up until the fierce burning in his cheeks died down. “This sort of discussion
would send anyone into a panic attack, I believe. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

A panic attack? Harry had never heard his weird breathing problem referred to as such
before. He supposed that made sense as a descriptor, since whenever Harry couldn’t breathe,
the sensation was accompanied by a feeling of all-consuming anxiety and dread. Filled with a
sudden rising disgust with himself, Harry slumped back into the sofa, burying his face in his
hands. He couldn't believe that had just happened in front of Snape. How completely and
utterly humiliating…
But what happened now? Where did you even go after something like this got brought out
into the open? Harry felt well and truly sick to his stomach.

At long last, Snape cleared his throat. “I need to see these injuries.”

“Oh, hell no!” Harry said, throwing himself to the other side of the sofa and putting his arms
up defensively, feeling the fear flood straight back.

“Harry…”

“No!” he hissed. “I’m fine, just leave it!”

“I can help,” Snape said, gesturing to the pots on his table. They had to be potions, then.
“And I need to look at them so I can properly ascertain their severity. Diagnostic Charms can
only take you so far.”

I’ve been here ages, now, they barely hurt anymore!” Harry lied.

“I cannot allow you to remain hurt without doing something about it,” Snape said, moving
closer. “The injuries could be infected, or something that can’t heal without medical
intervention -”

“Why do you even care?” Harry shouted, terror and disgust practically choking him.
“You’ve been nothing but awful to me the whole time you’ve known me, what’s changed?!
Why do you suddenly care about any of this?”

He suddenly stopped himself, remembering that this was Snape he was shouting at. A sudden
surge of anxiety hit him. What on earth was he thinking? Harry was almost certainly getting
on Snape’s last nerve, especially since he’d just run away, and he was only making things
worse, getting himself into more trouble. What was Snape going to do to Harry now?

Snape seemed to notice Harry’s anxious reaction and his shoulders stiffened. “You won’t be
in trouble for getting upset. In fact, if shouting at me makes this process easier for you, feel
free to carry on.”

“There isn’t going to be a process because you’re not seeing them!” he said angrily. “It’s not
like I’m on death’s door, it’s just a couple of bruises! I’m fine!

“I need to see them so I can be assured of that and treat the injuries as needed,” Snape said,
lacing his fingers together. “I have a duty of care, you realise? I promise you that I will be as
quick as possible.”

“I don’t want to.”

Snape sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked exhausted. “Do you want me to
try and track down Madam Pomfrey so she can do it instead? I believe she is currently
holidaying in Ibiza, but she would in all likelihood come over here and -”

“I don’t want her seeing anything either!” Harry protested hotly.

“Your choice is either myself or Madam Pomfrey,” Snape said firmly. “You get to decide
who, but somebody has to look at these injuries and treat them.”

“I hate you,” Harry growled, bunching his hands into fists.

“You can hate me all you like, but it does not change what needs to happen,” Snape said
tonelessly.

“You’re a stupid bastard, and you can fuck off.”

That sort of disrespect normally would have made Snape completely lose it, which is what
Harry desperately wanted to happen. He knew how to deal with Snape when he was angry,
not when he was like this. To his immense shock, Snape’s expression didn’t even flicker. He
remained collected as he expectantly waited for Harry to choose.

“How the hell are you so calm?” Harry demanded, slamming his palm onto the sofa arm as
his frustrations boiled over. “You’ve spent all week having a go at me if I so much as look at
you funny, and suddenly you’re in complete control of your emotions? How?!”

“Occlumency,” Snape said simply.

Harry frowned. “Ocky-what?”

“Occlumency,” Snape repeated in a flat voice devoid of inflection. “It’s a form of mental arts
I am currently employing which assists me with emotional regulation.”

“Oh." Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "I’ve never heard of that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to have,” Snape said. Harry couldn’t work out if that was meant to be
an insult or not. “If you’d like, I can tell you more about it after your injuries have been seen
to.”

Harry groaned. “They’re really not that bad! Just drop it already!”

“I am not going to drop it!” Snape said fiercely. “Harry, I understand this is the last thing you
want to happen, but nonetheless, it is happening. This is by no means a pleasant matter for
either one of us, and I would also like for this to be done with, but I cannot let this go until I
make sure your health is attended to. Dragging this out is not going to make this any easier,
so I would highly recommend you stop fighting me and make your decision. Would you like
me to deal with your injuries, or would you like me to try and find Madam Pomfrey so she
can do it?”

Harry pressed his lips together and stared at his hands, which were trembling. He knew, deep
down, that no matter how much he railed against Snape there was just no getting out of this.
He was going to make Harry show someone, and now all there was to do was to decide who.

His immediate instinct was to ask for Madam Pomfrey, but Harry had to dismiss that idea
rather quickly. If she was on holiday, he’d feel terrible about dragging her away to deal with
him. Besides, she didn’t know about the Dursleys right now, but Snape did. Harry would
really prefer to limit the number of people who did and didn’t know about his home life.
Right now, it was only Snape, and Harry would vastly prefer to keep things that way.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “You, then.”

If Snape was surprised by Harry’s answer, he didn’t show it. “Alright. I need you to remove
your shirt.”

Harry nodded, biting down on his lip so hard it drew blood. He hated this so much, but he
just needed to get it over with. Just do it, like ripping off a plaster. It was over more quickly if
you didn’t drag it out, right?

But it was so difficult for Harry to motivate his hands to move to his shirt and pull it off over
his head, leaving his overly skinny frame and the half-healed injuries that marked it visible to
Snape’s prying eyes. He felt so awfully, horribly exposed, and screwed his eyes shut. He
couldn’t look at Snape; Harry was terrified of seeing pity if he dared to do so.

Snape didn’t say anything at first. Harry eventually opened his eyes but didn’t look at the
other man. While Snape cast some sort of spell, which made a piece of parchment appear in
the air next to him, Harry focused his attention on a small smudge of soot on one of the
skirting boards by the fireplace. It looked a little bit like a star.

Finally, Snape took a deep breath in. “Come forward and sit on the ottoman so I can apply
this healing salve and some bruise balm. It will get rid of these bruises and end any residual
pain.”

His tone was calm and clinical. Harry breathed out - that was almost bearable. He stood up
from the sofa and settled himself on the ottoman with his back to Snape, staring at the ugly
curtains dully while Snape opened the white pots sitting on the coffee table. The lids clicked
as they popped off.

He flinched as Snape’s fingers started rubbing something cold into a bruise on Harry’s
shoulder, but he was very gentle. Still, Harry was unable to relax. He dug his fingers into the
ottoman and stared off, wishing he were anywhere else, doing anything else, hating it even
more when Snape took him by the shoulders and turned him around to heal the bruises on his
ribs. Harry had to look at Snape, then, but there was no pity, or disgust, or anything, really, on
Snape’s face, which was a blessing. It was a blank mask, and Harry could almost pretend like
he was staring at the empty, lifeless face of a doll instead of Professor Snape, a man he hated
who was currently dealing with Harry’s darkest secret.

And Snape was right - his potions helped. Harry wasn’t in pain for the first time since he’d
left Hogwarts for the summer. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be able to move his
body without gingerly working around a sore injury. Harry rolled his shoulders, marvelling as
his skin didn’t tug painfully between his shoulder blades from the scab that had formed over
a large scrape that he’d gotten when Dudley had shoved him into the corner of a table. He
could take a deep breath in without the bruise on his ribcage from a door handle Vernon had
shoved him up against throbbing unpleasantly. It was remarkable.
Once Snape was done, he pressed the pots into Harry’s hands. “Are there more injuries below
your waist that you’d like to go and take care of in the bathroom?”

Harry nodded mutely, grateful for this one modicum of privacy amongst everything.

“Come back when you’re done,” Snape called as Harry walked out of the room, shirt
clenched tightly in his fist. “I’ll be up to check on you if you don’t. Our discussion isn’t
over.”

Of course it isn’t, he thought bitterly. Was this torment ever going to end?

When Harry had taken care of the last couple of injuries, he donned his shirt again. It stuck to
his skin where Snape had applied his salves. God, Harry did not want to go back down there.
He considered hiding in the bathroom, but Snape had said he’d be up to check on Harry if he
took too long, and he didn’t want that to happen, either…

Reluctantly, Harry walked back into the living room with the pots in his hands, passed them
back to Snape and sat back down on the sofa with his knees folded into his chest. Snape
moved from his armchair to sit on the other end of the sofa, too close to Harry for comfort.
The air was thick with tension.

“This has been going on a while, I presume?” Snape asked.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Harry muttered. “You’ll just use it against me.”

“I would never use this against you.”

“Oh, really?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “After the way you’ve treated me? Forgive me
if I have a hard time believing that, sir.”

Snape sighed heavily. “I deserve that. You have no reason to trust me, of course... I can
promise you, however, as someone who has had similar life experiences as you, I would
never use this against you. Never.”

That caught Harry off guard. “Similar life experiences?”

Snape hesitated, and took in a halting breath. “My father… well, my father was a deeply
unpleasant man.”

“Oh.”

Harry immediately understood what Snape was alluding to, and tried not to look too visibly
shocked. Why would Snape tell Harry, somebody he utterly despised, something that
personal? The only explanation Harry could think up was that Snape genuinely wanted Harry
to trust his word; so much so that he’d tell Harry something so private.

But why? Why did he care?

“I really do understand what you’re going through, Harry,” Snape said earnestly. “And I will
keep your confidence. I thought you should know that, if it helps you feel more comfortable
speaking to me."

“I don’t want to talk at all,” Harry whispered. “It won’t help, it just gets you in more trouble.”

Don’t ask questions. The most important of Aunt Petunia’s rules, which Snape was breaking.
You just didn’t speak of these things! They were private!

“How would it get you in more trouble?” Snape asked, leaning forward.

“It did the last time I told someone,” he said, thinking all the way back to the flurry of social
services when he was six, and the subsequent starvation and cupboard confinement. Harry
wasn’t stupid enough to get himself into that kind of trouble again.

“Rest assured, nothing you say here will get you in trouble with your relatives,” Snape said.
“I am simply aware of the fact that these things fester if they aren’t addressed, so talking
would be beneficial to your mental health. Additionally, I require some kind of detail about
their treatment of you so I can ensure you do not ever have to return to live with them.”

The hope blossoming in Harry’s chest was almost sickeningly cloying. “Are you serious? I
might not have to go back?”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” Snape growled. His calm exterior wavered for a
moment, to be replaced by a look of dark, seething hatred. For the first time in his life, Harry
could sit here and feel truly certain none of that was aimed at him, though. “I have removed
children facing similar circumstances from their homes, Mr Potter, and I should be able to do
the same for you if you simply provide me with the necessary evidence. The Dursleys are
additionally at a significant disadvantage due to their status as Muggles, which will stack the
deck against them in any sort of legal battle.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t fight to keep me,” Harry said with an odd, slightly hysterical chuckle.
“They can’t stand me, I think they’re more likely to throw a party or something…”

Snape didn’t reply to that - if anything, the slightly dangerous edge he had to him intensified.
“As I said. Simply tell me what you experienced under their appalling rendition of care, and I
can start the process.”

Harry wanted to, he really did. But overshadowing the hope of escape was an overwhelming
sense of exhaustion and weariness. The emotional toll of the night was too much, and Harry
had an awful burning sensation behind his eyes that alarmed him to potential oncoming tears.
Snape couldn’t see him cry - he’d already seen enough of Harry’s emotional baggage for a
lifetime. Besides, Harry didn't trust Snape, he just couldn't, and so he couldn't bring himself
to talk about anything to do with the Dursleys.

“Can’t we do all this another time?” he asked finally, struggling to push down the surge of
feelings. “I’m really tired, sir, I’d just like to go to my room and rest…”

“Very well, but I think it would be best for you and Draco to remain separate for the time
being,” Snape said. “He’s currently in the bedroom either contemplating his actions or
sleeping, as it’s rather late. He will be sufficiently punished for his absolutely abhorrent
behaviour today, I can assure you.”

Harry scrunched up the hem of his shirt and stared at the floor.

“Something’s wrong,” Snape said flatly.

“No, it’s nothing -”

“What?” Snape’s voice cut across him. “Tell me, now.”

“Just - don’t be too hard on him, alright?” Harry mumbled. “What he did was bad, but…”

Something unpleasant settled over Snape’s features. “You seem very convinced I am going to
hurt either you or Draco.”

Harry cringed. “I don’t mean it like that, I just -”

“You meant it in exactly the way I interpreted it,” Snape said through gritted teeth. His
shoulders were tense. “Do not lie to me. You think I’d treat the two of you in the same
manner as those despicable Muggles.”

“It’s just on my mind, obviously!” Harry hissed, shrinking back slightly from Snape. His tone
was utterly venomous, and he looked like he wanted to punch something. “And you get kind
of scary when you’re angry, okay? You can’t blame me for thinking you might do
something!”

Snape sighed heavily, and some of the anger faded from his face. A general air of
haggardness replaced it. “Considering our history and your upbringing, you’re right - I
cannot blame you whatsoever.”

Considering your upbringing. Harry grimaced, his emotions surging to almost unmanageable
levels once again. Snape knew about his upbringing. It was positively unbearable to
contemplate.

"Harry."

He was never going to get used to Snape using his first name. The man came closer and fixed
him with a fervent, intense expression. "Let me make this clear to you now. I am not going to
hit you or cast any sort of spell to hurt you, no matter how angry I am. I haven't done it this
week, have I? There has been more than one instance where I was rather furious, too.”

"You put a Silencing Charm on me this morning," Harry muttered, crossing his arms. He was
still rather cross about that, even if it hadn’t actually hurt, per se.

Snape glanced to one side. "Not my best decision, I will confess. I regretted it rather quickly,
which is why I came out into the garden to remove it as soon as you left the kitchen. I
apologise, and give you my word I will not cast that on you again."

Harry's jaw dropped, despite himself. That apology had come surprisingly easily…
And in a way, that Silencing Charm had saved his bacon. He had been seconds away from
calling Snape a series of very foul and rude names that certainly would have merited a worse
punishment than being unable to talk for ten minutes.

"I understand it will take time to realise that you are safe here," Snape said in a strangely
calm and measured voice, "so for now, I will simply give you my word. I will not be violent
towards you or Draco, no matter what you do or how angry I am. It completely goes against
my principles."

Harry nodded, pushing down the choked sensation in his throat. Why did he have to be so
emotional tonight? What was wrong with him?

"If I'm not allowed in the bedroom, where do I sleep?" Harry asked in a small voice. He was
desperate to get away and be alone.

"You will use my bedroom for tonight."

“What?” Harry’s jaw dropped. “But where will you sleep?”

“Here,” Snape said, gesturing to the sofa.

“No, you don’t have to do that!” Harry said, feeling slightly horrified. “I can sleep on a sofa -
I fall asleep anywhere, it’s really fine…”

“I’d rather be downstairs so I can hear if you try to leave again, Potter,” Snape said, crossing
his arms and raising an eyebrow. Harry’s cheeks flushed - clearly his runaway attempt had
not been forgotten…

“We’ll certainly be talking about that in the morning,” Snape said sharply, “and the rest. But
for now, you need to eat something, and then have a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry mumbled. Whenever he got upset, his appetite vanished.

“You haven’t eaten all day,” Snape said, pointing at the door. “This is non-negotiable. Come
on, into the kitchen.”

Defeated, Harry stood up and followed Snape out into the kitchen and sat back as the man
prepared a sandwich for him. His shoulders slumped, and he ran one finger over the nicked
and scratched wood of the table.

To his horror, Harry felt tears begin to pool in his eyes. Harry didn’t even know why he was
crying, specifically. He just felt consumed by a vortex of grief, and terror, and worst of all,
hope, a desperate, yearning hope that his hellish summers at the Dursleys stood a chance of
being over forever, all while the desire to believe that Snape was telling the truth about
helping him was battling against the natural distrust he had for the man. All of it was just too
much, and Harry couldn’t hold the emotions inside him anymore. He pressed his lips tightly
together to try and hold back the tears, but despite his best efforts, a few spilled over and
trickled down his cheeks. Before he had time to wipe them away, Snape turned around from
the kitchen counter. He froze, staring at Harry with what could only be described as alarm. It
would have been a little funny if Harry didn’t feel so utterly wretched.

Harry ducked his head as Snape started walking over, not wanting him to see any more
embarrassing outburst of emotions while he did his best to blink away the remaining wetness
in his eyes. Snape placed the plate of food down in front of Harry and tapped the kitchen
table with his wand. A box of tissues appeared, which he slid towards Harry.

Mercifully, Snape didn’t say anything, positive or negative. Platitudes would have been lost
on Harry, either way - nothing in the world could make him feel better at that moment. Snape
somehow seemed to understand that. He stood silently behind Harry while he viciously
scrubbed at his face with a tissue before struggling through the sandwich. He took deep,
gasping breaths in a vain attempt to regain control of himself so no more tears would escape,
and scrunched the tissue up into a crumpled ball in his fist. When Harry had at last finished
eating, the food tasteless and chalk-like in his mouth, he stood up and walked over to the bin
to throw the ragged tissue away. Harry didn’t return to the table straight away, though.
Instead, he stared into the pitch black garden beyond, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter
tightly, trying to squish all of his emotions into a small box he could lock away in the darkest
recesses of his mind. His eyes ached.

“Are you ready to go upstairs?” Snape asked after about a minute.

Harry nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak as he turned around to follow Snape through
the hallway and up the staircase. There was no light coming from the gap beneath Malfoy’s
door; he was probably asleep, then.

Snape pushed open the door to the one room in his house that Harry had never entered -
Snape’s bedroom. Harry had been expressly forbidden from going in here at the beginning of
his stay, so it felt completely wrong to step foot across the threshold.

When Snape turned the lights on, Harry’s immediate thought was that this place did not look
lived in. There were no decorations, no photographs, no haphazard piles of papers. The whole
room was really quite spartan with just a bed covered by a plain white duvet, a wardrobe and
a dresser. The emptiness reminded Harry a little of the spare bedroom at Privet Drive, which
was rarely used outside of Aunt Marge’s sparse visits.

The spare room that Harry may never see again if Harry’s summers in Little Whinging were
really, truly coming to an end.

Harry sucked in a breath and dug his fingernails into his palms. No matter what Snape
claimed, he just couldn’t truly believe that was going to happen. Harry had already asked
Dumbledore at the end of first year if he could live elsewhere, and he’d refused Harry’s
request because of that blood protection that kept him safe from Voldemort. Harry had even
told the bloody Minister for Magic himself that he never wanted to go back to Privet Drive,
and he’d also dismissed Harry immediately. No one ever cared enough to actually help Harry
when he did ask, so what was the point in asking? He’d bet Snape would give up by
tomorrow morning.

No one ever cared. No one ever bothered, and they never would.
 “I’ve conjured some nightclothes for you,” Snape said, interrupting Harry’s musings. “I’ll be
downstairs if you need anything.”

He didn’t move immediately - he was watching Harry still, and irritation surged through him.

“You don’t have to hover,” Harry snapped. He felt very embarrassed over the tears, and anger
was far easier to manage than mortification. “I’m not an invalid.”

Snape nodded. “Of course not. Well - goodbye, then.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he wanted to say something else, then shook his head and
stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as Snape was gone, Harry sat
on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. Finally the tears flowed in earnest,
and he didn't bother to try and push them down this time. He was very good at crying without
sound after all those years at Privet Drive, and Harry thought he'd earned the right to a few
tears. After all, this had quite possibly been the worst day of his life.

Unseen by Harry, a box of tissues appeared on top of the dresser. He convinced himself
they'd been there all along.

Chapter End Notes

Half A of my brain: No, you can't just spam upload chapters, you'll demolish your entire
backlog -

Half B of my brain: Upload chapter 7 upload chapter 7 upload chapter 7

Anyway, I lost the battle with myself and couldn't keep this one in my google docs any
longer, so here it is. I am not joking when I say I have written, rewritten and reread this
about fifty times, trying to make sure all of the details were right and that Snape still
seems in character even though this is the turning point for him becoming a bit nicer.
Please let me know what you thought of it!

Edit as of 7/9/23: There is now a Snape pov of this chapter, posted as a separate oneshot,
entitled Draw Back the Curtain!
 Bite the Hand That Feeds
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

When Harry woke up the next morning, it took him a minute to remember where he was. The
sheets were unfamiliar, the bed too wide, the colours all wrong…

But as he sat up and took in his surroundings, the memories of the previous night hit Harry
like a ton of bricks.

Snape knew about the Dursleys.

Harry jumped out of the bed like he’d been electrocuted. This couldn’t really be happening, it
couldn’t! This was the worst possible thing that could have happened to him! Snape, cruel,
hateful, Professor Snape, was the last person Harry wanted to know any of this. In fact, there
wasn’t a single person Harry could think of that would be worse than him. Malfoy, perhaps,
but he already had all the clues, just waiting to be put together. He as good as knew, too!

Harry tried to take deep, gulping gasps of air, but it felt like Hagrid’s three-headed dog was
currently sitting on his chest. He hurried into the bathroom, feeling a bit lightheaded,
desperate to get out of Snape’s room. Harry wrenched on the tap and utterly drenched himself
in the icy water pouring out. The sharp chill stung Harry’s skin, and helped a little to jolt him
out of his panicked musings.

He observed himself in the mirror. As he watched the rivulets of water trickling down his
neck, Harry couldn’t help but notice his red, puffy eyes. They were yet another sick reminder
of all that had occurred the night before. Harry couldn’t believe he’d actually let Snape, of all
people, see him cry. He never cried! It was mortifying!

And now he was going to have to go downstairs and face Snape in the kitchen for breakfast,
wasn’t he? Harry desperately wished he could hide in his bedroom instead, but Snape had
banned him from there the night before, so he didn’t know what to do. Harry didn’t really
feel like pushing things at the minute, considering the weird dynamic shift that had occurred
when Snape had taken him home from London. Sure, he was being decent and calm for now,
but perhaps disobeying that one rule could be the thing that caused the other shoe to drop.
Harry didn’t even dare to go in there for a change of clothes, and reluctantly redressed in the
clothes from the previous day. As he tugged off the mysterious pyjamas Snape had conjured
for him, Harry abruptly realised these pyjamas were the first he’d ever owned that actually fit
him. Something horrid lurched in his stomach.

Harry dressed quickly and descended the staircase, but lingered in the narrow hallway. He
really didn’t want to go in there and face Snape. The prospect of it was making Harry’s heart
thud and his palms grow sweaty, and he hadn’t a clue why.

He mentally shook himself. You’re a bloody Gryffindor! Grow a pair and get in there
already!
It still took Harry a good minute to gather the courage to push open the kitchen door, but he
eventually managed to square his shoulders and walk inside. Snape was leaning against the
kitchen counter, holding his usual mug of coffee and watching Harry with an expression that
was annoyingly unreadable. Harry somehow got the impression that Snape knew he’d been
lingering outside and grimaced.

To Harry’s immense relief, Snape didn’t comment on his hesitance. He simply nodded his
head and said, “Good morning.”

Harry just nodded back, unsure of how to proceed. He couldn’t help but think that was a
stupid thing for Snape to say to him, since this was quite clearly a terrible morning.

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked.

Harry shrugged, feeling like his words had been locked up behind the tight knot in his chest.
Besides, he didn’t quite know what he was feeling, apart from intense embarrassment over
the previous night’s events. Even if he did have the sufficient words to explain what was
going on inside his mind, though, he certainly wasn’t going to talk emotions with Snape.

“Have your injuries healed well?” Snape asked.

Harry tensed at the reminder. “Yes.”

“Do you require any more bruise balm?”

“No,” he said shortly.

“Would you tell me if you did?” Snape asked, arching an eyebrow.

Harry felt his temper rapidly beginning to flare. “If you don’t trust me that much, why don’t
you take another look, then!”

Snape either didn’t pick up on the sarcasm Harry’s tone was laced with, or intentionally
ignored it. Either way, he moved across the room with surprising speed and lifted Harry’s
shirt, scanning his eyes over where the bruises had once been.

“Happy?” Harry hissed. Snape nodded and stepped back as Harry sat down at the table,
cheeks burning. He hated the way Snape was treating him - he was acting like Harry was
made of glass, or something! What happened to the man that thought Harry was a spoilt,
famous brat, and refused to give him a single inch?

Luckily for Harry, that was the end of any further talk from Snape. The kitchen fell into
merciful silence. As Harry poured himself a bowl of cereal and started picking at it, he
realised why it was so strangely quiet; the chair Malfoy usually occupied was empty.

Harry frowned and turned to Snape. He inclined his head towards the other end of the table.
“Where is he?”

“Draco was woken up early,” Snape explained. “He’s currently scrubbing cauldrons in my
laboratory as punishment for his behaviour. I can assure you he has been thoroughly
reprimanded for what he did to you.”

“Oh.” The reminder of the previous day’s events left Harry fidgeting in place. He swirled his
cereal around in the bowl, appetite now completely gone. Snape knew, Malfoy almost
certainly knew or had guessed, and everything was spiralling out of control…

“You don’t eat much,” Snape stated. Harry looked up from his bowl and saw the man’s dark
eyes were narrowed.

“No,” he replied shortly. “I don’t. Now, can I be excused?”

“No, you cannot.” Harry, who had already started to get up, froze halfway up from his chair.
“Sit back down. We still need to talk, as you’ll recall.”

“I already told you I don’t want to talk about the Dursleys,” he muttered, slumping back into
his seat and gripping the edges of the chair tightly.

“Not about that,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “Yet, at least. This is about you
running away last night. We need to address it.”

Of course it was. Harry kept his eyes glued to the table as Snape reached into his pocket and
slid a thin silver bracelet across the table. There were some odd markings carved into it. “Put
this on.”

“Oh?” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Is it our anniversary?”

A low growl rumbled in the back of Snape’s throat. “Potter…”

Harry quickly picked up on the dangerous undertone and slid the bracelet onto his wrist
without further snark. As he did so, the carvings in the silver glowed a dark blue, and the
bracelet suddenly shrank in size to fit snugly against his skin. Harry attempted to twist it
down his arm and over his hand, but it remained stuck. There was no clasp to remove it,
either.

“What is this?” he demanded, sticking his arm out.

“A device typically used by witches and wizards who have children with Apparition-based
accidental magic,” Snape explained. “It allows the parent to locate their offspring using the
corresponding bracelet’s runes.”

He tugged up the sleeve of his dark robes, revealing an almost identical silver bangle around
his right wrist. Harry jumped up from his chair, staring at Snape with nothing short of abject
horror. “You’ve got a tracker on me?!”

“When you left the garden last time, I told you I’d take measures to ensure you wouldn’t
wander off without my knowledge again if you left the property for a second time,” Snape
said, crossing his arms. “I am not one to make empty threats. This is for your own safety.”

“I wouldn’t have gone anywhere if you and Malfoy weren’t such bullying gits!” Harry
shouted, clenching his hands into fists. He heard the sound of glass breaking as he stormed
out of the kitchen and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could. Harry doubted he’d
be able to leave the house again - Snape would have almost certainly locked him in after last
night. It certainly fit the pattern…

But Harry so desperately wanted to be alone, and he was sure Snape would angrily follow
him for storming off no matter where he went. So, he went to the one place in the house that
actually did lock: the bathroom. Harry perched on the edge of the bathtub and buried his face
in his hands, breathing heavily. He yanked at the tracker until it dug painfully into the flesh of
his wrist, and growled in frustration as it still stubbornly refused to budge.

About a minute later, there was a sharp knock. “Open this door immediately.”

Harry scoffed. He wasn’t going to do that for anything.

“I’m not going to ask a second time,” Snape said, his voice low. “If you don’t unlock that
door, I will. You have ten seconds.”

Harry didn’t move, and moments later heard Snape sigh loudly. “Alohomora.”

The lock clicked open and Harry jumped up from the edge of the bathtub and pressed himself
against the wall as Snape blocked the doorway with his body, eyes narrowed.

“You had no right to do that!” Harry protested hotly. “You can’t just barge in here! Leave me
alone!”

“Are you telling me where I can and cannot go in my own house, Potter?” Snape asked softly.
Somehow, Snape managed to be far more intimidating when he was quiet than when he was
shouting and raging. As angry as he was, Harry sensed that his patience was running quite
low and fell into sullen silence. The blood was pounding in his ears.

“As much as you may dislike it, Potter, we are going to talk,” Snape said in a carefully
measured voice. His face was blank, but a muscle in his jaw was twitching slightly. “The
quicker you stop running off, the sooner it will be over.”

“Or what?” Harry bit out.

“Well, you have two options,” Snape said, twisting his wand between his fingers. He still
hadn’t moved from the doorway. “You can either follow me downstairs, sit down, and have a
mature and calm conversation with me, or I will use whatever means necessary to make you
sit and listen to me while I talk at you. Is that understood?”

Harry considered shooting back with a ‘you can’t make me’, but then caught sight of the
wand in Snape’s hand and remembered he actually could make Harry. He grimaced. If Snape
would stick a tracker on him, he could only imagine what unpleasant things he’d come up
with next to get Harry to do what he wanted, like a Sticking Charm, or some kind of
enchanted leash, maybe…

“Potter?”

“I’ll go down,” he muttered, not looking Snape in the eyes.

“Splendid,” Snape said rather snidely. “Come with me downstairs, then.”

Harry shouldered past him and stormed down the stairs. Snape was hot on his heels -
presumably to stop Harry from fleeing again, he thought resentfully. He stopped in the
middle of the hallway, and stared into the kitchen. A stiff breeze shifted his fringe, blowing in
through the jagged gap in Snape’s sliding glass door. Harry’s heart dropped - that shattering
noise he’d heard when he’d stormed out of the kitchen must have been his accidental magic
again. Snape held his wand aloft and Harry tensed, preparing for a spell to shoot at him…

But the jet of white light sailed over Harry’s shoulder and lit up the jagged edges of the
broken door, causing the glass to slowly grow over the gap, leaving the door good as new.
Snape saw him watching and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I ought to invest in a different kind
of door.”

Harry fidgeted with his hands. “It really was an accident, I promise -”

“Of course it was.” Snape frowned. “It’s called accidental magic for a reason. You obviously
wouldn’t be punished for that.”

Harry scoffed. “Obviously? You’ve had me weeding your garden for like a week because of
what I did to Aunt Marge!”

Snape looked away. If Harry hadn’t known better, he’d have said the man looked a little
abashed. “That’s different. I had previously been labouring under the misapprehension that
the incident involving her was an intentional attack.”

“Why would you think I’d do something like that on purpose?!” Harry hissed, glowering at
Snape.

“Because it is highly abnormal to punish a child for losing magical control under any
circumstances, and seeing as your relatives refused to have you back I assumed that they
were angry with you for an intentional incident of Muggle baiting!” Snape said irritably. “I
am now realising I was wrong.”

“Yeah, you were.” Harry bit his lip, reeling from one particular thing Snape had said. “Are
you being serious? Other people don’t punish their kids when they do freaky things?”

Somehow, Snape’s scowl managed to deepen. “Of course not! In fact, it is incredibly
dangerous for children to be punished over accidental magic, since it can result in the
development of an Obscurus.” Harry had no idea what that even was, but it didn’t sound
good. “The opposite is often true in wizarding families - accidental magic is generally
celebrated as a sign that a young witch or wizard is growing into their powers.”

“Oh.” Try as he might, Harry couldn’t imagine a world in which his relatives actually
celebrated his magic, of all things. Doing weird things had been the most brutally punished
wrongdoing in the Dursley household. He’d obviously not meant any of his accidental magic
as a child, like turning his teacher’s wig blue or ending up on the school roof, but it still
merited a punishment because those things were abnormal.
“So your relatives would punish you for accidental magic, then?” Snape asked in a
misleadingly placid voice. As Harry was most certainly not discussing the Dursleys, thank
you very much, he didn’t dignify that with any sort of response or reaction.

Snape waited in expectant silence for over a minute until he finally seemed to accept that
Harry wasn’t going to respond. “So, our discussion. Living room or kitchen?”

Harry glanced through the open living room door and shivered slightly at the awful
recollections of the previous night the place brought back. No, he wasn’t going anywhere
near that room right now if he could help it. “Kitchen.”

Snape nodded, and Harry walked back inside and took a seat back at the table. Snape sat
opposite him and sat stiffly with his hands folded. “Potter…I believe I owe you an - an
apology.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Stop gawking at me,” Snape said roughly. “Yes, I do. I… well, I made no discernible effort
to hear out your side of the story when Draco came to me with the necklace incident, and
automatically assumed fault on your part. That was wrong of me.”

“Oh.” Harry, who had never imagined himself to be in a position where Severus Snape of all
people would apologise to him, wasn’t quite sure how to react. “Thank you?”

“You are therefore not being punished for running away,” Snape added. “Seeing as I drove
you to it, as it were…”

“So you’ll take off the bracelet?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Just because you were pushed does not change the fact that you have proven yourself to be a
flight risk,” Snape said sternly. “At any rate, a location tracker is a useful tool in case you
were to be kidnapped by Black -”

“Why are you so convinced this random mass-murderer is coming after me?” Harry
demanded. “It’s ridiculously paranoid!”

“I know it's always a struggle when it comes to you, but do try and use your head, Potter!”
Snape said sharply. “You know of Black’s affiliation with the Dark Lord, correct?”

“Yeah - he was Voldemort’s right-hand man.”

“Do not speak his name!” Snape hissed.

Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t press the issue. People could be so stupid about their ‘You-
Know-Who’ and ‘Dark Lord’ nonsense.

“While I think right-hand man is a bit of a push for Black’s importance in the cause -” Snape
wrinkled his nose, like he’d just caught a whiff of a bad smell, “he was nonetheless a
supporter of the Dark Lord. As you’ll recall, you defeated him. I can assure you that Black
will not look fondly upon the boy who destroyed his master and netted him a life sentence in
Azkaban!”

Harry couldn’t outright agree with Snape on sheer principle, but after thinking for a moment,
he could reluctantly see where the man was coming from. Reluctantly. Harry still thought the
measures Snape was taking were stupid and paranoid, but he supposed it did make sense for
them to assume Black would be after him specifically…

“Even discounting magical threats such as Black, it is still extraordinarily dangerous for a
thirteen-year-old boy to strike out into Muggle London alone after dark!” Snape said
severely. “What if you had been mugged, assaulted, or otherwise injured? Nobody knew
where you were, so it would have been hours before you could have gotten proper help!”

“Okay, okay!” Harry snapped. For some reason, Snape’s lecturing had him feeling oddly
guilty, and it was making him horribly uncomfortable. “I won’t do anything like that again.”

“No, you won’t,” Snape said sternly. “Although, as I said, I will concede that the incident was
exacerbated by my handling of the situation with Draco. Still, if you ever do something that
reckless and impetuous again, I promise you I will be far less lenient.”

Harry ground his back teeth and stared pointedly out of the window at the storm clouds
building in the sky above. He wasn’t going to respond. Snape was surely trying to bait him
again - trying to get Harry to fly into another rage so he had a decent excuse to punish him.

He’s already had loads of valid chances this morning, though, a small voice in the back of his
head said. But he hasn't done anything. He's being patient.

Harry ignored this and returned to seething quietly.

“On a similar note, I thought it might be useful to clear up on the house rules,” Snape said
when the silence had dragged on for too long.

Ah, here was the nasty git Harry was used to. Of course he was seizing the chance to flex his
authority and come up with more impossible standards Harry could never live up to…

“The rules I gave you at the beginning of your stay here still stand,” Snape said, “but I am
going to add a new one about meals. You will be obligated to attend all of them, and to clear
your plate. I’ve noticed your sporadic dining habits over the last week and that needs to
stop.”

He shot a pointed look in the direction of Harry’s abandoned cereal bowl. By now, the
cornflakes had dissolved into mush.

“I don’t need to be micromanaged,” Harry muttered resentfully. He wasn’t a child, and even
when he had been one, he’d been responsible for his own eating!

Snape sighed loudly and got out his wand. Harry tried to duck away as the man flicked it in
his direction, but no painful Stinging Hex or whatever other nasty affliction he’d been
expecting befell him. Instead, a strange icy sensation that reminded Harry of walking through
Nearly-Headless Nick coated his skin. It gradually began to fade, and a piece of parchment
appeared in Snape’s hand which he quickly glanced over.

“As it happens, you do need to be micromanaged,” he said stiffly. “You are significantly
underweight, and deficient in a number of key nutrients. This will need to be rectified before
it becomes even more dangerous to your health.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“I beg to differ.” Snape placed the parchment in the centre of the table, and his eyebrows
rose. A bunch of complicated medical terms Harry didn’t understand swam before his eyes,
and he only managed to pick up a few random words and phrases, like ‘iron deficiency’ and
‘bone density’ before Snape took back the document, folded it up and placed it in the pocket
of his robes.

“You do not get a choice in this, Potter,” Snape warned. “This needs to be sorted
immediately. Call it micromanaging if that’s what you insist upon, but mealtimes are a
priority from now on, is that understood?”

“Okay. Whatever.” Snape seemed weirdly insistent about the whole thing, and it wasn’t
exactly the worst thing that had ever been asked of Harry. He’d rather be full than hungry,
after all.

“I thought it might also be…helpful to know that I will be implementing a number of rules
for myself so that we can cohabit with less friction,” Snape added.

Harry shuffled in his seat. “Okay…”

“I will stop insulting you and your parentage,” Snape said. Harry had to hold back a snort - as
if that would ever happen!

Snape noticed his reaction, pressed his lips together for a moment, and continued speaking.
“If there is another altercation with Draco, I will not automatically take his side over yours,
although I would appreciate you making more of an effort to be civil with him -”

“I never start things!” Harry protested hotly.

“Just - please?” Snape said wearily, running his hands over his face. That look of exhaustion
made Harry stop with his scoffing and general derision for some odd reason he couldn’t quite
put a finger on. “Now, my final two rules. If I do need to punish you for any reason, it will
not be a, ah… physical punishment. I will not hit you, deprive you of meals or otherwise
injure you as discipline. It will be nothing outside of the realm of what you would experience
at Hogwarts, understood? Nothing worse than lines or cauldrons.”

Harry nodded while staring at the cracked kitchen tiles, unable to meet Snape’s eyes. He
couldn’t bring himself to hope those words were the truth.

“Finally, I will listen and do my best to help when you open up about your relatives.”
“When?” Harry asked incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think I’m talking about any of
that!”

“The more you tell me, the more likely it is that I am able to stop you from ever having to go
back to that place,” Snape said quietly.

Harry bit his lip. The prospect of that did appeal to him…but it was a pipe dream at best,
wasn’t it? No one was ever going to save Harry from the Dursleys. He had four more
summers with them ahead of him, and then he’d finally be free and would never have to
speak to them again. He’d already managed for ten years, and now he had Hogwarts as a
disruptor. It was bearable enough, but it might not be if Harry engaged in a badly-executed
attempt to remove himself from their custody before he was of age.

And, the most key and pressing issue, he would have to tell his troubles to Snape.

“I can’t trust you!” he said incredulously. “You’ll just tell the Slytherins all about it all and
use it against me, I know you will!”

Snape made a strangled sort of noise. “I understand we haven’t had the best of relationships,
but do you really think I’d use child abuse against you?”

Harry cringed at that word - abuse. He wasn’t abused…

Snape seemed to take his silence as a confirmation and abruptly stood up from his chair and
stalked over to the kitchen window. Raindrops splattered against the glass. Harry watched
him nervously, unsure of what he was going to do next. Was he going to explode? Was he
angry? He certainly didn’t seem happy, but Harry couldn’t try and read his face from here…

“I understand you cannot currently trust me, Harry,” Snape said eventually, voice tight, “but I
need you to try. I promise that nothing you tell me will ever be mentioned to anyone outside
of a few key adults who need to be apprised of your situation. Excluding that, I will not tell a
single soul without your consent. I would never do that to you - never.”

The amount of strength and vehemence in his tone sent Harry reeling with confusion. Despite
the distrust and hatred that came to mind whenever he thought about Snape, it was just so
transparently obvious that he really was being sincere. But why?

Harry suddenly remembered that brief, murmured comment from the previous night about
Snape’s father. That, more than anything, helped Harry feel assured Snape was being honest.
He’d told Harry something truly personal, something he’d never want Harry mentioning to
another person, and that meant something.

“This will be the final part of the discussion,” Snape said, and Harry withered slightly inside.
“You can go once we address it, if you’d like.”

“I really, really don’t want to talk about this,” Harry whispered, his voice ragged.

“It is important I know, Harry,” Snape said. Back to Harry, he supposed. Snape kept
switching names, and it was horribly confusing. “I don’t want to pressure you, but there are
some things I need to know immediately.”

“What does it matter?” he hissed. “I’m away from there, anyway! How is any of it relevant?
How many times do I have to say I don’t want to tell you, Snape?!”

“It is not all about you!” Snape hissed. “Merlin’s beard, Potter! This constant, obstinate -”

He abruptly stopped speaking and inhaled very loudly through his nose, the angry expression
on his face abruptly and unnaturally relaxing into the blank expression he'd described as
Occlumency last night. Harry wondered how much effort that front took to keep up.

After a few moments, Snape began to speak again. “You have a cousin, correct?” He said in a
tightly controlled voice. “I need to ensure there isn’t an immediate risk to his safety while he
continues to reside with your aunt and uncle.”

“Oh, Dudley’s fine,” Harry grumbled. “They worship the ground he walks on, they’d never
treat him the way they treat me. He's their actual kid. I’m the abnormal nephew they never
wanted to get stuck with.”

A muscle twitched in Snape’s jaw. “Do not refer to yourself in that way.”

“It’s true,” Harry muttered, feeling the usual twinge of hurt that accompanied memories of
the difference in treatment.

“Nevertheless, I still must insist we discuss certain things about your life with the Dursleys,”
Snape said with a tone of finality. “Your perspective is skewed, and as an outsider to the
situation I need to draw certain conclusions, which I can’t do if I don’t have all the relevant
information.”

Harry exhaled loudly and gripped the edge of the kitchen table so hard his knuckles turned
white. He really didn’t understand how he was expected to manage any of this.

“I am not going to needlessly probe you,” Snape said, walking back over from the counter
and retaking his seat across from Harry. “You can open up about the rest in due time. We will
stick to a few topics that are linked to immediate safety risks, understood? Just a few
questions.”

Harry stared out of the window at the steadily intensifying drizzle and didn’t respond. Snape
sighed. “First is the matter of your eating.”

“What about my eating?” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“The lack of it,” Snape said. “How did meals work at your relatives?”

“They worked.” He didn’t see how it was relevant to Snape either way how much or how
little Harry was fed. He’d never actually dropped dead from hunger, even if it had felt like he
would sometimes. He was just a bit skinny, that was all…

“Harry, there are two ways about this,” Snape said bluntly. “Your eating patterns are
incredibly disordered. Either you are choosing not to eat due to some sort of untreated mental
illness, or you were raised by people who did not feed you sufficiently, which has altered
your hunger cues and affected your relationship with food. Tell me what’s going on so I can
proceed accordingly.”

“Fine!” Harry hissed. “They’d punish me sometimes by taking away my meals. Happy?”

“And did they do this regularly?”

Harry thought of that long, lonely summer before second year when he’d been half-certain he
and Hedwig would starve to death and didn’t respond. He stared at a nick on the kitchen
table, heart thudding horribly.

“I’m presuming from what I read on my diagnostic spell that it was often enough to
significantly impact your body weight, then,” Snape said briskly. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Harry didn’t say a word.

“Now, my other question,” Snape said in a softer voice. Harry, who sensed where this was
going, tensed. “The injuries I discovered. Who was responsible, and how were they
inflicted?”

“If you think I’m answering that you’re thicker than you look,” Harry growled. He was half-
hoping his insult would steer the man away from the line of questioning. He had no such
luck. Snape seemed immune to his goading.

“I need to know what happened. It’s for your safety.”

“If you need to know so badly, why don’t you just Legilimise me?” he said snidely.

“I will not use Legilimency on you,” Snape said, a hint of frustration seeping into his tone.
“And I apologise for threatening you with it yesterday. The only time I would ever use
Legilimency on you is if I believed there to be an immediate threat to your safety or the
safety of someone else that I could only prevent by going through your memories. This is not
such a situation, but I still need you to tell me who was hurting you at Privet Drive.”

Harry squeezed his hands into fists and raised his head to the ceiling, trying to persuade
himself into speaking. Snape already knew someone was hurting him, right? If he could just
screw up his courage and say who, the tosser would finally be done with all of his probing
questions and Harry would be left in peace.

“Did your uncle do that to you?” Snape pressed. “Your aunt?”

“Most of it’s from my cousin, actually,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Your cousin managed to do all of that to you?” Snape asked disbelievingly.

“No, not all of it!” Harry shouted. “I still don’t get why it matters!”

“It does,” Snape said simply. “So - your cousin. Does he attack you regularly?”
“Well, he and I aren’t exactly best friends, professor,” Harry ground out.

“He hurts you?” Snape asked. “And your aunt and uncle, they allow this?”

“Well, sir, I’m sure you can answer that question yourself - you certainly have experience
favouring one kid in your house over the other,” Harry said scornfully, crossing his arms.

Snape’s face didn’t even twitch. “The current situation with Draco will not be continuing.
Now, these injuries. How did he give them to you? They’re rather significant.”

“You want the truth?” Harry said loudly, the aggravation surging. “Fine! Dudley loves
beating me up, and I’m never allowed to fight back or I get in trouble. He punches me, he
shoves me into stuff, and last week he shoved past me on the stairs, and I fell down them!
That’s why I was in such a state."

Harry was being a bit economical with the truth there, admittedly. Shoved past implied
something of an accident, and Dudley had more so just pushed Harry while he was halfway
up so he tumbled all the way to the bottom of the staircase. He had then applied several sharp
kicks to Harry’s ribs as he lay crumpled on the landing, gasping for breath, before slipping
out of the door to beat up a ten-year-old in the local park.

Harry was still grateful he hadn’t broken something that day, since the few times in his life
that Dudley had actually gone far enough to fracture or break bones, Aunt Petunia felt forced
to take him to A&E for treatment. Harry had a theory that she only did that because broken
bones made her squeamish, and she didn’t want that on display in the house.

Sometimes, Harry thought he’d prefer to be left with the injuries, though. Going to A&E
meant spending an uncomfortable six or so hours in a stinking hospital waiting room with a
woman who utterly despised him, all while she hissed threatening comments in Harry’s ear
about what would happen if he dared mention that his broken finger was caused by Dudley
slamming his hand in a door. That was why Harry only told his relatives about an ailment if
he was in a real tight spot. He was fairly certain there had been a couple of fractured ribs
caused by Dudley over the years, but he just got on with it and muscled through the pain.

After Harry’s rant, Snape’s expression had turned incredulous. “You fell down a staircase and
your relatives didn’t take you to a doctor?”

“Did it look like they took me to a doctor?” Harry yelled, jumping to his feet. He’d been
lucky that Aunt Petunia had thrown a bag of frozen peas in his direction after watching it
happen! “They never want to admit that precious Dudley can do anything wrong, and I’m not
stupid enough to go to them with my problems unless I’m really desperate!”

A dark expression crossed Snape’s face. “I did not realise you were also experiencing
medical neglect there.”

Harry shuddered - if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was that word - neglect. It just
reminded him of those awful mums at Dudley’s birthday party, whispering snide comments
about brain damage and behavioural issues.
“I’m not experiencing anything!” he said furiously. “I’m not neglected, I’m not abused, none
of that! We just don’t get on.”

“Tell me, then,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “If you weren’t neglected, give me
examples of occasions where you were taken to any sort of healthcare professional.”

“I can, actually,” Harry said defiantly. “When I was seven, they took me to A&E after I
fractured my wrist.”

That was the third time the Dursleys had bothered to take him to the hospital, but not from a
bone Dudley had broken. That time Uncle Vernon had fractured his wrist, actually. He’d
thrown Harry into his cupboard a little too hard and he’d landed awkwardly on it. But it had
just been an accident. Aunt Petunia had frantically said that over and over when Harry
wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how much she told him she’d give him something to cry
about if he didn’t shut up. Aunt Petunia had quickly realised something was wrong, and it
had panicked her. After all, Harry didn't normally dare to show signs of tears in front of his
relatives, but the stabbing pain in his wrist had been too great for him to hold it in.

That had been a really weird day. Aunt Petunia had actually shouted at Uncle Vernon, who
had quickly gone from puce to white when he realised what he’d done. Harry didn’t think
he’d ever seen his uncle be that quiet. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, was more noisy and
shrill than ever. She’d been busy screeching about social workers and police and things that
Harry was in too much pain to understand or remember properly. It had been six months
since the teacher had called social services on his relatives, he realised now. That was why
Aunt Petunia had hissed instructions at him from behind the steering wheel to say he’d fallen
off the monkey bars at the playground. Harry assumed she was terrified this broken wrist
would make them come back, and was desperate to do anything to stop that from happening,
even if it involved being nice to Harry.

She’d promised to take him out for ice cream if Harry just did as she said and Harry, who was
never allowed ice cream, had eagerly obeyed her. There was another horrid waiting period in
a hospital waiting room, where Aunt Petunia had spent the entire time anxiously tapping her
foot, glaring suspiciously at the other parents, and barking at Harry if he strayed away from
her to touch the toys. The doctor had easily believed the lie and had splinted Harry’s fractured
wrist. Aunt Petunia had never actually taken him out for ice cream - she dug up a freezer-
burned, half-eaten tub Dudley wouldn’t touch out of the kitchen at home, which Harry
clumsily fed to himself left-handed. He hadn’t cared. To Harry, it was ambrosia.

Now, Harry could see it for what it was - bribery. The Dursleys needed to ensure his
continued silence. They hadn’t felt bad, they’d just been scared of being found out by the
neighbours or social services for the people they really were behind closed doors. Harry had
actually gone along with the lie because for once, his relatives were being nice to him. He
didn’t have to do as many chores on account of his broken wrist, and his aunt and uncle
didn’t lay a finger on him for months. They were too scared. That tended to happen when
they went too far; it was as if they were struck by sudden fits of conscience. Aunt Petunia had
even started distracting Dudley when he tried to beat Harry up, buying him toys and food.
He’d thought that maybe, just maybe, things were finally getting better.
Harry wasn’t stupid enough to think good times like that lasted now. He was older, and so he
knew better. The cast had come off, the memory of the night Uncle Vernon had hurt him grew
fainter in his relatives’ minds, and he’d turned a teacher’s wig blue during a fit of accidental
magic at school. The Dursleys had gone to normal pretty quickly after that, and it had almost
been more painful than if they’d never stopped being horrid at all.

"Potter?"

Although Snape had promised not to Legilimise him, Harry couldn’t help his suspicions that
Snape somehow knew the details of the incident, even though Harry hadn’t - couldn’t -
mention them. Perhaps he’d plucked them from the surface of Harry’s mind. After all, he was
scowling something fierce by now.

“Did they ever take you to a doctor for non-emergencies?”

“Yeah.”

It wasn't a lie. They'd taken Harry to the doctor once or twice. It was a bit of a rare
occurrence, though. Most of the time, the Dursleys just left him to tough it out. Which was
fine, although Dudley was taken to the GP over every little ache or sniffle. They actually
cared about Dudley, though, so it was different.

They’d taken Harry along, too, when he and Dudley both had simultaneous ear infections
when they were four. Harry shivered - another unpleasant memory. They’d been prescribed
antibiotics. Aunt Petunia had sat with Dudley for ages until he took them, coaxing him with
cuddles and sweets and toys.

When she was done, Aunt Petunia was tired and irritable. Then, it would be Harry’s turn. She
would pin Harry down when he tried to run away and pinched his nose shut so he’d have to
open his mouth for air and swallow the nasty-tasting medicine. Harry had been too small to
fight back, of course. He'd laid there with silent tears trickling down his cheeks while Petunia
growled at him about how whiny and ungrateful he was. He could still feel the ghost of her
bony fingers clamped over his mouth, her acrylic nails digging into the flesh of his cheek.

“Give me an example of when they took you, then.”

Harry shook himself. He wasn't four years old now, too weak to break out of his aunt's hold.
He was in Snape's kitchen. It was somehow hard to keep himself fixed there when such
unpleasant memories were bombarding his mind. He took a deep breath. Snape needed an
example so he’d let Harry go. Okay.

But the memory Harry had recalled was so horrid that he couldn't bring himself to give the
example of the antibiotics. So, when else had Harry gone? Surely he had? The NHS was free,
it wasn't like he was taking away money from Dudley by visiting the doctor…

But he hadn't gone. Petunia didn't bother unless it was something significant - something
broken, something that repulsed her enough to take Harry to a doctor so she didn’t have to
look at it anymore. Sickness didn’t qualify, since that only affected him. Harry had many
memories of lying in his cupboard, coughing, barely able to breathe, sweltering with fever.
No, Aunt Petunia hadn’t bothered to waste her valuable time on Harry.

"They didn't take you, did they?" Snape said, lips pressed into a thin line.

“No, no, they did. Erm… I have glasses, don’t I?” Harry gestured to his face.

Well, it wasn’t exactly like Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon had been the ones to notice he
couldn’t see. A teacher at school had realised Harry couldn’t read the blackboard and brought
it up. Aunt Petunia had taken him to an optometrist and had bought the cheapest frames
available, the ones Harry still had today. Piers Polkiss had called him four-eyes in front of the
whole class, and everyone had laughed at him. That final, miserable memory drained the
small reserves of patience Harry had been drawing on to get through this, and at last made
him fly over the edge.

“What happened to a few questions?” he shouted, his voice oddly raspy. “You’re such a nosy
git, you know that?! I’m done with this, I’m not talking about it anymore!”

Unable to bear being trapped indoors for another moment, Harry darted out of the kitchen,
through the sliding door and into the garden beyond. He relished the sensation of the rain,
which had now turned into quite the downpour. Harry let the cool water pour down his face,
breathing hard like he’d just run a marathon. He was fuming. What right did Snape have to
be poking into his personal life? Who was he to pull faces at Harry’s upbringing when he’d
just spent the last two years making Harry’s life a living hell? He was a right bastard!

He’d said this would help. How was that true? All Harry wanted to do was lock his nasty
memories of the Dursleys into a tiny box, push it deep down, and never think about any of it.
Instead, he was stuck reminiscing about all these nasty memories from his crappy childhood
and feeling awful about himself. Sure, the Dursleys were by no means nice to him, but they
weren’t nearly as bad as Snape was making them out to be, right? They couldn’t be that bad,
they just couldn’t. Harry couldn't accept it. He couldn’t handle understanding how awful it
had all been.

The door to the garden loudly slid open. Harry turned around and saw Snape staring him
down, obviously piqued. His nostrils were flaring. Snape pointed at the kitchen behind him
with a sharp jabbing motion. “In.”

“I’m good, actually!” Harry called, struggling against the urge to make a rude hand gesture.

“Potter, it is pouring!” Snape said exasperatedly, waving a hand towards the grey sky.
“You’ll catch your death of cold!”

“Great! I’d love that!” Harry said contemptuously.

“Get inside before I make you.”

Harry, who was still feeling too annoyed to go within a ten-foot radius of Snape, kept his feet
firmly moored to the muddy grass. While he didn’t particularly want to be soaked with
rainwater, he felt the need to prove this point.
Snape sighed loudly and jabbed his wand in Harry’s direction. He yelped as his feet seemed
to leave the ground of their own accord, leaving him floating in the air. Moments later, Harry
shot towards Snape and the kitchen with the speed of a bullet, before he came to an abrupt
halt in the centre of the room. Harry made to run back outside, but Snape kept him floating in
the air as he locked the door with a wave of wandless magic.

“Why do you insist on keeping me locked in your stupid house?” Harry demanded, trying
and failing to look dignified. It was rather difficult to manage when you were floating in the
air, he found.

“Because when you decided to leave my ‘stupid house’ you thought it would be fun to spend
the rest of your summer with a case of pneumonia!” Snape hissed. He shot a hot jet of air at
Harry, ruffling his hair and clothes, which turned warm and dry in an instant. “Somebody
needs to keep your underdeveloped adolescent brain in check, since you are clearly incapable
of doing so yourself!”

“You let me down right the hell now!” Harry yelled.

“If I do that, will you be rational and calm yourself down, or will you body slam yourself
through my back door in an ill-fated attempt to get away from me?”

“I’ll be rational, whatever!” Harry’s feet finally touched the ground, causing him to stumble
slightly. He was off-balance. Snape quickly placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. Harry
wrenched himself out of reach and the man dropped his hand like he’d been burned.

“I understand you have had a trying day,” Snape said testily, “but you will stop with these
ridiculous outbursts immediately.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t the sorry Snape was almost certainly looking for, but if Harry was forced to
apologise properly right that minute he knew he’d completely go over the edge.

"As I am making a concentrated effort to be more civil with you, I think it's best if we leave
things there for now," Snape said. His face had gone back to the smooth mask from the night
before, but Harry could now recognise a slight tightness around his jaw which indicated his
annoyance. "We can continue this conversation at a later time, when I am calmer and you are
less upset."

"I'm not upset!" Harry shouted. Snape raised his eyebrows, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up.
Okay, so maybe shouting that wasn't really proving his point. He took a deep, shuddering
breath. "I just have a lot to get my head around. This is hard for me. But look, if you're
worried about Dudley, don't be. He's fine there."

"From your description, I am willing to believe that," Snape conceded.

"Great. Can I go, then?"

"If you wish," Snape said, taking a step back. “As long as you don’t enter any of the
restricted areas, that's fine. Your room is open to you again - Draco is in my lab and will stay
there."
 “Great. Bye.” Harry instantly began to stalk from the kitchen.

"Harry?"

Why did Snape using his first name always make him stop and listen?

"If you need anything, feel free to come and find me."

Harry curled his trembling hands into fists. "I don't need anything from the likes of you."

I don't need anything from anyone. I've been taking care of myself for a long time.

But as Harry stormed up the stairs and into the empty bedroom, a small, fragile part of him
almost wished he'd answered Snape differently.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter is quite Snape - Harry heavy, but Draco is going to come back into the
picture shortly for anyone wondering! Hope you enjoyed this.
 Lessons in Cookery(and Other Matters)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry was left alone for the rest of the morning, which certainly suited him. As promised,
Malfoy did not come into their shared room, which left Harry alone to try and distract
himself from all the memories of his crappy childhood that Snape’s stupid talk had brought
up. There was a reason Harry didn’t talk about this stuff, even with Ron and Hermione;
because it meant he had to think about it.

And Harry didn’t want to do that. So, instead he drew. It was the Quidditch pitch, this time,
since Harry really missed flying. Drawing was all well and good, but he did really enjoy
taking his broom out and soaring through the air. After a long summer without access to his
Nimbus, Harry was even starting to miss Oliver Wood’s early morning Quidditch drills that
he usually grumbled about.

Maybe he should take up jogging or something. Perhaps that would help with how antsy
Harry felt. Unfortunately, that would involve leaving the house, which Harry really couldn’t
do without permission since Snape was now tracking his every move. He certainly wasn’t
going to ask Snape to let him, either, so he was pretty much stuck. Harry sighed and ran a
finger across the coarse grooves of the runes carved into his tracker, feeling thoroughly
miserable.

Harry spent the entire morning half-expecting Snape to burst into the room unannounced and
declare another mandatory conversation that Harry was in no place to tolerate. He felt like his
emotions had been rubbed red-raw by the events of the last twenty-four hours, which made
every strong feeling painful and amplified. Harry didn't know how he'd react if he was told he
had to talk about the Dursleys again, and that volatility scared him. He despised feeling so
sensitive.

Luckily, Snape kept to his word and left Harry to his own devices. The only indicator Harry
had that the other man was even in the house was the occasional open and shut of the door to
his laboratory, which was often accompanied by the low-voiced murmuring of two
individuals.

It was midday before there was at last a knock at Harry’s door, but it was only Snape
summoning him down for lunch. Harry walked into the kitchen and came to a sudden halt,
wrinkling his nose when he saw who was already waiting at the table.

“Well hello to you too, Potter,” Malfoy muttered, refusing to look at him.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, pulling a face.

“He is eating lunch, as are the two of us,” Snape said, abruptly coming up from behind Harry.
“Well? Sit down, then.”
Harry did so, casting suspicious looks at Malfoy the whole time. He was still refusing to look
at Harry, and wasn’t touching his food.

“Draco, I believe you have something to say,” Snape said, crossing his arms and eyeing
Malfoy expectantly.

“I…I apologise for blackmailing you into doing my chores,” Malfoy said quietly, eyes fixed
on his lap. Harry had to struggle to hold back a scoff. “And for framing you for stealing my
mother’s necklace. Oh, and for punching you.”

Snape turned to Harry. “Do you have any sort of response?”

Harry wasn’t sure if Snape knew about him kicking and shoving Malfoy yesterday, but he
certainly wasn't going to apologise for that. Malfoy had started it! Instead, he simply tutted.
“Okay, then. You’re sorry? For a Slytherin, you’re a terrible liar, Malfoy.”

Malfoy slammed his fork to the table. “See, Severus? I told you it was pointless!”

“You are not entitled to an acceptance of your apology, Draco,” Snape said, giving him a
piercing look.

“An apology he doesn’t even mean,” Harry muttered.

“And you ought to stop assuming you can sufficiently determine Draco’s sincerity,” Snape
said sharply. “Given your fractious relationship, I highly doubt that you are an expert in his
mannerisms.”

"Oh and you would definitely know when he's lying," Harry muttered, crossing his arms.

"Potter," Snape said, the warning clear in his voice. Harry sighed to himself but didn't say
anything further. He could sense Snape was losing patience and didn't feel up to another
lecture that day.

While he was eating, Harry noticed something strange - the overpowering, strong smell of
vinegar lingering in the air. He frowned, since that wasn't in any of the food they were eating.
He glanced to his left and realised that the smell had to be coming from Malfoy, oddly
enough.

Malfoy noticed him watching. His fingers tightened around his cutlery. “And what
fascinating thing has caught your eye, Potter?”

“Why do you smell like a fish and chips shop?”

Malfoy gave him a vaguely disgusted look and ignored Harry’s question.

“Draco has been pickling toad livers this morning,” Snape explained. Harry made a face. “He
has been around a rather significant quantity of vinegar.”

“I knew it was going to stick to me, Severus!” Malfoy said irritably. “I told you it would!”
“And I believe you are familiar with the concept of showering and laundry?” Snape raised his
eyebrows. “You’ll recover, I’m certain. At any rate, I do not design punishments to be
pleasant, particularly punishments for nasty, bullying behaviour like that which you have
been engaging in for this last week.”

Malfoy’s cheeks grew rather pink. He stared at his plate and didn’t meet either of their eyes.
Harry tried not to look too visibly shocked that Snape had actually just called out Malfoy’s
behaviour and returned to his food, mulling things over. So Snape was telling the truth -
about Malfoy, at least. He genuinely wasn’t happy that Malfoy had been so horrid to Harry
this past week…

After a couple of minutes, Harry realised that Snape was closely watching him while he ate.
He scowled. “Can you stop staring at me? It’s creepy!”

“I’m sure it has not failed to come to your attention that this table is rather small,” Snape
said, pointedly continuing to stare down Harry. “There are only so many directions in which I
can look. It is also, I might add, good manners to look at the people you are eating and
conversing with."

Malfoy scoffed. “Potter wouldn’t know good manners if they hit him over the head.”

“It shocks me how you fail to notice the rank hypocrisy in that statement when you yourself
have exhibited appalling manners through your lack of respect and decorum while speaking
with Mr Potter this past week,” Snape said waspishly. “And congratulations, Draco. On top
of everything else you’re dealing with, you just earned yourself an earlier bedtime.”

"Oh, come on, Severus!" Malfoy snapped. "I'm not five!"

"Really? Your behaviour would suggest otherwise!" Snape said caustically. "Keep
complaining and I can make it earlier, if you'd like?"

Malfoy sat back with a loud huff, clearly disgruntled. Harry stuck his tongue out at him,
feeling rather smug. Snape saw this and let out a very loud, very long sigh. “I don’t know
why I even bother. For my sake, will the two of you limit yourselves to silent glaring for the
duration of this meal and cease with the other childish theatrics? I am beginning to think a
prolonged stint under the Cruciatus Curse would be more bearable than this…”

They both nodded. Harry wasn’t entirely sure what the Cruciatus Curse was, but it certainly
didn’t sound pleasant. Besides, he could make do with staring. In fact, Harry took it upon
himself to make it his personal mission to give Malfoy the dirtiest looks he could possibly
muster, which the other boy did his best to return. Snape looked like he wanted to throttle
them both, but otherwise didn’t comment.

They dined in silence until the end of lunch, when Snape cleared his throat and banished the
dishes to the kitchen sink with a wave of his wand. “Draco, you’re to clean those.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking!” Malfoy shouted, kicking his chair back. “You can do it easily
with a spell! I understand I’m in trouble, but making me do house-elf work in addition to
slaving away in your laboratory is just excessive!”
“Considering the fact that your rule-breaking consisted of blackmailing Harry into doing your
previous punishment for you, I think it’s very apt,” Snape said calmly. “Washing a few dishes
will not kill you.”

“It’s the principle of it!” Malfoy yelled, the volume of his voice reaching new heights. Harry
nervously eyed the glass of water still sitting on the table and prayed Malfoy wouldn’t throw
it.

Snape didn’t reply immediately. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small vial of purple
liquid, and walked over to Malfoy. Snape uncorked the vial and held it out to him. “Drink.”

“Shove off!” Malfoy snapped, turning his head away. “I don’t need any of your stupid
Calming Draughts, I’m fine.”

“Nonetheless, you will drink it,” Snape said in a tone that beggared no argument. Malfoy shot
Snape a withering glare and downed the Calming Draught in one gulp. Harry noticed the
potion worked nearly instantly. The tension in Malfoy’s shoulders and the tightness in his jaw
faded, and he stared at the floor, a faint pink flush staining his cheeks. He stormed over to the
sink and started washing the dishes with more force and clatter than was strictly necessary,
but didn't complain again.

“Er - what did you do to him?” Harry asked a little nervously.

“I gave him a quarter dose of a Calming Draught,” Snape explained.

Harry frowned. “You’re drugging him?”

“No, I am not drugging him!” Snape said exasperatedly. “While Draco works on long-term
strategies to manage his self-control, we both came to the decision that it would be wiser to
reign in his temper through potions when his anger gets too out of hand so he does not break
anything else in my house.”

“You know, I don’t appreciate you going through all my personal issues with him, Severus,”
Malfoy said, pausing his scrubbing to scowl at Harry.

“Considering you threw something at his head not one week ago, I think Mr Potter is entitled
to know what we’re doing to deal with your little temper issue,” Snape said pointedly. Malfoy
huffed and returned to pouring what Harry thought to be a rather excessive amount of
washing up liquid onto a plate. He really didn’t know how to do any housework, did he? How
odd…

"This is only a temporary measure,” Snape added. “It is not advisable to use Calming
Draughts long-term to dull one's emotions, which is also why Draco is taking a lower dose.
This method generally allows the drinker to take the edge off of powerful emotions so they
can control themselves without fully dulling all feelings, which is what a regular dose would
do."

Harry nodded. He vaguely remembered writing a Potions essay about the addictive nature of
Calming Draughts, but all he could remember about it was that Hermione and Ron had gotten
in an argument that day when Hermione wouldn't proofread his homework for him.

“What summer assignments are you working on today?” Snape asked. It was as if Harry’s
thoughts about school had turned his teacher-mode on.

“I was going to take a stab at Astronomy,” Harry said.

Snape nodded. “Perhaps you should begin, then.”

Harry glanced out of the back door to the rainy sky above. This was the first day in a week
he’d not done any gardening, and it felt strange. Almost itchy, Harry decided. The sensation
of a guilty conscience.

“What’s happening with chores and stuff?” he decided to ask. “I didn't do my gardening this
morning.”

“It’s predicted to rain for a fair few days, so none of that at the moment,” Snape said, waving
his hand dismissively.

Harry frowned. "What housework do you want me to do instead, then?"

“I’ll work something out.”

Malfoy looked up from the sink, his mouth hanging open slightly. “Why are you asking for
housework, Potter? Are you mental?”

Harry made a rather rude hand gesture at him. Unfortunately, Snape noticed this. His eyes
narrowed. “Do not let me catch you doing that again or I’ll have you writing lines until your
hand cramps. Go do your homework.”

Harry nodded glumly and trudged up the stairs.

Harry sighed and put his quill to one side, finished with the essay. As he’d not wanted to be
anywhere near Malfoy that afternoon, he had elected to do his Astronomy homework in his
bedroom. Harry had a feeling that the Snape from before his runaway attempt would have
forced Harry to do it downstairs anyway, but as things stood, Snape was practically tiptoeing
around Harry. He was giving Harry far more free reign to do as he pleased with his time, it
seemed. He’d become almost lax.

Well, except when it came to being polite to Malfoy.

God, Harry was furious with Malfoy. He’d had all afternoon to think about why, and had
come to something of a realisation. He wasn’t necessarily angry about the punch, or the
insults, or even the blackmail, really. That was typical Malfoy nastiness, and didn’t bother
Harry all that much.
No, he thing that really incensed Harry about the whole situation was the fact that Malfoy
had chosen to reveal the information he’d been blackmailing Harry with to Snape. After
Harry had spent all week doing Malfoy’s chores for him and putting up with his horrid, nasty
remarks, it had all been for nothing. Even though Malfoy’s blackmail had been tangentially
related to the necklace at best, Malfoy had still snitched about the bruises to Snape! He’d
probably done it for the sole purpose of getting Harry in trouble, too, not even realising the
problems he was going to cause.

This whole situation was entirely Malfoy’s fault. If he’d kept his big mouth shut, Snape never
would have found out about the bruises, or subsequently the Dursleys. Harry wouldn’t be
stuck at Spinner’s End having his childhood and home life constantly dissected for the next
two weeks if not for him. Everything would be normal, but now it wasn't and never would be
again, and Harry hated Malfoy for it.

Harry exhaled loudly and banged his head against the desk. The other problem that was
becoming increasingly more and more pressing was how bloody bored he was. It had been a
solid week of hiding in this room at all hours so Malfoy and Snape wouldn’t remember he
was there, and Harry was really running out of interesting things to do with himself. The rain
outside wasn’t helping, either; Harry couldn’t even go out into the garden to find something
else to do without Snape pitching a fit and levitating him inside.

Just so he wasn’t stuck staring at the same four walls for even more time, Harry decided to
finally go downstairs into the kitchen for a change of scenery and to get a glass of water.
Malfoy was conspicuously absent but Snape was inside, chopping vegetables. He looked up
as Harry walked in.

“How are you finding your Astronomy homework?” he asked.

“Er - alright. I think it’s done.”

Harry got a glass out of the cupboard and went over to the tap to fill it, trying very hard not to
think about how Snape’s relatively mundane question had made him feel. It was strangely
parental, and for some reason immediately reminded Harry that the Dursleys couldn’t give a
fig about how Harry was finding his homework, even when that homework hadn’t involved
wand-waving and magic tricks.

“If it’s completed, bring it to me later to look over,” Snape instructed. Harry nodded,
watching closely as Snape sliced a spring onion. He couldn’t help his twitching lips. Snape
even cooked like a Potions Master! Harry had never seen someone cut vegetables with such
surgical precision!

Snape noticed Harry’s amusement and his eyebrows contracted. “Do you have something to
add?”

“That is a really weird way to cook,” Harry said with a snort.

“Really?” Snape drawled, putting the chopping board to one side to turn and look at him.
“Does this come from your perspective as some sort of Michelin Star chef, Potter? What
makes you such an expert?”
“I cook all the time, actually!” Harry said indignantly. Snape's constant implications that
Harry would either cause severe food poisoning or a catastrophic explosion really irked him,
especially since he most certainly did know his way around a kitchen.

“Indeed?” Snape picked up his wand from the countertop and waved it, causing another
chopping board and knife to appear next to him. “Well, be my guest. Those peppers need to
be diced.”

Harry almost refused automatically, but stopped himself at the last minute. He really was
quite bored, so much so that even cooking with Snape sounded like a more appealing activity
than just sitting in his room. Besides, Harry was feeling incredibly antsy. He hadn’t done any
chores today, and he was worried if he didn’t do something, Snape would flip out over Harry
being a lazy, good-for-nothing leech. So, instead of declining, he simply nodded and picked
up the knife. He intentionally started dicing the pepper into noticeably uneven chunks, just to
prove a point while next to Snape. He was watching Harry with his nose wrinkled.

“The subpar quality of the potions you turn in is beginning to make far more sense.”

“Well we’re not making a potion, are we?” Harry pointed out. “A stir fry isn’t going to
explode if the spring onions are slightly different widths.”

“But a Befuddlement Beverage would,” Snape said.

"Which we aren't making!"

"Don't be so contrarian." Snape rolled his eyes. “At any rate, when you become used to
preparing ingredients in a certain way, it becomes habit and leeches into other aspects of
life.”

Harry supposed that made sense. Snape slid a second pepper over to him. “Dice this one as
precisely as you can manage. Perhaps you can use this as an opportunity to hone your
ingredient preparation skills for Potions next year without some of the external pressures of
the laboratory.”

“Can’t you ever turn off being a teacher?” Harry said grumpily. He wasn’t entirely certain
how he’d just been roped into an impromptu Potions lesson, but he wasn’t particularly happy
about it.

“Consider it another habit that has seeped into other aspects of my life.” Snape raised an
eyebrow. “Are you going to give it a go, or do you not think you can manage it? Is that why
you’re protesting?”

“No, I can do it!”

Harry was never going to turn down an opportunity to prove Snape wrong, so he began to
slowly dice the pepper, taking extra time and care to make sure each cube was equal in size.
He obviously knew how to dice something properly, he just didn’t have the patience for it
most of the time.
When he was finished, Snape looked the pepper over and nodded. "Those are very even. Well
done."

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. Snape actually complimenting him, of all things,
just felt so incredibly wrong. He just stood there, mouth hanging open stupidly, until he
shook himself. "Well don't expect more of it. It's stupid to cook like that, it's inefficient."

"To each his own." Snape had stopped chopping and was watching Harry. "Where did you
learn to cook, then? You speak as if you know what you're doing."

"I do know what I'm doing," Harry grumbled. There was a borderline insulting undertone to
Snape’s words that Harry was itching to start an argument over, but he just about restrained
himself. He’d spent the past twenty-four hours almost exclusively fighting with either Snape
or Malfoy, and was honestly exhausted by the constant quarrelling. Maybe it would be easier
to just let this one go.

"I've been cooking for years now, actually."

"Really?" Snape asked. "When did you begin?"

"When I was tall enough to reach the stove." Harry couldn't remember a specific age. He’d
done excesses of chores at Privet Drive for as long as he could recall, and couldn’t pinpoint
the year when washing up and cleaning had melded into preparing food.

"Did your aunt or uncle teach you?" Snape asked. He waved his wand, and three chicken
breasts flew through the air and onto his chopping board.

"My aunt, and 'teach' is a strong word." Harry wrinkled his nose at the memories. Learning to
cook had just consisted of a lot of shouting, oil burns, sharp knives that he couldn’t wield
properly, and general misery at the hands of Aunt Petunia. "She goes by your teaching style
in all the worst ways."

"I see."

Harry winced, realising he had just insulted Snape to his face. He prepared himself for some
growled reprimand about respect, but no such scolding came. After a moment, Harry looked
to his left and realised Snape had stopped chopping the chicken to watch him carefully. With
an odd swooping sensation in his stomach that reminded Harry of missing a step on the stairs,
he had the sudden realisation that he'd just let slip something about the Dursleys without even
thinking about it. To Snape.

"Don't do that!" he snapped, defensiveness flaring up in him. Harry stared at the chopping
board, his heartbeat uncomfortably rapid. Snape was a Slytherin at the end of the day. Harry
should have expected him to use some kind of sneaky, underhanded methods to squeeze the
information he'd wanted out of Harry. Now he was probably going to ask some horrid follow-
up question, and Harry was almost certainly going to lose his temper again and shout at
Snape, and then he'd have to spend the rest of the evening feeling even more emotionally
wrung-out than he already did…
But to Harry's immense shock and relief, Snape didn't ask. He simply slid some garlic over to
Harry and instructed him to mince it. Harry crushed the clove beneath his knife in something
of a daze. Maybe Snape had suddenly learnt how to respect boundaries that afternoon.

Or Harry wasn't out of the woods yet, and the awkward, probing questions would drop at any
minute. He needed to change the subject.

"So I'm confused," he began, staring at the chicken. "I’ve seen you use your wand for some
things, like heating the stove or summoning the ingredients, but then you chop them by hand.
Why not just use a spell for that, too? It would save loads of time."

Harry knew cooking spells existed. Mrs Weasley could make potatoes shed their skins
untouched, or pots stir themselves, or beef mince itself. It was quite simple compared to some
of the other magic he'd seen, but Harry still thought it was amazing, especially when he
recalled the hours of preparation some of the meals he’d made could take back at Privet
Drive.

Snape's lips thinned. "In all honesty? I find household Charms such as that rather difficult."

Harry's jaw dropped for the second time that evening. "You find magic difficult?"

Snape scowled. "Close your mouth, Potter, unless you're trying to catch flies?" Harry obeyed.
"Don't act so surprised. The majority of witches and wizards are not Albus Dumbledore, you
know! Everyone has an area of magic they struggle with, including myself. Watch. Poultry
talis."

The chicken breast did not dice itself, which was what Snape must have intended. Instead, a
few lines scored the surface of the skin in a grid shape, leaving a few chunks of slightly
ragged chicken half-attached to each other. Snape gestured to it. "It is impractical for me to
do things this way, especially when my proficiency with brewing means I can prepare
ingredients by hand very efficiently."

"Huh." Harry frowned. "But wouldn't practising the spell actually help in the long run?"

He highly doubted that he could get out of extra homework for a tricky Transfiguration spell
by saying to Professor McGonagall that turning beetles into buttons just wasn't his strong
suit.

"No." Snape scowled as he began to correctly chop the chicken by hand. "Are you aware of
the Muggle bias surrounding left-handed people, Potter?"

Harry nodded, unsure of how this linked. "Yeah. They used to force people to write the other
way, did they? Because they thought being left-handed was a sign of the devil?"

"Indeed. Unfortunately, the wizarding world held some similarly unfounded beliefs in the
early twentieth century, although this was more linked to the casting of spells than any
religious factors."
As Snape spoke, he finished chopping the meat, picked up the chopping board, and headed
over to the stove. He flicked his wand at the waiting pan, heating it instantly so the cubes of
chicken sizzled as they hit the oil without much influence from the spluttering gas burner
beneath.

“There was a false claim that the only natural and correct way to cast spells was using your
right hand, despite much evidence to the contrary that many witches and wizards could
perform magic of the same calibre with their left hand. Hogwarts consequentially enforced a
regime of exclusively right-handed spellcasting for a fair few decades until it fell out of
fashion, when people finally began to realise it significantly hampered one's magical ability
to not cast with the correct wand arm.”

“Was that still happening while you were at school, then?” Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. “Hogwarts completely abandoned the practice in the early sixties.
However, even though this school of thought was thoroughly disproven, a large sect of
witches and wizards still had these views internalised to a degree when I was growing up,
including my mother. As she was the one to teach me household Charms, she insisted on
making me learn them with my right hand. I had no reason to refuse to follow her methods."

"And you can't get the magic to do it properly because it's not with your wand arm," Harry
said, understanding dawning. "Couldn't you just teach yourself it left-handed now, though?"

Snape shook his head. "Once you learn a spell a certain way, it is extraordinarily difficult to
change how you perform it. Imagine trying to fit a square peg through a round hole. It comes
from a mixture of your wand disliking the change, depending on the core and wood, and a
degree of mental blockage. It is honestly easier for me to do it with my opposing hand, even
with the impaired quality of my spell outcomes."

The wand switching Harry had noticed earlier in the week now made a whole lot more sense.
As he cast his mind back, Harry realised that all of the spells Snape cast with his opposite
hand had actually been household-related ones.

"I can't believe they used to enforce that sort of thing!" Harry said indignantly. "There's
probably a load of witches and wizards who got stuck not able to cast everything properly
because they were lied to and told they were doing spells wrong! That's so bad!"

"I agree," Snape said, shaking his head. "Demetrius Diggle, the man responsible for the
falsified research which contributed to the widespread misinformation, was eventually found
out as a fraud, thankfully. He was fined thousands of galleons and essentially exiled from
magical British society."

"Good riddance," Harry muttered.

"Indeed," Snape said, pursing his lips. “Go and set the table. This is almost ready."

As Harry placed the knives and forks down, he had a sudden, strange realisation. He'd just
spent time with Snape…and it hadn't been entirely unbearable. At a push, Harry might even
reluctantly admit that he'd enjoyed their conversation. That stuff about left-handed magic had
been really interesting, and Snape had actually dropped the conversation about Aunt Petunia
when Harry wanted him to.

So far, Harry had only experienced two extremes of Snape: angry, nasty Snape, and overly
pushy, Dursley-obsessed Snape. Harry hated both these iterations, but this Snape who he'd
cooked with? That man was possibly bearable.

Or he was lulling Harry into a false sense of security by pretending to be friendly so he'd slip
up and tell Snape more stuff about his childhood. That certainly seemed like something
Snape would do. He was incredibly manipulative, after all…

No, Harry couldn't let his guard down. He had to remember who he was dealing with here. It
was Snape. The other shoe was going to drop eventually, and it would be all the more painful
if Harry actually started changing his opinions on Snape only to realise how wrong he was.
He had to remain vigilant.

As if the universe was reminding Harry of how careful he had to be at Spinner’s End, Malfoy
flounced into the kitchen just as Snape was serving up the food. He immediately looked
daggers at Harry, and Harry scowled right back. Snape pointedly ignored this behaviour,
although he speared a piece of chicken on his fork with more force than strictly necessary as
he sat down to eat.

“So, Draco,” he began. “How many lines have you completed?”

“A hundred and twenty,” Draco muttered. Harry looked closer at the other boy and noticed
the edge of his hand was smudged black with ink.

“Reasonable progress,” Snape said.

“It would be more if you hadn’t assigned me a bloody paragraph!” Malfoy growled.

“I can make it longer, if you’d like?” Snape asked, his voice dangerous. Malfoy at last fell
silent, but he continued to glare at Harry like he was personally responsible for the lines he’d
been set, which Harry didn’t think was entirely fair. Malfoy was the one who had utterly
wrecked Harry’s life, after all. He had no right to act like he was hard done by!

Dinner was a silent affair after that, as Harry and Malfoy had something of a staring contest
from their opposite ends of the table. In fact, Harry was so laser-focused on matching
Malfoy’s withering glower that he actually ended up missing the food on his plate with his
fork multiple times because he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing. He could see
Snape out of the corner of his eye, pressing his lips into a thin white line like he was barely
biting back an insult.

Because he thinks you’re some pathetic, half-starved little orphan, an annoying little voice in
the back of Harry’s head reminded him. He’s too obsessed with you eating to say anything.

His shoulders tensed. If there was one thing Harry couldn’t stand, it was pity. It wasn’t like
Harry was going to drop dead because he’d missed a few meals in his time! He wasn’t some
fragile little creature that Snape needed to tiptoe around, he just wasn’t. While Harry didn’t
exactly like when Snape was horrid and mean to him, the knowledge that the changes in his
behaviour were because of what he knew about the Dursleys made Harry shrivel up a little
inside for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Malfoy finished eating before Harry did and hurried away upstairs, presumably to do more
lines, judging by his general huffiness. Harry went to leave as well, feeling vaguely irritated,
but stopped in the doorway when Snape cleared his throat.

“Do you remember what I told you,” he said, “about Demetrius Diggle’s falsified research
into left-handed wizardry?”

“Yeah?” Harry turned around to face him.

“Why do you think people would believe him in the first place?” Snape asked, steepling his
fingers.

Harry frowned, thinking hard about both the question and why Snape was asking him this.
“Um… well, I’m guessing it was some sort of official-seeming research?” Snape nodded.
“Right, then that means they’d think it was true. I mean, it’s not like they’d have any reason
to think Diggle was lying?”

“Indeed,” Snape said. “And the myth persevered amongst a large portion of the British
wizarding population, even after his fraudulent data collection methods had been exposed.
Why do you think that is?”

“Er… I guess once people believe a certain thing, they find it hard to change their minds
about something,” Harry said slowly.

“Correct,” Snape said with a nod. “Now, this long-lasting misconception came from just one
misleading study. Imagine, I suggest, what the wider magical community would think if there
were dozens upon dozens of researchers claiming that casting left-handed was an inferior
method of sorcery. How difficult do you think it would be to convince a group of people that
these facts, which they had internalised into their belief systems, were completely unfounded
and they needed to change their minds immediately?"

“Pretty hard,” Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Now, change left-handed spellcasting into Muggleborn magical ability,” Snape said.
“Imagine going through life being presented with what appears to be very valid, rigorous
research telling you a group of people are inherently magically inferior -”

“Muggleborns are not magically inferior!” Harry shouted, anger surging in him. “Don’t be
stupid! I know you don’t like her, but Hermione alone completely proves that’s a lie -”

“Will you let me finish before you start yelling at me, Potter?” Snape’s voice wasn’t loud, but
it cut across Harry’s shouts. He fell into mutinous silence. “If you’d bothered to listen to me
more carefully, you’ll recall I stated that this research appeared to be valid, not that it actually
was.”
“Oh.” Harry stared at his shoes, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Now, the majority of magical Britain had no way of knowing this research into Muggleborn
and half-blood magical ability was invalid, you know,” Snape said, mercifully overlooking
Harry's outburst of temper. “In fact, the researchers and academics producing these reports
were generally quite renowned scientific figures, who were not yet known to be Death Eaters
with biases that were leaching into their research. The idea that Muggleborn blood was not as
magically concentrated as that of pureblooded wizards became a rather ingrained ideology
amongst certain groups of the population over the last few decades, particularly in the run up
to the war. Even though all of these studies have now been disproven, the seed has still been
planted in many pureblood minds.”

“I still don’t think that’s an excuse for people to be so nasty to Muggleborns today,” Harry
muttered. “It’s not true, so Muggleborns should be treated equally!”

“No, I quite agree,” Snape said, “but my point here is that some people quite genuinely do
not know any better. Take Draco, for example.” Harry screwed up his face. “He did not get
this way on his own, you realise? Imagine you have spent your entire life being told that
Muggleborns are inferior to you in every way. Imagine hearing that they are stealing a place
in a world that rightfully belongs to you, and that they are less powerful in every conceivable
manner. Then, imagine being told you have to completely change these worldviews
overnight. He is currently deconstructing beliefs that are ingrained into every corner of his
psyche, and that does take time.”

“Is he really?” Harry asked sceptically. Malfoy seemed like just as much of a nasty bigot
today as he had been since first year.

“Yes, he is,” Snape said firmly. “I am making sure of it. Finding out that everything you stand
for is a complete sham can come as something of a shock to the system, though. Draco is
obviously rather defensive, but he is starting to reconsider what he’s grown up being told.”

Harry scoffed. “I get what you’re trying to do, but I’m not going to feel sorry for Malfoy. I
just won’t. I don’t have to be nice to him, especially when he goes out of his way to be nasty
to me for no reason.”

“No reason?” Snape arched an eyebrow. “I recall you calling him an ‘inbred git’ at some
point.”

“He started it!”

Snape sighed very loudly. “I am simply suggesting that it might do for you to reconsider the
constant exchange of vitriol. I am working to help Draco improve his ways, but it might
make all our lives a bit easier if you weren’t both so focused on constantly aggravating each
other. Perhaps try to give him a little bit of grace while you continue to reside here?”

“It shouldn’t be my responsibility to do that, though!” Harry protested.

“No, and it is not your exclusive responsibility,” Snape said tersely, “but wouldn’t you rather
put an end to the contentious relationship between yourself and Draco in the long-term by
making a few sacrifices in the short term? I am simply wondering if you can find it in
yourself to extend an olive branch for both your sakes.”

“I’m just not convinced he’s actually going to change,” Harry said, feeling a bit exasperated.
“I’m still not convinced he’s sorry about any of the stuff he did, either.”

“Draco is more sorry than you are able to understand,” Snape said quietly. “As I mentioned,
he tends to put up quite a defensive front about these sorts of things, especially with you. In
private, he is quite remorseful for his behaviour.”

Harry shook his head dismissively, and Snape sighed again. “There are things you don’t
know about Draco that I do know, which is why I am so assured of his sincerity. I might add,
Harry, that there were many things I did not know about you that caused me to behave
towards you in a way that was not entirely fair. Do not make the same mistakes that I did
with you and presume something about another person without knowing the full picture.”

Harry’s hands clenched. “I am nothing like you,” he growled, “and I’m getting pretty sick of
you trying to convince me how nice Draco is.”

He stormed out without another word, fuming. Harry didn’t need the full intricacies of
Malfoy’s life to get a good read on him! All he needed to know was that Malfoy was a horrid
little bully who called Hermione awful names and wouldn’t give Harry the time of day if
their roles were reversed. He wasn’t worth the effort.

Snape didn’t come after Harry as he hid himself away in the bedroom, but annoyingly
enough, his voice was still whispering away in the back of Harry’s mind. After all, he had
made a very good point - Malfoy really must have spent his entire life being told terrible
things about Muggleborns. Harry had had the unfortunate opportunity to meet Lucius Malfoy
on a few occasions now, and could admit the man was far nastier than even his son. Draco
really didn’t know better, did he? Not with a man like that for a father. Somehow, Harry had
never really thought about Malfoy’s behaviour from that perspective…

But even though Malfoy couldn’t help it, Harry was still angry. It shouldn’t be his
responsibility to do anything to help that prat.

A little voice in the back of Harry’s head still quietly argued that maybe, just maybe, he
should try and help anyway. He didn’t have to like Malfoy to want him to change for the
better. And if Harry was somehow able to help, maybe he should…

But it was hard to think that way when the residual anger about everything from the past two
years and especially the past two weeks was still rammed in the forefront of Harry’s mind.
No, he decided, Harry was not going to forgive Malfoy.

Not even when late that night, while Harry was struggling to sleep, Malfoy sat up and
whispered, “I did mean it, Potter.”

Harry ignored him, but Malfoy continued to speak. “It’s just - it’s hard, in front of Severus,
but… I am really sorry. I shouldn’t have done any of that. I just get so angry sometimes…”
He sighed mournfully. “Severus said… look, if I’d known those bruises weren’t caused by
 whatever biking was - that it was something actually serious, whatever it is that hurt you, I
mean, then…”

And with those words, Harry hardened his heart. “Just shut up, Malfoy.”

He had ruined Harry’s life by telling Snape about those bruises, and Harry was never, ever
going to forgive him for it. It didn’t matter that Malfoy apparently hadn’t even known what
biking was, or that he still didn’t seem to realise what was behind the injuries. He’d still told,
and Harry was furious.

“Fine,” Malfoy snapped. “Be that way.”

Harry heard the rustling of the covers as the other boy turned over, leaving Harry alone in
irritated silence, trying not to wonder if he should have answered differently.

Chapter End Notes

Fun fact: the stuff about false research into left-handed wizardry is loosely based on the
11-Plus. For those who don't know, this guy published a bunch of articles full of falsified
research in the early 21st century that suggested intelligence was innate, and people
were so taken by this that the British government actually changed the education system.
All pupils took a standardised IQ test at age eleven, and the top scorers got places at
selective grammar schools, while the rest were sent to comprehensive schools. Even
after it came out that Cyril Burt faked a lot of his research, it took a while for the
government to swing away from this education streaming system. Even in the 21st
century, there are still many selective schools across England decades later.
 A Pendulum Swing

The next morning, it was as if Harry’s fury had coalesced into a low-burning, dangerous
outrage. He wasn’t sure how much Malfoy either knew or had figured out about Harry’s
childhood, but he certainly knew something was off. Harry had to be angry because if he
wasn’t, he’d just be scared out of his wits that Malfoy was so dangerously close to learning
his darkest secret.

While Harry was steadily growing more confident that Snape wasn’t going to tell anyone
about the Dursleys - or, at the very least, that he intended to keep things quiet - Harry
absolutely did not believe for a second that Malfoy would behave with any sort of discretion.
Harry could already hear Malfoy describing the bruises in a drawling voice: “Can’t even
defend yourself from a bunch of Muggles, Potter? You really are a pathetic wizard.” Pansy
Parkinson’s shrieking cackles would rise above the laughing Slytherins, and Harry would
never be able to show his face at Hogwarts again.

So yes, Harry was livid. If that meant he elbowed Malfoy so roughly out of the way on his
journey to the loo that he stumbled into the wall, then so be it. Or if it meant Harry
‘accidentally’ trod on his foot with as much force as he could muster as they sat down for
breakfast, Harry rather thought he should be forgiven.

Malfoy, who never avoided an opportunity to grass someone up, especially Harry, shockingly
didn’t say anything. He only let out a small squeak of pain. That surprised Harry, especially
since Snape was right there and ready to swoop in and take Malfoy’s side, like he was so
fond of doing. Why wasn’t he kicking up some sort of fuss?

Harry didn’t know, and not knowing made him even angrier. He didn’t know what was wrong
with him today, but it felt like the slightest provocation would make him absolutely explode.
In fact, he was so consumed by his wrath that all the conversation turned to buzzing in his
ears, so he didn’t even notice that Snape was trying to speak to him until he felt the man tap
him on the shoulder. Harry was so out of focus that he cringed away from the contact before
he had time to think about what he was doing. That display of utter weakness, of pathetic fear
and vulnerability, just vexed him further. He wanted to slap someone - preferably Malfoy…

“What did you say?” he managed.

“I said to wait down here for a moment while I establish Draco upstairs.” Snape’s jaw was
tense. Harry hoped he didn’t think that Harry had been intentionally ignoring him. It just felt
impossible to even think clearly at the moment, let alone listen. “We need to talk.”

Harry was glad that he’d already finished eating, since his stomach contracted uncomfortably
at that idea. While Snape escorted Malfoy away, he was left to ponder what this talk could be
about. It wasn’t too difficult of a question, though. Harry had a pretty good idea - it was time
for his daily interrogation about the Dursleys.

And unfortunately, he was right. Snape sat down opposite to Harry and fixed him with that
awful, piercing look of focus. “Now, Harry.”
First names again. It was always 'Harry' when it came to the stupid Dursleys, wasn’t it? Then
right back to Potter when Snape didn't want something. The manipulativeness of the man
sitting before him only served to worsen Harry’s foul mood.

“I would like to continue our discussion from yesterday morning, if you would.”

“I wouldn’t like to, actually,” he bit out.

Snape exhaled loudly. “I told you yesterday morning that we would be continuing it, and I am
a man of my word.”

“Don’t care, don’t want to talk, leave me alone,” Harry muttered, glowering at Snape. The
man was beginning to look just as frustrated as Harry felt.

“Burying all of your feelings will do you no good, you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry challenged. “Well it’s been working perfectly nicely for me for the last
twelve or so years, so I think I know what I’m doing better than you, Snape.”

“As the adult in this situation with far more knowledge about emotional regulation and
mental health, I would argue that I do, in fact, know what I’m doing here,” Snape said
sharply. “I can see firsthand what effect your relatives’ treatment has had on you, which is
why it would be wise for you to unload some of it.”

“You don’t see anything about me!” Harry shouted. That had to be some kind of record - he’d
not even managed five minutes before flipping out this time. “You don’t know anything about
my mind, and you certainly don’t know shit about the Dursleys!”

“Language,” Snape growled, “and perhaps I would know more about the Dursleys if you
cared to enlighten me further about their treatment of you?”

“NO!” Harry yelled. “I actually don’t care to! I’m not telling you, I’m not telling anyone, so
you can just leave me alone about everything already!”

Harry sprang to his feet, and without touching it, the chair he had been sitting in exploded
backwards and hit the back wall with a noisy bang. Instantly, the rage building up in his chest
turned to icy dread. More accidental magic. Why did that keep happening? He was supposed
to have better control over his emotions at this age!

He dared to look at Snape, whose mouth was pressed into a thin, white line. Oh God, he was
pissed. Furious, really. All of that stuff he’d said yesterday was definitely about to go out of
the window, he was going to completely snap, and Harry didn’t want to be there when it
happened so, paying no mind to Snape’s orders for him to stay and talk, he fled the room,
heart thudding.

To his immense relief, the bedroom was empty. Harry, who was feeling rather lightheaded
after the accidental magic, sank to the floor and leaned his head against the bed, chest almost
painfully tight. Privet Drive was a horrible place, but at the very least, he knew where he
stood there. Harry was perfectly aware of what Uncle Vernon would do to him for accidental
magic of that kind. Snape was an unknown entity, and Harry didn’t like those.

Five minutes passed, and then ten. Snape did not appear. Harry remained on the floor,
counting the nicks in the wooden boards, heart thudding. By the time his bedroom door
actually swung open, some of the fear from his outburst had faded slightly, although it all
came flooding back when he took in Snape’s dark, irritated features.

“You are not in trouble,” Snape intoned. Harry didn’t believe that for one second, but he
nodded anyway, feeling rather numb. Snape stared at him in silence for several moments
before raising a hand. A moment later, a large glass of water sailed into it, which he handed
to Harry. “Drink.”

Harry stared at the glass in his hand but hesitated before raising it to his lips. Was this Snape's
way of punishing him? Some kind of colourless poison?

Snape somehow picked up on the track Harry's thoughts were going down and scowled. "If I
was trying to poison you, this isn't how I'd go about it. That is just water. Drink it all."

Harry wasn't sure if sort of threatening to poison someone more subtly in future was the best
method of coaxing another person into drinking something they'd just handed to you, but it
somehow worked. Harry began to sip the water without further complaint, and if there was
something hidden in it, Harry certainly couldn't taste it. It was difficult to drink all of it
through his ragged breathing, but by the time he finished drinking it, his breathing had
actually slowed and his heart was beating more gently.

Did you put a potion in that or something?” Harry asked, setting the glass to one side. It was
shocking how well that had worked in making him relax.

“No,” Snape said. “That was plain water. Cold is effective at slowing the heart rate and
calming the nervous system, and drinking it rapidly as you just did helps to regulate
breathing."

That was a bit interesting, Harry thought, but he couldn't think about it too much because he
was still so worried about the consequences of shouting at Snape downstairs. It was a far cry
from the all-consuming anger he'd woken up with. In fact, he felt a bit like a startled deer,
ready to bolt at any moment. A large change, certainly…

At the minute, Harry felt a little bit like an emotional yo-yo, constantly swinging between
sizzling outrage and sickening fear, or even both at the same time if things were particularly
bad. He wasn’t normally so volatile, and he absolutely hated feeling that way.

Snape, who was turning out to be far more perceptive than Harry had ever given him credit
for, picked up on his badly-hidden anxiousness. He moved from the doorway and sat down
next to Harry on the ground, which completely shocked him. That wasn't particularly Snape-
like! What on earth was he doing?

Still, the lack of a dark, irritated figure looming over him helped relieve some of the lingering
tension in Harry's chest, as did the shock of seeing Snape lower himself in such a way. It
almost made Harry feel as though they were on even footing.

"Are you alright?" Snape asked finally.

The question was so odd that Harry couldn't help but indulge in a hoarse chuckle. "Does it
look like it? No."

"That is… reasonable, given your situation," Snape said slowly. His eyebrows were creased
into a look of bemusement.

Harry simply shrugged and went back to staring at the floorboards. Snape continued to stare
at him, while Harry ignored him. Silence fell over the room.

After a long, awkward pause, Snape sighed loudly. "Harry, has it ever occurred to you that I
am just as unsure about how to proceed under these new circumstances as you surely are?"

That got Harry's attention. He looked up, shocked. Snape, unsure? He always seemed so…
controlled. Knowledgeable, even. But no, Snape just looked visibly frustrated at the moment.

"You need to talk about this with someone," Snape said, words punctuated with sharp hand
gestures, "but I can't take you to someone else because of your position in the wizarding
world. You are vehemently opposed to talking to me. I cannot and will not use Legilimency
or Veritaserum on you, as this needs to come naturally. I also sense that bombarding you with
questions is not the right course of action to take."

You've got that right, Harry thought grumpily.

“I don’t know what to do with you!” Snape hissed.

“I don’t know what to do with me, either,” Harry admitted reluctantly, crossing his arms and
staring anywhere but at Snape’s face. “I just don’t think about it. It works well enough.”

“It doesn’t, as a matter of fact,” Snape said tersely. “Take the small instance of accidental
magic you had in the kitchen, as well as the one from yesterday. You bottling up your
emotions is directly contributing to you losing control over your magic."

Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek. "Sorry, I didn't mean to -"

"I know you didn't mean to!" Snape said, his voice a low growl. Harry jolted away, and
Snape visibly tried to school his features. "I've already told you that you are not and will not
be in trouble for instances of accidental magic, even if you blew out every single window in
my house."

"But what if I hurt someone again?" Harry asked, not meeting Snape’s eyes. "Like Aunt
Marge?"

"You didn't technically hurt your aunt in the first place," Snape said. "You merely inflated
her. However, if you were to hurt someone with accidental magic, it would in all likelihood
be self-defence as your magic responded to a perceived threat. We might discuss it, but you
will not be punished."
Harry swallowed, hard. Right. Snape was a wizard. It made sense that another wizard
wouldn’t find accidental magic weird and abnormal. Harry knew this logically, but he had a
hard time getting himself to believe it.

Snape was watching him closely again, his gaze piercing. "If you are so deeply concerned
about this accidental magic, though, perhaps it would be advisable to discuss your experience
with the Dursleys instead of shoving it down so it all bursts out at inopportune moments."

Even though this was coming from Snape, who Harry didn’t want to take any advice from on
principle, he couldn’t help but reluctantly accept that he was making a good point there. The
idea of continually losing control of his magic was utterly repellant to him, and Harry was
desperate to just make it stop. He was pretty sure he’d take on just about any plausible
advice, even if it came from a man he hated.

Still, there was one issue.

"I just don't know how to talk about it," Harry mumbled, picking at a loose thread in his
jeans. “I know logically that I should, probably, but when you’re actually there asking, I
can’t.”

"That much is clear," Snape said with a shake of his head. "And bombarding you with
questions isn't working, either, so I propose more of a two-way conversation. I can ask you
questions, and you can similarly ask me what you'd like."

"That just seems like a slower way of interrogating me about the Dursleys," Harry grumbled.

"I do not mean we only discuss your relatives," Snape corrected. "There are other things we
could talk about, so we may begin to…get to know one another better.”

“...Okay?”

Snape seemed to think hard for a moment. “Do you have a favourite colour?"

“Sorry, what?”

“I don’t understand how that’s a particularly difficult question to answer,” Snape retorted
sharply. “So?”

The question was so jarringly mundane that it took Harry a decent moment to cobble together
an answer. "Um. Red?”

Snape's lips twitched slightly. "Ever the Gryffindor, I see. I should have expected as much."

"It's not just because of Gryffindor!" Harry protested. "I've liked red since before I knew
about the Hogwarts houses, actually."

"Very well," Snape said, inclining his head. After a moment's silence, he added, "Now, is
there anything you wish to ask me?”
"Er…" Harry ripped the loose thread in his trousers free. "I don't know. I don't think I can just
sit here and chat with you, sir. It's properly weird."

"Perhaps it would be easier if we were engaged in another activity while we spoke?" Snape
suggested. "You seemed to find it easier to speak to me last night while we were cooking."

"Yeah, it was better,” Harry agreed. “That might be alright. Are we going to cook again or
something?"

"No, I have something else in mind." Snape waved his wand. Moments later, a small wooden
box flew through the air and into Snape's hand. He got to his feet, placed the box down on the
desk crammed in between Harry and Malfoy's beds, and lifted the lid. Inside the box was an
old, faded chessboard.

"You know how to play chess, I presume?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I'm terrible at it, though. Ron always beats me."

"Constantly disparaging yourself and your abilities is not what I would consider to be a great
exhibition of self-preservation," Snape remarked, setting out the chess pieces. "Much of the
world will already take it upon themselves to tear you and your abilities down. You would do
well to not give your enemies weapons."

"Oh. Sorry?" Harry couldn't be entirely certain, but he thought that was Snape's way of
telling him to…have confidence? How odd.

"At any rate, comparing yourself to young Mr Weasley is not a fair measurement of your own
chess ability," Snape continued. "After all, he defeated Professor McGonagall's enchanted
chess set when he was just a first-year, a feat many grown wizards would struggle with. That
requires a degree of talent."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You did not just compliment Ron!"

Snape's gaze remained steady. "I can look at things objectively, you know. Through that lens
it is impossible to overlook the bald facts of Mr Weasley's chess ability."

I really have gone through the looking glass, Harry thought blankly. A world where Snape
was not taking every opportunity to insult Harry and his friends was not a world he was used
to living in. It was almost impossible to reconcile with reality.

But if Snape just kept up this strange, new, polite demeanour, maybe a chess game with him
would be…bearable. Spinner's End did get rather boring, and it was something to do.
Besides, there was still half of August left before Harry got back to Hogwarts. Maybe if
Snape didn’t hate him so much, that time would be a bit less rife with tension. Perhaps a
game of chess was the first step towards civility. It was like Snape had said; he didn’t know
how to navigate these new circumstances, either. Harry had to give a little back, and maybe
he could start here.
"This is only a Muggle set, but if you enjoy it, I’ll dig out my Wizard’s chess," Snape said,
taking a seat at the desk. “Do you want black or white?”

"I don't mind," Harry said, rising from the floor and perching on the edge of his bed so he
could better access the chessboard.

"I'll take white, then," Snape said, giving Harry a slightly disdainful look. "There is nothing
noble about turning down a basic advantage. You've just lost an opportunity by giving me the
first move."

"Oh, just play already," Harry snapped.

He couldn't help but be shocked that Snape remained composed - in fact, his face didn't so
much as twitch as he reached out and slid a pawn forward on the board. That was strange,
too. The Snape Harry knew would have immediately barked out a sharp reprimand about his
tone. He'd been like this ever since he'd found out about the Dursleys. Harry hadn't known
Snape was capable of such scrupulous self-control.

He didn't like it.

"Is this whole game just going to be you trying to turn me into a Slytherin or something?"
Harry asked eventually, shuffling a piece forwards.

"Do you consider notes about basic self-preservation to be Slytherin?" Snape countered.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Forgive me. I was labouring under the misapprehension that self-preservation was a basic
instinct possessed by all humans," Snape said dryly. "I forgot I was talking to the boy who
took it upon himself to slay a Basilisk at twelve unaided."

"Unaided? I went and got Lockhart!" Harry protested angrily. "Seeing as he was the Defence
Against The Dark Arts professor I sort of assumed he'd be qualified to deal with the
problem!"

"You attended the duelling club, as I recall," Snape said contemptuously. "You personally
witnessed how Gilderoy was incapable of blocking a simple Disarming Charm. Qualified
indeed…"

Harry couldn't help but admit that Snape unfortunately had something of a point. Lockhart
had been extraordinarily useless.

"I don't just run headlong into dangerous situations," he still insisted. "I've always tried to get
someone, but no one ever listens to me!"

"Very well," Snape conceded. Harry couldn't help but get the general impression that Snape
didn't quite agree with that statement, but since he hadn't outright called Harry an idiotic
Gryffindor with a penchant for getting himself into trouble, he decided to just let it drop and
focus on the chess.
"Remember, you are free to ask me questions if you wish?" Snape prompted.

"Right." Harry did his best to rack his brains for a really interesting question, but of course
came up blank. In the end, he settled for asking, "So what's your favourite colour, then?"

"Blue," Snape said immediately.

"Really?" Harry asked. "But you're always in black! I'd have thought that was your
favourite!"

Snape's eyebrows rose. "You mentioned your favourite colour was red. I do not see you
wearing it constantly."

"Hmph. True." It was still a slightly strange idea for Harry to reconcile himself to.

"Now, time for my question." Harry dug his nails into his palms, dread coiling in his
stomach. Here came a new interrogation about the Dursleys…

"Why is it that you and Draco despise each other so intensely?"

"Huh?" Harry didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that.

"I've asked Draco, but he is extraordinarily reluctant to give me a satisfactory answer," Snape
continued. "I thought you might be more inclined to explain."

"Oh. Well, he was actually one of the first wizards I ever met," Harry said, casting his mind
back to his eleventh birthday. "We were getting our robes fitted at the same time and he was
just being kind of stuck-up, and he kept saying all these rude things about Muggleborns, and
Hagrid, and it put me off. Then, he came up to me and Ron on the train and was nasty to him,
and then he told me he wanted to be my friend. He said he could help me avoid "the wrong
sort' or something. I quite liked Ron by that point so I turned Malfoy down. He's hated me
ever since."

"I see." Harry couldn't help but think Snape sounded a tad surprised by his story. "And you
had developed a bond with young Mr Weasley so quickly?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "His family helped me get through the barrier at King's Cross. I couldn't
find it."

"No one told you how to get through the barrier?" Snape's surprise was far more obvious that
time.

"Nope," Harry said glumly. "Hagrid forgot to tell me how, and my aunt and uncle obviously
weren't going to help me. I was fending for myself until I spotted the Weasleys."

Harry still remembered the dying echoes of the Dursleys' laughter carrying over the breeze as
the car had screeched away following Vernon's snide comment about platform nine-and-
three-quarters not existing. He could still feel that terror he had felt at eleven, standing in the
middle of King's Cross with a trunk, a birdcage and the overwhelming certainty that this had
all been a huge mistake and he was now stuck in central London with no way to get home.
Harry abruptly came back to himself and realised Snape was scrutinising him closely. Harry
had mentioned the Dursleys, all without even meaning to.

"Hey, you said we would both be asking questions, but you've just asked me like three in a
row and I've not asked you anything," Harry said, feeling a little defensive.

"I was not aware this little chat had such strict rules," Snape commented. "Go on, then. Ask
me something."

"Alright, then," Harry said, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Why is Malfoy staying with
you?"

"I believe this is a conversation about the two of us, not Draco," Snape said sharply.

I was not aware this little chat had such strict rules," Harry said, doing his best to mimic
Snape's ironic, deep tones. He expected some sort of reprimand for it but to his shock, Snape
made an odd noise that sounded like a suppressed chuckle.

"Besides," Harry continued, "you just asked me a question to do with Malfoy!"

"I believe I asked you about Draco in the context of his relationship with you, which means
it's relevant to the matter at hand," Snape said.

"And I asked about Malfoy in context of his relationship with you," Harry countered. "So it's
still… relevant to our conversation or whatever it is you said."

"Touché," Snape said, taking one of Harry's bishops with his knight.

"So why is Malfoy living here?" Harry asked again.

"Because I've been assigned guardianship of him."

"Yeah, that much was obvious," Harry said, glaring at Snape. "You're supposed to answer
properly!"

"You never made that a condition of our conversation," Snape said, raising his eyebrows.

"Can I?"

"Only if you agree to the same terms," Snape said. "If I answer your questions with a
reasonable amount of detail, will you do the same when I ask you questions?"

That meant when Snape asked about the Dursleys, Harry realised glumly. All of a sudden, his
questions about Malfoy became a lot less pressing.

Snape tapped the side of the desk, regaining Harry's attention. "I've already given you my
word that I will not needlessly bombard you with questions about your relatives during this
conversation. This new condition does not change that."

Harry sighed. "Fine…"

"Very well, then." Snape advanced his queen before he continued speaking. "Draco is living
with me because he has no other appropriate relatives to reside with. Lucius Malfoy is the
only child of an only child, and both of his parents are deceased, as are Narcissa's mother and
father. Narcissa Malfoy does have two sisters, but one of them is also in Azkaban, and the
other Narcissa hasn't spoken to since her teenage years. They are not close whatsoever.
Instead of delving into the business of other distant cousins and aunts, the Malfoys
determined that I should take guardianship of Draco in the event of their deaths or incapacity
due to a slew of personal and political reasons that would almost certainly go over your
head."

Harry sat back, reeling. Snape had really kept to his word - that was a lot of detail, just like
he'd promised.

"Why hasn't Malfoy's mum spoken to her sister in years?" Harry asked curiously.

Snape fixed him with a stern look. "That, as I'm sure you can recognise, is entirely Draco's
private family business and does not pertain to either one of us. Your previous question was
tangentially related at best already. It would be very impolite and, more importantly, a breach
of Draco's trust for me to go into detail with you about the intricacies of his relationship with
his aunt."

"Right. Sorry," Harry said quickly, feeling oddly chastised. He couldn't help but feel the
tiniest bit guilty, since he could of course recognise that Snape was actually right… The idea
of Malfoy knowing anything about Harry’s private business was positively revolting, after
all. Since the hatred between the two of them was decidedly mutual, Harry had to assume that
Malfoy also hated the prospect of Harry knowing anything about his personal life.

The information he had gleaned was still quite interesting, though. Who’d have guessed
Malfoy had so many relatives locked up in prison? And why was he estranged from the other,
mysterious aunt Malfoy’s mother didn’t speak to?

Snape cleared his throat, dragging Harry from his musings. “Next question: what would you
like to do after Hogwarts?”

Harry paused for a moment before responding. “Er - what do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said,” Snape said. “When you finish school, what are you going to
do? Do you have a career or field of study that interests you, perhaps?”

Harry, to his shock, was absolutely stumped. No one had actually asked him that question
before, and he’d never really asked it of himself. Before he’d known about magic, his life
goal had really just been getting away from the Dursleys at eighteen, since spending your
entire childhood being told you’d never amount to anything didn’t do wonders for career
aspirations. Even the magical world wasn’t much better, since Harry’s entire life’s
accomplishments were irritatingly defined by something he’d done as a baby. He didn’t quite
know what he wanted to do.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted eventually. “I’ve never really thought about it…”
“Well, give it some thought now,” Snape said. “It’s always good to have something to work
towards.”

Jobs. Wizarding jobs. They were different, Harry knew, since he and the other second-years
had spent a lot of time at the end of the last year looking through career leaflets to help
determine their elective subjects. What careers appealed to him?

Harry’s main examples of prominent wizarding careers came from his time with the
Weasleys, he realised. Mr Weasley was in the Ministry, which Harry didn’t think interested
him. Curse-breaking in Egypt like Bill sounded cool, or a job like the one Charlie had on a
dragon reserve in Romania… Harry had never been outside of Britain, as a matter of fact.
He’d always wanted to see the world.

“Maybe something abroad,” Harry said eventually.

“Interesting.” Snape gave him an approving nod before taking one of Harry’s knights. He
pulled a face. Snape was irritatingly good at chess…

“Er… so I get a question now?” Harry asked in an attempt to distract himself from his
failures.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Once again, Harry found himself stumped for something to ask. Snape seemed very reluctant
to give him a full answer when it came to questions about Malfoy, which were the ones he
wanted to ask, so that was a dead end. He also hadn’t spent much time thinking of Snape as
an actual person, as opposed to an irritating Potions teacher who lived to make his life hell,
so it was hard to scrounge up questions that weren’t outright rude. Harry waited several
moments, looking around for inspiration, until his eyes landed on the rows of houses outside
of the window. An idea struck him.

“You grew up here in Cokeworth, but you don’t have the accent,” Harry said, cocking his
head to the side. “Why?”

Snape gave him a contemplative look. “My mother was from London, so I supposed picked
up on a few of her speech patterns as a child. Then, once I began at Hogwarts, I intentionally
modelled my manner of speaking after the Received Pronunciation used by many Purebloods
who I admired.” After a moment of hesitation, Snape added, “your mother kept far more of
her original accent than I did once we started at Hogwarts.”

Harry froze and stared at Snape, wide-eyed. He almost couldn’t believe those words had just
left Snape’s mouth, and felt his heart rate spike. He’d never properly thought about how he
didn’t know what his mother's accent sounded like...

But now, he could start to imagine Lily’s voice with more clarity. That made an odd, warm
sensation spread through Harry’s stomach. He’d spent many long hours as a child imagining
that very thing, but it had always felt intangible and difficult to truly believe. This extra little
detail helped in unimaginable ways.

"Now, although I promised not to bombard you, I wonder if you'll indulge me with just one
question about your relatives?" Snape asked, turning away from the chess game and fixing
Harry with his beady eyes. Harry bit his lip and didn't respond immediately.

"This is important information I need to have so I can ensure you do not have to return
there,” Snape added in a brisk, almost business-like voice. “Just try, for your own sake.”

Harry sighed, and forced himself to nod, the prospect of freedom from the Dursleys and help
with the accidental magic spurring him on. "Fine. Ask away."

"I gather that there is a level of physical abuse." Harry cringed slightly. "We discussed your
cousin's violent streak yesterday, but did not get onto the elder Dursleys before we were
unable to continue. Would you be able to describe it for me now?"

Harry turned his eyes away from the chessboard and stared at his shoes, chest uncomfortably
tight. "Well it's not like they beat me or anything. Not really. Lots of people smack their kids,
right?"

They never hit Dudley, though.

"They hit you hard enough for it to bruise," Snape said quietly. "That is not right."

"It's just - it was particularly bad this last summer because of Aunt Marge," Harry added a
little desperately. He didn't know why, but he was beginning to feel strangely defensive of his
home life.

"Aunt Marge. This is the aunt you blew up?"

"Yeah." Harry swallowed, his tongue dry as sandpaper. "Uncle Vernon’s sister. She hates me
more than they do, actually. Thinks I need a good hiding. Uncle Vernon would be rougher
with me when she was visiting."

"Did she ever hurt you?"

"Sometimes. She has a walking stick." Aunt Marge enjoyed thwacking it against the backs of
Harry's legs and barking at him to stop slouching.

"I see." Harry still didn't look up and meet Snape's eyes. "I'm assuming from your
descriptions that your uncle would hit you, then?"

"Yeah." Harry remembered his promise of detail and took a deep breath. "Never where it
showed, really. But he'd sort of rough me up a bit when I did something bad. Or throw me
around." Into my cupboard. "Like I said, it was never too bad. Weird stuff always happened
to Uncle Vernon if he went too far, he'd jolt back like he got electric shocked." The time he
tried to choke me. "I'm pretty sure it was my accidental magic, but it protected me. He was
scared to do more in case I did something abnormal, so he never did too much damage."
"Oh, I'd say he did plenty of damage," Snape growled. Harry got the sense he wasn't just
referring to physical injury, and shuddered a little. That thought made his insides go cold.
"And for the love of Merlin and Morgana, stop defending the awful treatment you received in
that place!"

"Er - sorry.”

"And stop apologising," Snape added. "I never thought I'd say this, but I almost prefer you in
a defiant rage to this unwarranted contrition!"

Harry almost apologised again but quickly stopped himself. He was fairly aware of the fact
he sounded like a broken record, but it was pretty difficult to switch off. He didn’t have a clue
what else to say apart from mindless apologies.

"Was it just your uncle who hurt you, then?" Snape prompted after a minute's silence. “Or
was Petunia involved?”

"No, Aunt Petunia did too." Harry bunched up his oversized jeans in his fists. "She never did
anything much worse than slap me, though." She hates me too much to ever want to touch
me, even when I was bad. "Um. Actually, she swung a frying pan at my head a few times. It
never really connected with my head, though. I’m good at ducking."

“I see." Snape's face had slipped back into that blank, emotionless mask, but Harry was
getting better at seeing through it now. A muscle was ticking in Snape's jaw, the surefire sign
that he was on the verge of losing his temper. His voice remained toneless and even, though.
“Thank you for your candour, Harry. I understand this isn’t an easy topic for you to talk
about.”

“It’s really not,” Harry mumbled, rubbing his hands over his arms. This supposedly helped?
While Harry was at least somewhat relieved that it wasn’t hanging over him anymore, it was
by no means pleasant to talk about Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to Snape. Even though it
had been a little easier with the distraction of the chess game that Harry was currently losing,
talking about the Dursleys - to Snape! - was never going to be easy for him. Harry had twelve
years of training screaming at him that what he'd just done was dangerous and so, so wrong.
In fact, just thinking about it too thoroughly made Harry feel a little sick.

“Harry. Look at me.” With no small amount of difficulty, Harry ripped his gaze from the floor
and met Snape's eyes. They were filled with a strange sort of fervour. “What your relatives
did to you was wrong.”

No one had ever said that to him before. Ever.

Something odd twisted in Harry’s chest. As simple as those words were, they managed to lift
a weight from Harry's shoulders that he hadn't even realised he was carrying. He felt lighter,
somehow.

“Do you know that?” Snape asked.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. “I mean, I saw the differences in how they treated me and how they
treated Dudley. I know it wasn’t quite normal.”

“But knowing and believing it are very different things,” Snape said quietly.

Harry nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. He knew, somewhat, that the Dursleys
were nasty people. That they were cruel, even.

But Snape was right. Harry didn’t believe it. Every time Harry’s head tried to convince him
that something was wrong with the Dursleys and not with him, his heart screeched out in
protest that he was the problem. After all, it wasn’t like the Dursleys were incapable of love,
or something. They adored Dudley, that much was clear.

But they’d never loved Harry. No one wanted him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever believe it,” he said thickly, daring to admit it at last.

“You will someday,” Snape said, leaning forward. “It will take time, but it gradually becomes
easier.”

“But how can you know that?”

“Experience,” Snape said simply.

My father was a very unpleasant man. The words echoed in Harry’s head again, and he felt
the weight of Snape’s confession hanging between the two of them. The trust behind such a
statement was strangely precious, and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about what it could
possibly mean in regard to the change he'd witnessed in Snape…

“Check.”

Harry winced. The game of chess was really not going in his favour, so he switched to silence
in order to concentrate. That was for the best, really. So many emotions Harry couldn’t even
label has started swirling around in his mind, and he thought if he spoke about these topics
for another moment he’d do something stupidly emotional, a prospect which repulsed him.

Eventually, when Harry thought he could remain composed once more, Snape looked up
from the board and cleared his throat. “I believe I owe you a question, then?”

Harry thought for a moment. After that last remark about personal experience, he had a
couple of nagging questions to ask about Snape’s father that he’d be compelled to answer if
his agreement held up. But somehow, Harry felt like there was an invisible line there that
would be unwise to cross. Despite all of Snape’s promises to remain civil that he had so far
kept, Harry still had a sneaking suspicion that Snape’s childhood was a potential landmine
that could blow their fragile trust to smithereens.

Instead, a different line of questioning rose to mind. One that Harry suspected was just as
risky, but couldn’t quite resist following once he came up with it.
“So you knew my mum.” Harry scanned Snape’s body language for signs of anger, but apart
from a stiffening in his shoulders and a slight twitch in his fingers as he moved his king,
nothing too obvious was apparent. “You said she met you in the park one day, but how did
that even work? I know she was a Muggleborn, but aren’t you a Pureblood? How did you
ever run into each other as kids?”

“I notice you assume I’m a Pureblood. That is untrue.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “But you’re the head of Slytherin! How can you be if you’re a…?”

“Half-blood, like yourself,” Snape said. “My father was a Muggle, my mother a Pureblood.”

“I had no idea…”

“Well, it’s not exactly something I make public knowledge,” Snape said. “It isn’t easy being a
half-blood Slytherin.”

Harry could imagine.

“As my father was a Muggle, I grew up here,” Snape said, gesturing to the house. “Your
mother lived a few roads over, and we attended the same primary school, although we were
in different classes. I had been watching her for a while, as I’d noticed she was magical. I was
the one to tell her about it all when we were both around nine years of age. After the original
shock of me telling her she was a witch - not ideally phrased on my part, I'll confess - we
developed a fast friendship.”

“Wow,” Harry said softly, staring out of the window. Spinner’s End was uphill, so he had a
reasonably good view of the houses stretching out in front of him. He wondered which one
was his mother’s, if it was even visible from here.

“Checkmate.”

Harry turned his attention back to the board and groaned. “I told you I was bad.”

“If you were truly as bad as you imply, you’d have lost the game long before now,” Snape
commented, swiping the pieces back into the box. “Still, perhaps we should have a rematch
soon, so you can hone your skills and take on Mr Weasley with more confidence come
September.”

That surprised Harry, somewhat. That someone - let alone Snape - would actually want to
spend time with him. He wasn’t used to adults bothering to pay much attention to him,
outside of the Weasleys, and even they were exceptionally busy.

What was even more shocking was the fact that Harry didn’t wholly hate the prospect of a
rematch.

“Okay.”

“We cannot now, as I need to take care of some business,” Snape said, getting to his feet.
“But perhaps soon.”
Harry nodded as Snape headed towards the bedroom door and opened it. Before he left,
Snape turned back and watched Harry for a long moment, expression inscrutable.

“Thank you for telling me about the Dursleys,” he said finally. “I promise you I will keep
your confidence, and I will do my best to make sure you never have to return there.”

Harry nodded. It still felt wrong to be trusting Snape with any of this, but Harry didn’t
exactly have a choice, did he? Snape, for better or for worse, had been the one to work out
what was happening. That meant that Harry was forced to trust him to a degree, even if he
wouldn’t have under any other circumstances.

“Thank you for telling me about my mum,” Harry said softly.

Snape didn’t respond. His face was normally so controlled, but those words caused the usual
mask to flicker. An expression of true sorrow and pain drew his mouth into a thin, white line,
and he gave Harry an oddly jerky nod before withdrawing from the bedroom.

In that moment, Harry abruptly realised Snape didn't just know his mother. He'd known her
well enough that her memory still packed that much of a gut punch, even twelve years after
her death.

He'd never have expected it.

The rest of the morning after Snape left was more difficult for Harry to get through than he
would care to admit. Once again, the stifling silence of the empty bedroom left Harry with no
way to drown out his thoughts. A certain air of ennui hung over him, so drawing, reading, or
cards couldn’t hold any of his attention. He was too distracted by his inner turmoil.

Harry desperately wanted all of the horrid memories to go away, but then he remembered
what Snape had told him. If the sudden increase in accidental magic he was experiencing
really stemmed from him trying to lock all of his emotions away and never think about them,
then Harry absolutely had to stop doing that. He could not, under any circumstances, keep
doing accidental magic. He knew what pain that brought.

Unfortunately, not suppressing his memories of his childhood on Privet Drive meant that
Harry had to actually sit there and think. He spent all morning mulling over dozens of
incidents where he’d done something to upset his relatives, resulting in some horrid
punishment.

But had he done something? Dudley had been the one to hit Harry first the time Harry had
fought back. In fact, he’d whacked Harry over and over and over before he’d dared shove his
cousin away. Uncle Vernon had lost it. He’d rained his fists on Harry until he’d been gasping
for breath, cowering away from his uncle’s wrath, all while Aunt Petunia had screeched in the
background about how ungrateful he was, how worthless, how everyone would be better off
if he’d died with his parents.

What your relatives did to you was wrong.

And all of a sudden, the suffocating anger from that morning surged back with a vengeance.
If Severus Snape, a man who had hated Harry since he’d had the audacity to breathe the same
air as him, thought the Dursleys’ treatment of him was wrong, didn’t that say a lot? And yes,
a part of Harry thought he deserved it. A loud, vocal part.

But some of the stuff they’d done couldn’t be explained away by Harry’s inherent rottenness.
The lies they’d told him about his parents all his life, for example. That they’d died in a car
crash. That it had been his father’s fault. That his parents were drunks, and layabouts. That,
more than anything, truly infuriated Harry. He could take the Dursleys insulting Harry and
his character, but not that of his parents. That was completely and utterly unfair! They were
good, noble people, and the Dursleys had stolen that knowledge from him out of blatant spite.

By the time Snape stuck his head back into Harry’s bedroom to let him know it was time for
lunch, he was practically trembling with outrage. It seemed the pendulum of his emotions had
swung straight back to anger, and Harry felt as though he were made of flaming fury, ready to
burn the whole world down with him.

Then, as he turned to walk down the staircase, Malfoy exited the laboratory. All of a sudden,
Harry’s rage had a focus. Malfoy glared at him, and Harry glowered back, his hands clenched
into fists. The Dursleys weren’t here for Harry to be angry with, but Draco Malfoy was, and
Harry certainly hated him with a vengeance. He despised every aspect of Malfoy’s
personality, and most of all, he was still utterly seething over everything he’d told Snape.
That was truly unforgivable, and truly evil in Harry’s eyes. He was the lowest of the low.

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened at the base of the stairs; Harry was too riled up to pay
attention to his surroundings. All he knew is that Malfoy’s shoulder roughly bumped past his
- by accident or on purpose, Harry couldn’t be certain, but in Harry’s frenzied state, he
perceived it as an intentional attack, and after a long week of bullying, Harry was done
putting up with Malfoy’s behaviour. He grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes and
slammed him into the wall of the hallway with as much force as he could possibly muster. He
dug the edge of his arm into Malfoy’s chest, pinning him in place, a sick mirror of their fight
in the garden the other day, and wasn’t that truly karma? Harry pulled his fist back, drove it
hard into Malfoy’s jaw, pulled it back for another blow -

But before his hand could connect, a rough hand seized Harry by the back of the collar and
yanked him backwards. He fell away from Malfoy, barely kept his feet, and the anger faded
to panic, Vernon was somehow here -

But the hand spun Harry around, and he found himself being pulled away by Snape, not
Uncle Vernon. It wasn’t exactly much better to have Snape’s livid face mere inches away
from his, though.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” Snape shouted, spittle flying from his mouth.
As Harry stared into that horribly familiar look of fury, he realised he’d finally managed what
he’d been subconsciously trying to do since Snape had picked him up from that London
alleyway. He’d pushed Snape over the edge. He’d made Snape explode.

Harry had thought he’d wanted this. He knew how to deal with Snape angry, after all - that
was what he was trying to get back to, the comfortable status quo.

But as he stared into the man’s fierce, narrowed eyes, all Harry could think about was how
much he regretted ruining everything.
 Détente, Monopoly, and a Lie by Omission
Chapter Notes

I always feel bad about cliffhangers so here's the next part a few days early! I hope you
enjoy!

“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.
 Unusual Common Ground

Over the course of the next few days, Harry, Snape and Malfoy settled into something of a
routine. Snape, unfortunately, was a man of his word, and made good on his promise to force
Harry and Malfoy into proximity whenever he possibly could.

After breakfast, Harry and Malfoy would make their way upstairs to Snape’s laboratory,
where they would be put to work either cleaning equipment or fulfilling various disgusting
tasks, like gutting toads or extracting slug slime. After about an hour or two of this, Harry
would be dismissed for a precious bit of solitude while Malfoy remained behind with Snape.
He assumed the two of them brewed during that time, considering the conversations they’d
have at lunchtime about Potions which inevitably went over Harry’s head.

Following lunch, Harry and Malfoy would do homework together at the kitchen table under
Snape’s supervision. Harry found this a little less unpleasant than it had been before he’d run
away, since Snape didn’t spend the entire time constantly criticising what Harry put out like
he used to. Granted, he was still rather harsh in his notes for improvement, but there were
now complementary elements when he gave Harry feedback.

Malfoy would then do as he pleased for the remainder of the afternoon while Harry and
Snape spent some time together. They tended to spend it playing chess for a little bit before
cooking dinner. They’d normally talk, too - occasionally about the Dursleys, mostly about
other matters. Snape, of course, was far more knowledgeable about the magical world than
Harry was, and seemed to realise he had a lot of unanswered questions because of the way
Harry had been raised. He taught Harry about all sorts of things, like the enchantments he
used in the fridge instead of electricity to keep food cool, or the magical schools people from
foreign countries attended. It was all really rather fascinating.

But the best conversations of all were the ones where Snape would open up about Harry’s
mother. It was only small details, really, such as Lily’s proficiency in Potions and brewing, or
her favourite flower - daffodils - or her tendency to hum while she worked. Snape was always
strangely apologetic for the limited things he found himself able to speak of, but it didn’t
bother Harry in the slightest. In fact, he thought he preferred these little quirks and
characteristics of his mother’s to any larger stories, since they made her feel like more of a
real person, and allowed Harry to picture her more clearly in his mind’s eye. It was more than
he’d ever hoped to get, too.

Following dinner, Snape would always make Harry and Malfoy spend even more time
together over an activity. Most of the time Snape would leave the two of them to it on their
own, although he normally remained nearby, either in the kitchen or in the living room,
reading a book of some sort, ready to intervene if necessary. Malfoy had continued to beg
Snape to join them for the promised game of Monopoly, but he had so far evaded them. Harry
was a bit worried about what that would be like, so he didn’t push it, even though chess
games were fairly decent with Snape. He just didn’t know how things would be when Malfoy
was added into the mix.
Harry and Malfoy were quite evenly matched in whatever they played, be it Monopoly,
Exploding Snap, Wizard’s Chess or the various card games they tried out. Because both of
them were so terribly competitive, it resulted in a lot of yelling and insults, much to Snape’s
irritation. He would occasionally shout reprimands from the other room when things got too
heated, and even went so far as assigning lines when Harry let out an impressive string of
expletives after a particularly narrow victory of Malfoy’s. He was forced to copy out the
phrase ‘I will use appropriate vocabulary befitting of my education level instead of swearing
like an ill-tempered sailor’ for the entire next morning until his hand was black with ink, and
was once again threatened with an experience with the Soaping Spell.

Even though they were fighting viciously during the evening games, Harry and Malfoy’s
usual behaviour towards each other was changing. Somehow, the ability to get out their
general dislike of one another through Snape’s post-dinner activities was a key tool that
allowed Malfoy and Harry to remain mostly civil with one another during the rest of the day,
since they knew their frustrations could be aired later on. That newfound civility even
allowed for the two of them to have actual conversations. Granted, those conversations were
just stilted comments about the weather or occasional questions about homework but still, it
was progress.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing, though. Harry and Malfoy almost never got a break from one
another, since they were forced together at all hours during the day and had to share a room at
night. Such close proximity magnified the irritating qualities that Malfoy possessed in spades,
and he was truly doing Harry’s head in. Harry presumed that the reverse was true for Malfoy,
so the two of them still had their fair share of arguments, and they were having one on the
fifth morning after Harry had punched Malfoy.

“I don’t see why you have to do so much bloody primping!” Harry hissed as they walked
down the stairs. “I’m sick of you hogging the loo all morning!”

Malfoy raised his nose into the air. “Some of us actually care about our appearance, scarhead.
You wouldn't understand. I doubt you've ever seen a comb before, judging by the state of your
hair…”

“At least I don’t drown my hair in gel!” Harry retorted. “It’s like you take a bath in the stuff
or something!”

“Oh, shut up, Potter!” Malfoy snapped.

Harry glowered at him. "Git."

"Tosser."

"Knobhead."

“Well, good morning to the two of you as well,” Snape said pointedly as they entered the
kitchen. He fixed them with a withering look that promised trouble if their bickering
continued. Malfoy and Harry shot one last glare at each other before sitting down for
breakfast. Harry, who had managed to get the last word, started in on his toast with immense
satisfaction.
“I have a new rule,” Snape announced.

Malfoy and Harry groaned simultaneously; even if they had nothing in common and couldn’t
stand one another, they were at least united in their dislike of Snape’s irritating attempts to
make them get on.

“This surnames business certainly isn’t helping with the animosity between the two of you,”
he said, spreading butter across his toast. “I insist you stop.”

“Oh, that’s so stupid!” Malfoy snapped.

Snape’s eyes flashed with something dangerous. “I beg your pardon?”

Malfoy’s cheeks flushed pink. “Er - sorry.”

“We do live together, gentlemen,” Snape said tersely. “Perhaps you should start behaving
accordingly and refer to each other as Harry and Draco.”

“I don’t see why I have to call him Harry when you don’t even do that half the time!” Draco
protested. “It’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Snape paused for a moment, expression thoughtful. “I suppose I ought to lead by example,
then. Very well. Harry, I will try harder to refer to you by your first name while you live
here.” He grimaced slightly, like he’d just tasted something sour. “And since Draco does it, I
suppose you may call me Severus.”

Harry choked on his water and started coughing and spluttering, his eyes burning. Snape had
not just suggested that!

“Do try not to drown yourself in my kitchen, please,” he commented snidely, wrinkling his
nose at Harry.

“I - I don’t think I call you that,” Harry gasped through a final few coughs. “It’s too weird!”

“As long as you don’t do it publicly at Hogwarts, I see no issue with it,” Snape said, lacing
his fingers together.

“But it just feels - I don’t know, disrespectful!”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “That hasn’t been a conflict you’ve particularly struggled with in the
past, has it?”

Harry looked away, pressing his lips together. “I really don’t know if I can do that.”

Snape sighed. “At least make something of an effort and see how you feel, please?” Harry
reluctantly nodded his assent. “I do, however, insist upon you and Draco calling each other
by your first names.”

“I don’t want to,” Harry bit out.

“And I don’t care,” Snape said icily. “Both of you will do it. Unless you want me to come up
with a punishment suitable for your disobedience, of course? No? I didn’t think so.”

Harry moodily picked at his breakfast after that, his mood only worsening when Snape not-
so-subtly tapped the stretch of table next to Harry’s plate. He'd taken to doing that these last
few days when Harry stopped eating and started staring off pensively during meals. It was a
subtle enough sign that Malfoy wouldn’t pick up on it, at least, but one that obviously meant
he wanted Harry to eat more. He resented that, since it felt far too much like micromanaging
to him, but Harry was still rather reluctant to push on the food issue so he did his best to
brush the annoyance off. He’d drastically prefer someone who was too obsessed with him
eating than being stuck with relatives who didn’t feed Harry at all, anyway…

While all of this was happening, Malfoy was doing the thing he did best - complaining.

“I just wish I could fly,” he sighed melodramatically, casting a glance towards the garden. “I
feel utterly chained, Severus.”

Harry rolled his eyes. It looked like Snape was barely restraining himself from doing the
same. “Well, even if you cannot fly at the moment, perhaps it would be good for the two of
you to get outside and take some exercise. It has stopped raining at last, after all.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Is there anything specific you want done in the garden, sir? I
think I’ve finished the weeding…”

“You are utterly obsessed with gardening, Potter!” Malfoy said, giving him a scornful look.
“I certainly won’t be mucking about in the dirt with you -”

“No one is gardening,” Snape said, loudly speaking over Malfoy. “I think the two of you have
been punished enough by now, unless you decide to start fighting one another again. Or if
you continually use each other’s surnames, Draco.”

No more cauldrons. That was a relief. Still, Harry frowned. “What are we doing out there,
then? Don’t you want work done, or…”

Snape gave him a slightly incredulous look. “Can the two of you seriously not find a way to
occupy your time for a mere few hours without my input?”

Harry didn’t respond immediately, since he certainly couldn’t think of a single thing he could
spend a few hours doing with Malfoy in the garden that wouldn’t result in them eventually
killing one another. After the silence had stretched on for too long, Snape very loudly
exhaled. “I am quite certain you two shall be the death of me. I’ll attempt to find something
for you to do, I suppose… Draco, can you go upstairs and stir the Ocular Serum? Five
counter clockwise, Halifax method.”

Draco nodded and headed upstairs. Snape turned to Harry and crooked a finger. “Come with
me.”

Harry followed Snape as he made his way through the garden and towards the shed at the
back. Even during his time gardening during the first week, Harry had never had occasion to
enter it, since he was fairly certain the door had rusted itself shut.

“Perhaps you can attempt to teach Draco the rules of football?” Snape suggested, running his
wand along the shed door.

Harry wrinkled his nose. “He’s never going to agree to that. Football’s a Muggle sport, he’ll
hate it!”

“I don’t believe I am giving him a choice in the matter.” Snape cast a glance over his
shoulder towards the house. “I am simply asking you to do your best to work with his
reticence, as I am not going to be here to supervise.”

“Oh?” Harry said nervously.

“I am expecting company,” Snape said. “I will just be in the living room if there are any
significant problems, but I was hoping I could simply ask you to be patient with him for a
few hours this morning.”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry shrugged. He supposed that wouldn’t be too unbearable. Ever since he’d
realised Malfoy got so nasty because he just didn’t understand Muggles after years of being
lied to about them, Harry did his best to just grit his teeth and ignore Malfoy’s occasional
rude comments about Muggle things being stupid or below his notice. After all, once he got
into the groove of a game, he normally forgot to be derisive. He’d probably grumble a little
but stop complaining once they actually started playing football, Harry thought. Besides,
Harry knew Snape had some sort of long-term plan to get Malfoy to stop being so negative
about Muggles and Muggleborns, so Harry was more than happy to leave the responsibility
of sorting Malfoy out on his plate.

“I’m not making any promises if he starts calling people Mudbloods, though,” Harry warned.

“And I would not expect you to,” Snape said, doing something to the shed door that made it
briefly glow gold. “You are to fetch me if he says that word. I will not tolerate it.”

“Okay.” Harry still found it rather shocking when Snape actually punished Malfoy. After two
years of him refusing to ever punish a Slytherin for misbehaving, it always felt really out of
character. Still, Snape meant business when it came to Malfoy now. He’d used the Soaping
Spell on Malfoy when he’d said ‘Mudblood’ on Harry’s second day at Spinner’s End, so
there was no reason why he wouldn’t use it on Malfoy again.

Of course, Harry didn’t really expect to need to get Snape for anything that morning. Malfoy
hadn’t actually said that horrid word for a while, even if he was still making slightly snide
comments about Muggles or Muggleborns. Harry supposed in Malfoy’s own way, that
counted as progress.

Snape wrenched open the shed door with a visible struggle. A great cloud of dust exploded
out. Harry covered his mouth as he coughed, eyes watering as the dirt stung them. Snape took
one look at the cluttered, neglected shed interior and shook his head disapprovingly. "Accio
football."
A few moments later, a deflated, dirty football slowly rolled its way out of the shadows of the
shed and came to a stop at Snape's foot. It was so airless that it had completely caved in on
itself, and was more concave than round.

"That is the most depressing football I've ever seen," Harry said.

"Yes, it is rather pathetic." Snape examined it with visible distaste. "It was gifted to me as a
child, I believe, and was never used.”

Harry still had his doubts that Snape had actually ever been a child at all, even though he had
to have been to know Harry's mother. Harry tried picturing it but ended up with the slightly
creepy mental image of a tiny version of the current Snape scowling up at him and
immediately banished the thought from his mind’s eye.

"Well, it definitely looks like it's been sitting in a shed for like fifty years,” Harry said.

"Fifty years?" Snape's eyebrows rose. "Precisely how old do you think I am?!"

Harry shrugged, realising that any number he guessed would probably come off as rude.
Snape obviously put this together and shook his head. “You are aware I am the same as your
mother. She died at the age of twenty-one, twelve years ago. I would like to think you are
capable of the basic arithmetic required to calculate my age with that information, although I
fear I am being overly optimistic about your mathematical ability.”

“I can add twenty-one and twelve!” Harry said indignantly.

“Congratulations,” Snape said dryly. He smirked as he jabbed his wand, and the football
reinflated back into a spherical shape. “While this football has not lasted half a century, I will
concede that it is rather old, and outdates your thirteen years at the very least. It should work
for now, but I’ll buy you a new one the next time I go out.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Harry said quickly.

"It is not as though I'm buying you a signed football from a premier league club." Snape
rolled his eyes. "I doubt it would cost me more than five pounds, a sum I can easily afford.”

Harry was making his mind up about whether or not he should continue arguing, but Malfoy
emerged from the house moments later and effectively put an end to the discussion. He
noticed the football sitting on the ground and screwed up his face. “Severus -”

“You have only just finished being punished, and I am assuming you would rather not earn
yourself yet another day of dissecting dragon eyeballs?” Snape said, crossing his arms. “Then
I think you will find it in yourself to, as the Muggles say, suck it up.”

He stalked into the house without another word, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone with the
football. Malfoy stared at it with no small amount of distaste. “Well, I suppose this is your
area of expertise, Pot - Harry.”

He drew out Harry’s name for over two seconds, his reluctance obvious.
“He can’t hear you,” Harry pointed out. “Just call me Potter, I really don’t care.”

“This is Severus,” Malfoy said, glancing towards the back door. “I really wouldn’t put it past
him to have some sort of Eavesdropping Charm that tells him when we say the wrong
names.”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, you might have a point.”

Malfoy tentatively reached one foot out, as if to tap the football with it, before abruptly
jerking it back. “So what is this thing, then? Some sort of weird, black and white quaffle?”

“Er - actually, I suppose it is,” Harry said. Perhaps if he could explain things in Quidditch
terms, Malfoy might be a bit more receptive. “You’re only allowed to touch it with your feet,
though. That’s why they call it football.”

“That’s a stupid way to play a game.” Malfoy scowled, and Harry took a deep breath,
remembering Snape’s request for him to be patient.

“Look, it’s just the way it’s played. And we can’t actually play football, anyway, there’s only
two of us,” Harry said. “It’s done in teams. Like Quidditch is. And you need a goal, and I
don’t think Snape’s got one of those buried in his shed.”

“You should try and call him Severus, really,” Malfoy commented.

Harry made a face. “Ugh, why?”

“Because it would annoy him.” Malfoy smirked. “Now, what do we do with that thing?”

Harry shrugged. “Kick it, I suppose.”

Malfoy deftly darted out and kicked the football so it glanced off Harry’s shoulder and
smacked into the shed wall with a loud thud. He glowered at the other boy. “Oi!”

“You didn’t say where I had to kick it,” Malfoy said innocently, leaning against the fence and
looking rather smug. This made him the perfect target for Harry to easily kick the football
back into Malfoy’s stomach as hard as he possibly could. Malfoy grunted as the football
smacked into him and made a rude hand gesture at Harry, too winded to shout abuse at him.

“Come on, you deserved that!” Harry laughed.

“I’ll show you deserved,” Malfoy growled, making a beeline for the football. Harry started
racing him to it.

What followed was a rather prolonged game that did not follow any of the regular rules of
football. It just consisted of Malfoy and Harry struggling to gain control of the football so
they could kick it at each other as hard as they possibly could. Harry was fairly certain this
wasn’t what Snape had wanted them to do, but repeatedly kicking a football at Malfoy was
incredibly fun, even if it involved also getting whacked around himself when Malfoy
managed to get the ball from him.
Eventually, they both ended up rather worse for wear. Malfoy had scraped his hands while
attempting to dive for the football, while Harry had ripped open the knee of his jeans and was
bleeding slightly. Their activities were put to an abrupt end when Malfoy kicked the ball into
Harry’s face, and the impact threw his glasses off.

“Hey!” he shouted, feeling around in the glass with one hand and rubbing the sting out of his
nose with the other. “Time out, okay? Don’t hit it at me while I can’t see -”

“I’m not going to kick a ball into your face when you’re blind!” Malfoy said exasperatedly.

Harry looked up and did the best attempt at a sceptical look he could manage with his
throbbing face. “Yeah, right, Malf - er, Draco.”

“I’m not that much of a dickhead!” His features were fuzzy at best, but Harry was almost
certain Malfoy had just rolled his eyes. “Besides, it takes all the fun out of it if you can’t fight
back! Well, the ball’s gone over the fence, anyway. Here, I found your glasses.”

He stepped forward, and placed them into Harry’s palm. He tried to put them on his face, but
groaned as they came apart in his hands. The bridge had completely snapped. “Great, they’re
broken again.” He sighed. “Do you know where Snape keeps the sellotape?”

“Why on earth would you use Spellotape for glasses?” Malfoy asked, nonplussed. “I didn’t
realise those were enchanted!”

“No, I meant regular Muggle tape,” Harry said, trying and failing to balance the broken
glasses on his face before giving up and accepting his new, blurrier world view.

Malfoy scoffed. “What would you use that for? Just ask Severus to fix them!”

“Oh. Right.” Harry often forgot how easy it was to repair things with magic. Still, the idea
didn’t really appeal to Harry, since it would involve asking Snape to do something for him.
He felt remarkably nervous.

“Maybe don’t tell Severus we were kicking that football at each other, though,” Malfoy said
hesitantly.

“I wasn’t going to!” Harry said indignantly. “I’m not thick! I don’t want him to flip out at us
again either, you know.”

“Just checking!” Malfoy held his hands up. “Because if I have to go through another one of
his bloody lectures I will get my wand and shoot a Killing Curse at myself.”

“Do me a favour and take me out, too, before you finish yourself off.”

“It wouldn’t even work on you, scarhead.”

“Since when am I immune to all Killing Curses?” Harry asked exasperatedly.

“What, have you tested it out? You weren’t meant to be immune to the first one!”
“Kill me with something else, then,” Harry suggested. “A meat cleaver would probably still
work.”

“Don’t give me inspiration. You’re an annoying git, and I know where you sleep.”

“Creepy, murdery Slytherins,” Harry muttered, trying and failing yet again to sort his glasses
out. He didn’t particularly enjoy sitting around blind while Malfoy was plotting his imminent
death.

Malfoy craned his neck. “One of us should probably go through that gate to get the football
back.”

Harry realised it must have rolled into Maureen’s garden. “I can’t go over there again.
Snape’ll kill me.”

“Right, Black’s got it out for you or something, hasn’t he?” Malfoy sighed dramatically.
“Fine. I’ll do it, then…”

He walked over to the gate, muttering something about Muggles that sounded vaguely
insulting which Harry chose to ignore. He watched Malfoy’s blurry figure move across
Maureen’s garden and pick up the football, only to jerk back suddenly and look in the
direction of the house.

“Hello, love!” Maureen’s voice called. “Is everything alright?”

Malfoy’s shoulders visibly tensed. “My apologies. We just kicked our ball over your fence,
Mrs - er…”

“Oh, just call me Maureen!” she said pleasantly. Harry watched over the fence, fingers
crossed, hoping Malfoy wouldn’t say anything explicitly rude as Maureen headed out into the
garden. “You’re that nephew of Severus’, aren’t you! He told me a little about you, what was
your name again?”

“Draco,” he said stiffly.

“Ah, I knew it was something like that!” Maureen said. “I must admit, it was a right shock. I
hadn’t a clue Severus had a half-sister, and I’ve been living next door to the Snapes for
coming up on forty years! You must come over for tea some time, you and that little friend of
yours, Harry…”

She smiled at Harry, who was trying not to look too visibly horrified that she’d just referred
to him and Malfoy as friends.

“Well, I can’t at the minute,” Malfoy said through gritted teeth, backing towards the gate.

“Of course, you’re in the middle of your game!” Maureen said, gesturing towards the fence.
“Well, you boys have fun!”

Harry waved to her over the fence as she went back into the house. She waved back while
Malfoy scurried away before turning back into her house.
Harry’s shoulders slumped with relief as Maureen shut her door while Malfoy hurried back
into the garden, football under his arm. Crisis averted.

Malfoy glared at Harry. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not going to shout abuse at Severus’
elderly neighbour, even if she is a Muggle…”

“Hey, I never said anything.”

Still, Harry was a little surprised, even if he refused to admit it. The Malfoy he knew really
wouldn’t have had it in him to be polite to a Muggle, even a particularly kind one.

Things really were changing.

Harry frowned, remembering what Maureen had just said. "Since when is your mum Snape's
half-sister?"

"She's not." Malfoy pulled a face. "Merlin, imagine! No, it was just a convenient lie for me to
be his nephew."

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess."

Malfoy cocked his head thoughtfully. “She’s the one who told you Severus and your mother
were friends, wasn’t she?”

“Er - yeah.” Harry flipped his glasses over in his hands. He’d completely forgotten that
Malfoy had been in the kitchen the day he’d shouted at Snape for not telling him anything
about Lily, since Harry had been a bit preoccupied with the business of hating Snape. That
was a bit embarrassing…

“You know, I really don’t think it was right of Severus to keep something like that from you,”
Malfoy declared.

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Of course!” Malfoy put his hands on his hips. “I mean, she is dead after all. I really think
you have the right to know more about her, since I doubt you remember. He should have said
something - it’s the right thing to do.”

“Wow.” Harry would have never in a million years expected Malfoy to take his side on
something, and it was oddly touching. He felt a layer of tension that had been sitting between
the two of them suddenly melt away.

“Thanks, Draco.” For the first time, that name came naturally. Maybe Snape had a point with
this first names business; it did feel a bit more friendly. Perhaps Harry could make a more
enthusiastic attempt with it all.

“Well, it’s just the decent thing for a person to do, isn’t it?” Draco frowned. “Especially if
you didn’t know anything about her. Why didn’t you, by the way? I thought you lived with
your mum’s Muggle sister or something?”
Shockingly, that question didn’t bother Harry as much as he’d expect it to. “Erm… she and
Aunt Petunia didn’t really get on. She wouldn’t talk about my mum all that much.” Ever,
Harry gloomily added to himself.

“That’s a little mean of her,” Draco commented.

“Yeah, her and I don’t really get on, either.” Since Harry was almost certain Draco could
already guess that from the fact that his relatives had kicked him out a few weeks ago, he
didn’t really mind saying that. Draco could put that together on his own, anyway.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I know all about aunts you don’t quite get on with,”
Draco muttered darkly. He didn’t expand any further, but Harry didn’t dare to ask for more
detail, as curious as he was. This was the second time he’d heard mention of Draco’s
mysterious aunt who the Malfoys didn’t speak to. Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t bring
himself to pry. He thought asking about her would open him up to potential questions about
Aunt Petunia, and that wasn’t a sacrifice Harry was willing to make to satiate his curiosity.

“We should probably find Severus to fix your glasses now,” Draco said, putting the football
on the ground.

Harry winced. “He said to me he has company, though.”

“So what?” Draco asked. “It takes about thirty seconds.”

“But I really shouldn’t bother him -”

“You’re blind, Potter!” Draco tutted. “Just go and ask, come on…”

He started briskly walking in the direction of the kitchen door and Harry reluctantly
followed, since Draco would think it was weird if he kept arguing.

“It would be so much easier if you could just fix it yourself,” Draco grumbled. “But no,
Severus had to go and ban both of us from using our wands…”

“Well, it is illegal,” Harry pointed out. He tripped over the step up from the garden to the
kitchen before barely catching himself on the counter.

“Oh, it’s one of those bendy laws,” Draco said dismissively, heading in the direction of the
living room. Harry, who had an Underage Magic warning on his record that proved it wasn’t
a bendy law whatsoever, simply tutted to himself before struggling through the hallway.
Draco knocked on the living room door and pushed it open without waiting for a response.

“Yes?” Snape said tersely. Harry couldn’t see him from the angle he was standing at in the
hallway.

“Pot - um, Harry broke his glasses,” Draco explained.

Snape sighed loudly. “Give them to me.”

Draco moved to one side, revealing the blurry figure of Snape heading towards the doorway.
He outstretched his hand, and Harry placed his broken glasses into them. “Oculus reparo.”

He handed them back, good as new, and Harry placed them onto his face, an odd feeling in
his chest. Aunt Petunia would without fail shout at Harry for breaking his glasses, despite the
fact that Dudley was almost always the one to break them, not him. It was strange to have
someone around who didn’t have a go at Harry about it.

Of course, Harry’s newly cleared vision still revealed a rather disapproving-looking Snape.
His eyes darted from Draco’s scraped palms to Harry’s bloodied knee. “What on earth have
you two been doing out there?”

“Football,” Harry said nonchalantly.

Snape did not look entirely impressed by this answer and made an exasperated sort of noise,
but before he could comment further, a voice behind him said, “Oh, boys will be boys,
Severus!”

Harry gasped - he recognised that voice! He looked past Snape’s shoulder and saw Professor
McGonagall, sitting with a cup of tea and smiling slightly. “Good morning, Mr Potter, Mr
Malfoy.”

“Hello, Professor,” Draco said with a nod.

Harry did his best to wipe the shocked look off his face. “Er - hi.”

“I trust you’re well?” she inquired, setting her teacup down.

“Um. Yeah?” Harry said stupidly. He was still reeling from the fact that Professor
McGonagall was even here. Adjusting to the idea of spending time with Professor Snape
outside of Hogwarts had been difficult enough, but the sudden appearance of his Head of
House during the summer was just one step too far. Harry’s brain had seemingly overloaded.

“Well, we’re in the middle of something right now,” Snape said pointedly. “Do try not to kill
each other in the next twenty minutes, please?”

“Alright. Goodbye Severus, Professor McGonagall.” Draco said, inclining his head.

“Bye, professor,” Harry added, awkwardly sidling away as Snape firmly shut the door. Draco
started heading back into the garden, and Harry followed him closely.

“What do you think she was doing here?” he asked.

“Oh, she visits every now and then,” Draco said with a shrug. “Her and Severus are
colleagues, you realise. It makes sense that they’re friendly.”

Harry supposed that was reasonable, but it still weirded him out a little. He didn’t often think
about Snape or McGonagall and the various friendships they may or may not have. Harry
suddenly found himself wondering what McGonagall got up to during the summers, then…
Harry headed over to the football and picked it up, and spun around to face Draco. “Let’s get
started, then. You owe me for those broken glasses.”

Draco actually smiled before bracing himself for battle.

By the time lunch came around, Harry was absolutely ravenous. The morning of rather
strenuous physical activity had left him starving, and he practically inhaled his sandwich. As
usual, Snape was looking at Harry out of the corner of his eye like his dining habits were
causing him physical pain, so Harry made a little bit of an effort to slow down. Not for
Snape’s benefit, obviously. He was just a bit sick of being stared at while during meals,
whether it was because he wasn’t eating enough or was eating too quickly.

“When you two have finished, you should change,” Snape said, eyeing their muddy clothes
with a reasonable amount of distaste. “We’re going out.”

“Where?” Draco asked. Judging by the tension in his shoulders, he was anticipating it being
something Muggle.

“To buy you two some Muggle clothes,” Snape said, flicking his wand at his plate so it began
to wash itself in the sink.

Draco made a disgusted face. “No, thank you.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t recall asking you,” Snape said, arching an eyebrow. “If you are to travel
out into the Muggle world - which you will be doing before this summer concludes - would
you not prefer to wear something that hasn’t been lent to you by Harry?”

“I suppose,” Draco grumbled.

“Then you will come with Harry and I,” Snape said. “Change out of your robes and wear the
Muggle clothes Harry gave you last time.”

He sighed and exited the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with Snape, feeling rather conflicted.

“Er - I have Muggle clothes,” he pointed out.

“Yes,” Snape said with a sneer, eyeing Harry’s oversized shirt with no small amount of
distaste. “Unless those rags are yet another abominable teenage fashion fad that I cannot get
my head around, I think you are in sore need of some new ones.”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He’d almost rejected the idea on principle, but
it would be nice to be free of Dudley’s horrid, oversized hand-me-downs that he had to roll
up dozens of times to make even vaguely fit.
Truth be told, the idea of buying himself new Muggle clothes had never really occurred to
Harry. Hagrid and Mrs Weasley had pretty much taken care of the wizarding side of things
the last two years when they’d taken him into Diagon Alley, and Aunt Petunia normally
threw a pair of Dudley’s old clothes into Harry’s room whenever what he was wearing started
to disintegrate. Even though Harry had money of his own now, he’d never bothered to get it
changed so he could buy something that actually fit him.

Which reminded him. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“We need to go to Gringotts or something first,” Harry said.

Snape gave him a confused look. “Why on earth would we need to do that?”

“None of my money is converted into Muggle money,” Harry explained. “The shop vendors
obviously won’t take it -”

“There is no need to worry about it,” Snape said, waving a hand dismissively. “It has all been
taken care of.”

“What?”

“It’s none of your concern, Harry,” he said. “We can go straight to the high street - money is
no issue.”

“But… but how -”

Harry abruptly cut himself off as Draco came thundering back down the stairs, dressed in the
shrunken set of Muggle clothing he had been given on the day of the last disastrous shopping
trip.

“Change and meet us down here,” Snape ordered Harry. As he walked past Draco, he heard
Snape say, “Now, Draco, there won’t be any little slips like last time, will there?”

“No,” Draco said somewhat reluctantly as Harry headed up the stairs, and the conversation
grew muffled.

After changing out of his muddy clothes, Harry returned downstairs to meet Snape and a
rather chastised-looking Draco before the three of them left the house to begin the journey to
the high street. Like the time they’d gone to Tesco, they walked. After all, as far as Harry
could tell, Snape didn’t own a car, and he wasn’t entirely sure if you could Apparate two
people with you. It was probably too much effort if your location wasn’t really all that far.

They quickly reached the actual high street, which was incredibly run-down. Half of the
storefronts were abandoned and emblazoned with crude graffiti, and the ones that weren’t
were still a little seedy and neglected. The place stank from a nasty combination of
overflowing bins and a haze of stale smoke. Judging by the way that Snape was glaring at the
clumps of teenagers lurking in corners and alleyways and the earthy undertone of the haze in
the air, they weren’t just smoking cigarettes.
“So this is the Muggle world?” Draco asked in a low voice, sidestepping a broken beer bottle
and wrinkling his nose.

“I’d consider it more akin to the Knockturn Alley of the Muggle world,” Snape explained.
“Now, Harry. Any preferences for where you’d like to buy your clothes?”

Despite that being a rather simple question, Harry was left reeling. “I - what?”

“Your clothes?” Snape gestured to the row of shops and gave Harry a confused look.
“Cokeworth isn’t exactly the fashion capital of Britain, but they have most of the major high
street brands…”

Unfortunately for Harry, who had literally never been clothes shopping in his life apart from
at Madam Malkins, he had no clue about where to go. There seemed to be about fifty
different stores, all with different styles, and of course different prices… Snape said
arrangements had been made to pay, but Harry should still be economical! He didn’t have a
clue what stores would be cheapest!

“Harry?” Snape prompted.

“Er - what charity shops do they have here?” he managed eventually.

“Charity shops?” Snape asked blankly.

“Er - you know, the ones who sell second-hand stuff for -”

“I know what a charity shop is, I’m not stupid,” Snape spat. For some reason, his expression
had darkened significantly, and Harry shrank away from him slightly. “Seeing as you can’t
make a reasonable decision, follow me."

Snape stalked off at a breakneck pace and into a nearby shop, nearly knocking over a terrified
employee in the process. Draco turned to Harry and gave him a bemused look. “What’s his
problem? Did you offend him or something?”

“I don’t think so?” Harry whispered, slightly resenting Draco’s automatic assumption that
this was somehow his fault.

Snape stopped in front of a series of plain t-shirts and held up a red one. “Do you like this?”

“Yes?” Harry said.

Snape scowled. “Is that a statement or a question?”

“Er - a statement.”

“Good. We’ll be getting that, then.”

Snape proceeded to pick up a series of different items of clothing before asking Harry and
occasionally Draco if they liked them or not. Harry tended to say yes to everything
(something Snape quickly caught onto, judging by the way his nostrils flared every time he
agreed to something) while Draco was a bit more picky with his clothing selections. They
must have spent over an hour in there, after which Harry ended up with a sizable pile of
clothes, ranging from pyjamas to jeans to even underwear, to Harry’s complete
embarrassment. He didn’t think he’d owned this much clothing in his life, even hand-me-
downs.

“Sir,” he said in a small voice. “I really don’t need all this stuff…”

Snape shot him a stormy glare. “I don’t particularly trust you to know what you need.”

“But this is surely going to be expensive -”

“And as I said, arrangements have been made,” Snape said shortly, and Harry was finally
cowed into silence.

Luckily, Snape only picked up a few more items before they at last made their way over to
the checkout. Harry’s eyes practically goggled at the price as the cashier finished ringing up
their items - it was in the hundreds of pounds! - but this didn’t seem to faze Snape, who
handed over a wad of cash without so much as a second thought. As he did so, Harry noticed
Draco staring at the number on the register with a puzzled frown and realised with a jolt that
he probably had no concept of Muggle money and expense, since wizarding currency worked
so differently. That was really weird…

As they traipsed out of the shop, all weighed down by heavy bags of clothes, Snape gave
them a thoughtful look before turning into a nearby Sports Direct. Inside, he retrieved a new
pair of trainers for Harry, whose shoes were two sizes too small, pinched horribly and leaked
in puddles because they were full of holes. He then picked up the aforementioned football.

Harry hung back, feeling completely overwhelmed. This was all just too much for him.

After that too was paid for, Snape obscured their bags with his body so he could shrink some
down. Once he was done, he asked, “shall we head back, or are there any other shops either
of you are interested in visiting?”

“I’m fine,” Draco said with a shrug.

“Harry?” Snape asked, looking at him pointedly.

“Er - yeah. I’m done.” Harry still wouldn’t have known where to go anyway.

As the three of them set out on the journey home, Harry couldn’t help but get stuck on the
issue of the money. Snape had said it was taken care of…but what kind of person made the
unilateral decision to spend so much of another person’s money? But then, Harry realised, he
had also been spending money on Draco. That raised a second and rather concerning question
for Harry - what if Snape was spending his own money?

“Sir,” Harry began, even though part of him knew it was a bad idea.

“Yes?”
“Where did the money for this come from?”

“Are you a parrot?” Snape inquired icily. “This seems to be the fiftieth time today you have
raised that very question and for the fiftieth time, I tell you it has been taken care of!”

“It’s just, see, the money in my vault has to last until I’m of age,” Harry said hesitantly. “I
don’t think I can really be spending so much of it and stuff…”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “It did not come out of your vaults.”

“So - so you paid for it?” Harry asked, horrified. “You can’t do that!”

“Are you suggesting I am too poor to provide for the wards under my care?” Snape
demanded, his face flashing with fury.

“What? No!” Harry said indignantly. “You’re twisting my words!”

“What, then?” Snape asked irately. “What exactly is the issue?”

“Just - you shouldn’t have to!” Harry said. “I already had perfectly good clothes -”

“Perfectly good?” Snape repeated disbelievingly. “You look at that pile of rags and think it’s
perfectly good?”

“I managed!” Harry said defensively. His clothes had always been an acute area of
embarrassment for him, and it almost felt like Snape was judging him over it at that
moment…

“Well, now you don’t have to manage.”

“At least let me pay you back -”

“You will do no such thing!” Snape hissed, spinning around to face Harry. He somehow
seemed a lot taller than usual. “What happened to your precious vaults that so desperately
need to be preserved, hmm?”

“Well, it’s better than spending your money!” Harry shouted as they approached Snape’s
house.

“You are ridiculous!” Snape growled, jamming the key into the door lock and wrenching it
open with such force that Harry thought it would snap. He placed the bags he was carrying at
the foot of the staircase.

“Draco, take all of these up to your room and put your clothes away,” Snape ordered, placing
a firm, unshakeable hand on Harry’s shoulder as he stepped over the threshold. “Harry and I
need to have a little chat.”

“Alright,” Draco said, giving Harry a very confused look before heading up the stairs with
some of the bags. Harry, for his part, was half-dragged into the kitchen. Snape shut the door
tightly before turning to Harry and folding his arms.
“Explain,” he said shortly.

“I have nothing to explain,” Harry muttered.

“You surely don’t think that was normal behaviour!” Snape said incredulously.

“I don’t know!” Harry said, crossing his arms defensively. “What the hell is normal,
anyway?”

“It certainly would not involve a loud and public argument about what I can and cannot
spend my money on,” Snape said shortly.

Harry felt his cheeks flood with heat as he thought about the argument they’d had. He must
have seemed so childish! Then, Harry realised that he hadn’t actually said thank you at all,
and the guilty feeling worsened. Sure, Harry detested the idea of Snape buying him things,
but it was still very rude to not even thank him…

“Look. Thank you for doing that,” he said quickly, “but you didn’t need to buy me clothes."

Snape opened his mouth before slamming it shut. A great deal of emotions seemed to flicker
across his face, like someone was rapidly clicking through them with a remote control. Snape
whipped around and jabbed his wand in the direction of the kettle, which instantly began to
whistle. Snape then looped the wand in a corkscrew motion, causing two mugs and two tea
bags to fly out of their respective homes before being promptly filled with boiling water.

As the tea bags steeped, Snape turned around and presumably noticed Harry’s blank stare.
“I’m making us tea.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because this conversation is going to be longer than I anticipated,” Snape said. He had
become weirdly calm. Harry didn’t like it. “I appear to have opened up a can of worms. Take
a seat.”

Harry groaned loudly. “I don’t want to have anymore stupid chats with you!”

“Well, too bad, because we’re having one,” Snape said shortly. “Sit. Don’t make me force
you, because I most certainly will.”

Harry had learnt by now to take Snape at his word, and sat down at the kitchen table with as
much clattering and chair-scraping as he could possibly cause. Snape sat across from him and
slid one of the steaming mugs of tea in Harry’s direction.

“So, I’m curious,” Snape began. “You told me you didn’t need clothes, is that correct?”

“Yeah. I have the hand-me-downs,” Harry said, gesturing to himself. “They’re crap, but they
work.”

“Yet when I give you the option to free yourself of these ‘crap’ hand-me-downs, you fight me
kicking and screaming every step of the way.”
Harry frowned at him, confused. “Because I don’t need them.”

“Your cousin is obviously far larger than you,” Snape said with a frown. “I would say you
need clothes that come even close to fitting you.”

“Technically no,” Harry said with a shrug. “I mean… the Dursleys only had to clothe me,
right? And they did. No one ever said the clothing had to fit…”

“Harry, has it ever occurred to you that you may be entitled to more than just basic needs?”
Snape asked.

Harry shuffled in his chair, an uncomfortable feeling slowly building in his gut. “Yeah, but
you don’t have to buy stuff for me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not my guardian,” Harry pointed out.

“Would your actual guardians buy you anything outside of basic necessities?” Snape asked.
“I doubt it, considering they don’t even provide the bare minimum.”

“Well that’s not your problem!” Harry said defensively.

“I think you’ll find it is,” Snape said. He sipped his tea and regarded Harry closely.
“Considering you are living here for the summer, I am acting in loco parentis. That means I
get to do things that a guardian does, which shockingly involves buying my ward clothes
when it’s warranted.”

“I just think it’s excessive,” Harry mumbled, picking up the tea and sipping on it so he finally
had something to do with his hands. It scalded his tongue.

“If you saw Mrs Weasley buying your friend clothes, would you think that was excessive?”
Snape asked.

“Well no, but -”

“What about Miss Granger?” Snape asked. “If her parents bought her a new outfit, would that
be the height of indulgence?”

“It’s not the same!” Harry said loudly. He’d gotten to his feet at some point, although he
didn’t remember when that had happened.

“Why not?” Snape asked, still maintaining that infuriatingly calm exterior.

“Because they have parents!” Harry shouted. “Parents do that for their kids! And I don’t have
parents, okay? I know I don’t, and I never will have that, so I just have to suck it up and cope
with the cards I got dealt with instead!”

Snape fell silent for a moment, as did Harry. He hadn’t meant for that to slip out…
“The Dursleys should have provided you with the same amount of care and support that any
parent would give to their biological child,” Snape said softly. “Just because Petunia did not
give birth to you does not make her responsibility towards you as a guardian lesser. You and
your cousin should have been treated equally, Harry.”

“But I’m not their kid,” Harry said bitterly. “I’m the freak nephew that they never wanted to
take in, as they like to remind me.”

“You are not a freak,” Snape said sharply. “Stop calling yourself that.”

Snape pointed to Harry’s vacant chair, and he slowly sat down, previous anger giving way to
dull despair. “Harry, let me tell you something. You deserve to be taken care of. You should
have been adequately fed and clothed, and you certainly should have been treated with
kindness, not scorn. The way that your relatives treated you was wrong.”

Harry simply shrugged. No matter what Snape said, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to
believe that. Snape scanned his eyes over Harry’s face and sighed, clearly picking up on this.

“I will keep telling you this until you believe it, even if I have to make you write lines for the
message to sink in,” he added.

“Fine, sure,” Harry said wearily. The argument earlier coupled with such an emotionally
taxing conversation had left him feeling rather wrung out.

“I do wonder,” Snape said in a carefully measured voice, “what they did with the War
Orphans Stipend.”

Harry abruptly jerked his head up. “The what now?”

Snape’s hand clenched around his mug. “Ah, of course, you don’t know. The War Orphans
Stipend is a fund that was set up by the Ministry of Magic after the Dark Lord’s downfall. It
was specifically set up for children who lost parents while they were in service fighting the
Dark Lord and his followers. It is paid out to the guardians of the orphans to contribute to
their care as thanks for their parents’ service.”

Harry’s jaw had dropped by now. He closed his mouth, but it took him a few moments to
manage to speak. “You’re not serious.”

“Does that not seem rather elaborate of a premise for me to invent?”

“Oh my God!” Harry said indignantly. He hadn’t realised the Dursleys could reach a new
low, but of course they could. They’d complained his whole life about how expensive Harry
was to feed, house and clothe, and all along they’d been paid to look after him! "They've had
money for me this entire time? Really?"

“That is why I am rather irritated,” Snape said, watching Harry closely. “The Stipend isn’t
exactly a large sum of money, but it’s similarly not a mere pittance. I do believe your
relatives could afford to buy you clothing that could actually fit you, and simply chose to give
you those oversized things.” His lip curled into a sneer.
“Oh my God,” Harry repeated numbly. He was completely, utterly reeling.

“I should have realised something wasn’t quite right sooner, but I’m afraid I didn’t realise the
state of your clothing was out of your control until Minerva suggested it may be an issue this
morning.” Snape grimaced.

“Professor McGonagall noticed?” Harry frowned. “Why?”

“We were discussing you.”

“Again - why?”

“Because she is your Head of House, she is one of the people who needed to be informed of
the issues with your relatives,” Snape explained.

Harry balked. “What are you doing, spreading all that around everywhere?!”

“I am not spreading it around!” Snape said irritably. “I told you I would keep your
confidence, and I do not make promises lightly, especially about matters such as these. There
are only three people who need to be informed of your circumstances - Professor
McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and the Headmaster. I cannot singlehandedly remove you
from the Dursleys’ custody, you realise?”

“It’s not like they’ll be any help,” Harry muttered, rubbing his arms and staring into his lap.
He’d already asked Dumbledore for help once, and he’d said Harry absolutely had to go back
to the Dursleys, no matter what. It was hopeless. As for Professor McGonagall - she’d signed
off the Hogwarts letter addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, hadn’t she?

“Do not be disrespectful,” Snape said sharply. “Professor McGonagall has been of
immeasurable aid, particularly in the areas of some tricky paperwork. She was also, I might
add, utterly horrified by what I told her, and intends to take the Headmaster to task personally
for his role in placing you there when we eventually tell him.”

“Seriously?” Harry asked. He tried to imagine Professor McGonagall at her angriest, when
her lips went white and her nostrils flared, staring down Dumbledore.

“She described your relatives as ‘the worst sort of Muggles’, I believe,” Snape added. “So
don’t be so hasty to condemn her.”

“Alright,” Harry said rather guiltily. “It’s just - I don’t know, I thought she knew and wasn’t
interested…”

“What on earth gave you that impression?”

“Nothing,” Harry muttered, looking steadfastly away from Snape.

“This whole business with your clothes has made me realise something,” Snape said,
steepling his fingers. “I overlooked it, which suggests I may be overlooking other issues you
experienced in that household. I can’t help you if I don’t know what problems you’re facing,
Harry. Is there anything else I don’t yet know about your relatives that you wish to tell me?”
The cupboard, Harry thought almost immediately. He’d recounted the majority of what the
Dursleys had done, but Harry just couldn’t bring himself to mention that. Even Ron and
Hermione, the people who knew the most about his relatives, didn’t know about that. It just
felt oddly embarrassing to admit to, and Harry couldn’t possibly understand why. All he
knew was that he couldn’t talk about it. Not yet, maybe not ever.

“No. There’s nothing else.”

It wasn’t technically a lie, Harry convinced himself. Snape asked if there was anything he
wished to mention, and Harry certainly didn’t want to tell him anything. Still, he was aware
that his answer was rather economical, at best, so he didn’t meet Snape’s eyes. He didn’t
know if the other man believed him or not as Harry was at last released to go upstairs.

“Please put your clothes away,” Snape said as Harry hurried away. “In the wardrobe
provided, if you will. I’d rather you stopped living out of your trunk like a nomad.”

“Sure,” Harry said, finally slipping out of the kitchen. He felt so off-kilter from that
conversation that Harry was worried if he stayed in the kitchen for a moment longer he’d do
something weird, like start shouting or crying again. He had a rather large amount to think
about.

It had always been taught to him that Harry didn’t deserve as much as Dudley because he was
Vernon and Petunia’s child, and Harry wasn’t. He was a burden, and a leech. It wasn’t
something that Harry questioned - it was just a fact of life. Any prospect of Harry actually
being cared for had died with his parents.

Now here Snape was telling Harry that it didn’t matter if the Dursleys were his parents or not,
and his entire perception of reality shifted at once. Logically, he could see it. People were
adopted all the time, weren’t they, and they got treated decently! That included being raised
by family members other than your parents.

He even had examples. For instance, Neville was raised by his gran, and she could be stern
but almost certainly loved her grandson. Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff girl in Harry’s year, often
spoke fondly of her Aunt Amelia who she lived with. Harry, who was in a very similar
situation guardian-wise, would never be boasting about his fabulous relationship with Aunt
Petunia…

And how could he be a leech if the Ministry of Magic provided the Dursleys with money?
For a moment, Harry wondered if the Dursleys had simply refused to claim it. It was freak
money, after all, so they wouldn't want that, or maybe they couldn't change it from galleons,
knuts and sickles…

But the way Snape had phrased things suggested they had claimed the money. And, now that
Harry thought about it, he'd had some sort of special credit that provided his school dinners in
primary school, hadn't he? The other children in the queue had always had cash, and Harry
hadn't… It wasn't like Aunt Petunia gave him money to make sure he ate. She didn't care if
he went hungry. He’d only eaten because of those mysteriously funded free school meals.

The Dursleys had pocketed money that was rightfully Harry's for all these years.
Harry pressed his trembling lips together as he walked into the bedroom, which was currently
a disorganised mess of bags and half-folded clothing. Draco was staring at him, obviously
baffled by his earlier behaviour.

"Don't you dare ask," Harry snapped, clenching his hands into fists. The anger at the Dursleys
was practically choking him, and he felt dangerously on edge again. He couldn’t bear a
probing question from Malfoy…

"You significantly overestimate how much I care about you and your life," Draco drawled,
turning around and continuing to attempt to shove his new clothes into a drawer without
folding any of them.

Harry opened up the bags at the base of the bed and felt his insides twist as he set eyes on the
t-shirts within. It really wouldn't have cost the Dursleys that much to buy him just a few t-
shirts that actually fit. They'd have lasted him a long time, and more importantly, actually fit
his proportions. Especially if it wasn’t even with their money, but with money specifically
provided for Harry’s care!

But, Harry thought, even if it was with the Dursleys' money and not funding from the War
Orphans Stipend, they could certainly afford a couple of shirts. Before he'd screwed it up,
they'd been in talks with Mr Mason that could have netted them a second home in Majorca.
That wasn't even considering the pricey, fee-paying boarding school they sent Dudley to! The
Dursleys weren’t exactly impoverished by any means…

Harry bunched up the plastic bag in his first. Snape was right. None of it was fair, and none
of it was right.

After taking a deep, shaky breath in a futile attempt to loosen the tightness in his chest, Harry
began to put away his own new clothes. He even made the effort to transfer some of his
belongings from his trunk to his wardrobe after the nomad comment Snape had made. Harry
felt like a massive arse for complaining so vocally the whole shopping trip, so maybe Snape
would appreciate the gesture…

Harry shook himself suddenly. What was he doing, caring what Snape thought of him? Had
he gone mad?

While Harry continued to try and sort through the entangled mess that was his feelings,
Draco cleared his throat and turned to him. “Did he stick you?”

“What?” Harry asked, baffled. Even if he wasn’t quite with it at the minute, Harry was fairly
certain he’d missed something.

“To the chair,” Draco said. “Did he stick you to the chair?”

“How is that any of your business?” Harry said shortly. He didn’t want to talk about that chat,
especially with Draco…

Draco shrugged. “He’s done it to me a couple times.”

Harry turned back to him with renewed interest. “Really?”

“He can be very insistent about his chats.” Draco scowled. “He’s a big fan of Sticking
Charms. Nosy git.”

For the first time in his life, Harry felt an odd sense of camaraderie towards Draco.

“He’s threatened it multiple times over the last few days,” he admitted.

“Well, don’t let it get that far,” Draco advised. “He keeps you there way longer when you’re
stuck down…”

Harry chuckled a little bit, despite himself. "He's so insistent, isn't he? Snape can't just leave
something!"

"I know!" Draco said rolling his eyes. "And he's such a nag, too, it's a bloody nightmare!"

“And the endless, wordy lectures are doing my head in!” Harry added. “Oh, and don’t even
get me started on his micromanaging…”

Something which might just be a smile crossed Draco’s lips. "Well, at least I'm not the only
one putting up with this crap now."

"Yeah…"

It was oddly relieving to know Harry wasn't in this alone. He didn't quite know what was
going on with Draco, but he had to be just as messed up as Harry was to get stuck with
Snape, after all. Maybe the man had been right in one of his many lectures; Harry and Draco
did have a fair bit in common, between their lack of parents, anger issues and general
circumstances.

There were other similarities Snape had overlooked, though. The biggest bonding agent of all
was having to put up with him.

Harry shared another commiserating grimace with Draco before returning to his new
belongings.
 A Study in Pity
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Harry was distracted from his breakfast by the sound of an owl screeching. He looked up,
half-expecting to see Hedwig back from Egypt before he remembered that he’d told her to
stay with Ron. Harry winced. He regretted doing that now, since he’d realised Draco and
Snape weren’t actually going to do anything to Hedwig, which was what he’d feared
originally. It wasn’t like he could tell her to come back, either. He was stuck without her for
the rest of August.

Two owls ended up flying in through the window; one for Draco, and one for Snape, which
had a copy of the Daily Prophet. Snape handed a couple of knuts to the barn owl and unrolled
the newspaper. Harry shivered slightly as Sirius Black stared back at him from the front
cover. He couldn’t believe he still hadn’t been caught yet. They had the Muggles looking for
him, and everything!

“Who wrote to you, Draco?” Snape asked, setting the newspaper to one side after a cursory
scan of its contents.

“Pansy,” Draco said, sliding a finger under the envelope’s wax seal and taking out the letter
within. Harry went to continue with his breakfast, but he noticed Snape didn’t carry on
eating. Instead, his eyes were focused closely on Draco with a strange intensity. Harry
frowned. He’d only seen that look on Snape’s face when he was trying to puzzle out
something about Harry’s childhood that he hadn’t quite put together yet. Something about
that letter had to be important, then.

Harry's eyes also drifted to Draco, just in time to see his face change. The small smile he’d
worn while opening the envelope abruptly vanished, and was replaced by a scowl. His cheeks
flushed to a dark pink and his eyes became oddly glassy.

Draco’s lips twisted downward and there was a sudden flash of white light between his
hands. He violently swung out his arm, flinging the letter away, and kicked his chair back so
it clattered to the ground before storming from the room. Snape muttered an oath under his
breath and followed him. He was surprisingly swift and managed to grab onto Draco’s
shoulder before he got too far away from the kitchen. He pulled the boy into the living room,
out of sight.

Harry, who was frozen in place, became suddenly aware of the fact that he wasn’t breathing
and did his best to inhale, even though his chest felt horribly tight. He didn’t like how Draco
could just explode like that. Harry was very attuned to his uncle's body language, and almost
always knew when Uncle Vernon's violent, raging side would pop out, so he could get out of
the way in anticipation. Harry didn't know Draco well enough yet to be able to predict when
he'd lose it, and that put Harry on edge.

What had been in that letter? It had obviously been the thing to upset Draco…
No one came back to the kitchen, and Harry became aware of ragged breathing in the living
room that sounded a bit like sobbing. He considered going in to check what was happening,
but Harry was fairly sure his presence would just make things worse. Instead, his eyes drifted
to the sink. Draco’s letter was lying on the floor nearby. The edges were singed and
blackened - Draco had to have done that, presumably with accidental magic. He must have
been really angry, then…

Harry bit his lip, glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming back in, and got
to his feet to go and pick it up. He doubted anyone would explain what had just happened
unless he looked into it himself, after all. Harry had just wrapped his fingers around the
parchment when a sharp, fiery sensation shot through his hand. It was the same red-hot pain
you might get from touching a hot stove. Harry hissed and yanked his hand away, cradling it
close to his chest. He examined his fingers, which had turned red and shiny with a newly
formed burn. What was that?

Not wanting to get hurt again, Harry squatted down and stared at the letter on the ground
without touching it. The writing was just about legible.

Draco,

I don’t know how many ways I can tell you this - stop contacting me. Don’t owl me, don’t floo
me, I want nothing to do with you. The rest of us in Slytherin feel the same way. Greg and
Vince would tell you themselves, but they aren’t as gifted with the written word, so consider
this a message from all of us.

None of us are your friend anymore, so you need to stop writing. Nothing is going to change
our minds, so don’t bother. We don’t want anything to do with a Malfoy. If you value the lives
of your post owls, you’ll stop sending mail.

Pansy Parkinson

Harry finished reading the letter and had to make a conscious effort to shut his mouth, which
was hanging open. Had Draco really fallen out with Pansy Parkinson? She was his biggest
supporter after Crabbe and Goyle!

But from the sounds of that letter, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t speaking to Draco, either. Harry
was half-certain that Vince and Greg were their first names, after all. Harry wondered what
on earth could have possibly happened to cause a massive falling out like this. Things had
seemed perfectly normal between them all at the end of his second year…

It was so quiet in the kitchen that Harry was able to hear Draco’s voice with perfect clarity.
“It’s just not fair!”

“It isn’t,” Snape said so softly that Harry had to strain his ears to hear.

“It’s - I didn’t d-do anything! None of this is my fault!” Draco’s voice had a choked quality to
it that let Harry know he was certainly in tears. As Harry felt horribly uncomfortable
whenever someone started crying, he began to sidle towards the back door. Somehow, he got
the feeling that if Draco knew he was hearing all of this, all hell would break loose. Harry
slipped outside and leaned against the wall of the house.

He stood there for a long time, staring at the overcast sky and thinking about what he’d
overheard. He couldn’t help but think that Draco had really been through the wringer
recently. Parents in prison, friends not talking to him… He abruptly remembered Draco’s
shouts from the other day, when they’d been arguing in the kitchen after Harry had shoved
him. My life is a wreck, Severus!

Harry shook himself. This was steering dangerously close to ‘feeling sorry for Malfoy’
territory, somewhere Harry refused to stray. It didn’t matter if he was marginally more
tolerable these days, or if Harry occasionally found himself enjoying their games. He was
still a nasty git.

A nasty git who was having a pretty difficult time, though. Harry could at least give him that.

He was interrupted from his musings by the sound of the kitchen door loudly squealing open.
Harry jerked his head around and saw Snape watching him.

“He’s gone upstairs to spend some time alone,” Snape said before Harry could ask after
Draco. “Are you alright?”

“Er - yeah,” Harry said, surprised he’d even bothered asking. “Is he?”

Snape hesitated for a few moments before responding. “He will be, with time.” He sighed
heavily. “You’re rather lucky to have the friends you do, Harry. I’d advise you to never take
them for granted.”

Harry nodded. He doubted that would ever happen, anyway. He’d never had a friend before
Ron and Hermione, since Dudley had spent their entire childhood beating the stuffing out of
anyone who dared to so much as smile at Harry. Even if they occasionally got on his nerves,
he would always be grateful to have Ron and Hermione.

“Is Pansy really done with him, then?” he asked.

“I believe so, unfortunately.” Snape turned sharply to look at Harry, frowning severely. “How
do you know of that letter’s contents?”

Oops. Harry grimaced. “I… er, I caught sight of some of it.”

“Caught sight of it, did you?” Snape gave him a highly disapproving look, which quickly
devolved into one of suspicion. “You didn’t happen to touch the letter, by any chance?”

“Er…no?” Harry made the stupid decision to try and hide his hands behind his back, which
Snape immediately noticed. He grabbed Harry’s wrists in a tight grip and yanked them
forwards, turning his hands over to examine Harry’s palms. The burn was still visible on
Harry’s right hand, and had started to throb slightly. Snape’s scowl developed into an all-out
glare.
“For heaven’s sake, Potter!” he snapped. “The Parkinsons curse their stationary against non-
recipients. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“It’s just a little burn!” Harry protested, failing to hold in a hiss of pain as Snape jabbed his
wand into Harry’s hand, drawing it into a circle around the burn. The swollen skin seemed to
deflate and returned to its regular colour, and some of the soreness faded. Snape gave him a
piercing look, his eyebrows furrowed with annoyance.

“Look, I’m sorry I looked at his mail, okay?” Harry said, trying to tug his hands away. Snape
didn’t let go, and kept glowering at him. “I wouldn’t normally, I was just worried because he
stormed away like that, so -”

“That is not what I have an issue with!” he snapped. “My problem is this continual insistence
on hiding injuries!”

“I wasn’t hiding it -”

“Then why did you hide your hands behind your back when I asked you?” Snape demanded.

Harry felt his cheeks flood with heat. That was pretty damning.

“It wasn’t me hiding things like that, I just didn’t want you knowing I read his letter!”

“And perhaps I’d believe that if not for this very concerning pattern of behaviour!” Snape
said irritably. “You keep doing this, Harry! You somehow come to some injury, or have an
issue, and you won’t tell me about it! You even go so far as to lie to me about it when I ask!”

“I don’t do that -”

“Oh, yes you do,” Snape retorted. “Are you forgetting about how you hid the cut on your arm
from me last week, even after I asked? Or, perhaps, your broken glasses from yesterday? And
yes, I did notice Draco was the one to bring that up to me, not you! Or, of course, those
bruises?”

Harry finally yanked his hands away and clenched them into fists. “That’s different, and you
know it!”

“And that’s not even the end of it!” Snape said angrily. He was devolving into an all-out rant,
Harry realised with no small amount of displeasure. “You constantly put yourself into
dangerous situations! You ran away -”

“And that was your fault!” Harry shouted.

“But what of your behaviour at Hogwarts?” Snape said, crossing his arms. “Fighting
mountain trolls, flying cars into trees, taking on basilisks… why do you consistently refuse to
ever go to an adult with an issue?”

“Because I can’t!” Harry shouted. “Whenever I go to people, no one listens to me! No one!
Professor McGonagall certainly didn’t care when I told her someone was after the
Philosopher's Stone, Professor Lockhart tried to Obliviate me when I told him about the
Chamber, and my aunt and uncle couldn’t give a damn about anything I do! Why the hell
should I bother?!”

Harry’s chest was heaving by the time he’d finished his rant. The annoyance faded from
Snape’s face, and was replaced by a look of genuine concern. “I see.”

Harry hugged himself with his arms, feeling very miserable all of a sudden.

Snape sighed. “I don’t want to shout and row with you over this.”

“Oh, well you’re doing a bang-up job of that,” Harry muttered, scowling at him.

“All of this ends now,” Snape said firmly. “If you have an issue with a Dark Lord or a
possessed diary, be assured that I will, in fact, listen to you. For your part, I insist that you tell
someone if you’re injured in any way.”

“You won’t listen to me,” Harry rasped, his voice oddly ragged. “No one listens to me. No
one ever cares.”

“I care,” Snape said fiercely.

“Why?” Harry bellowed. “I just don’t get it! You’ve changed everything about how you treat
me practically overnight, and I don’t understand what’s happened to you!”

Harry expected Snape to give some vague answer, or deflect away from the question as he’d
done whenever Harry had asked him why he cared before, but Snape simply stared at him for
a few heartbeats before beginning to speak.

“I made a promise when you were very young,” he said, turning away from him to look at the
fence. “That I would protect you from harm. I have done a terrible job of it, and I’m doing
what I can to remedy my mistakes in retrospect, especially now that I have fully realised how
mistaken my assumptions of your character were.”

“So you pity me,” Harry muttered, feeling even more miserable. “You found out about the
Dursleys and you feel sorry for me or something, and that’s why it’s all changed.”

“I do not pity people,” Snape said irritably. “Potter, I will not lie to you. It was mainly my
discovery of the abuse you endured that prompted this change in my perceptions of you, but
these changes are not ones borne of pity. Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I am justifiably
horrified by the treatment you have suffered?”

“I haven’t suffered anything -”

“Don’t do yourself a disservice and downplay the disgusting treatment you’ve been subjected
to,” Snape growled. “The Dursleys were horrible to you. But I do not pity you for it - as a
matter of fact, I admire how well you’re faring in life despite your childhood. Still, Harry, no
one is able to carry all of these things alone, even you. I am simply offering you help that you
deserve and need.”

“But why you?” Harry whispered. “I just don’t get it…”

“Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you.” Snape turned around and headed towards the
kitchen door. “Follow me.”

Harry followed Snape as he walked through the house and out of the front door, feeling more
and more curious with every passing moment. Where was Snape taking him?

Snape didn’t say a word as he led Harry through the narrow streets of Cokeworth. They’d
been walking in silence for about five minutes when Snape stopped outside of a white-
painted house with large rose bushes lining the driveway. Even though it wasn’t too far from
Spinner’s End, the area felt completely different. The houses weren’t too much bigger, but
they lacked the general air of neglect that Snape’s area possessed, and the whole area felt far
more hospitable.

Snape gestured to the house before them. “This is the house where your mother grew up.”

Harry inhaled sharply, and turned to look at Snape, who looked rather wistful. He pointed
towards the window on the top left. “That was Lily’s bedroom, up in that corner. She had the
walls painted yellow.”

Harry strained his eyes to look through the window. The curtains were open, and he could
just about make out white-painted walls in the room beyond.

They’d painted over his mother’s bedroom walls. Something about that made a deep,
resounding sadness ache in Harry’s chest. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine a yellow
bedroom. His mother would have lots of pictures up, Harry decided. Maybe a potted plant on
her windowsill. He pictured the red-haired woman from the photographs waving at him out
of the window, or tending to the rose bushes in the front drive, pausing to give Harry a quick,
warm smile…

But then he opened his eyes, and Lily was nowhere to be found. Harry felt his shoulders
droop.

“This seems like a nice place to have lived,” he said softly.

“Lily did like it here.” Snape turned to look at him, expression conflicted. “Do you recall me
mentioning my own home life was - less than ideal?”

Harry slowly nodded, unsure of where this was going.

“Mr and Mrs Evans were very kind to me,” Snape said. He turned his head away and didn't
look at Harry while he spoke. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the house. “Their
home was a refuge when things with my father became too intolerable. They were generally
good and decent people, and were simply there when I needed somewhere to go. They didn’t
have to do any of that for me, but they did. I owe them and your mother a debt I can never
repay for that kind of support.”

Snape at last looked at Harry, but his face was impossible to read. “This is why I care, Harry.
Because you deserve somebody who does. Because Mr and Mrs Evans helped me when I
needed it, and you’re their grandson. Because you’re Lily’s son, and I forget that too often.
Even just common human decency from one person raised in less than ideal circumstances to
another. All of that means something to me, and I want to help you. Not out of some sort of
pity, which I hope you can at last see. Now, can you please just let me?”

Harry gave him a jerky nod, a strangely choked sensation building in the back of his throat.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed.

“I don’t want your thanks,” Snape said a little sharply. “I just want you to try and rely on
someone. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try,” Harry promised, and he truly meant it.

“It’s imperative that you do, Harry,” Snape said sternly. “If you keep refusing medical
treatment for injuries and lying to me when you get injured, I will have to punish you.”

Harry sighed and gave him an exasperated look. “Really?”

“If nothing else will impress upon you how serious I am about this, then yes,” Snape said,
eyes narrowing. “I don’t like punishing you, Harry, but someone has to give you what you
need, even if you don’t particularly desire it.”

“I understand,” Harry grumbled. As annoying as it was, he did sort of get where Snape was
coming from.

“I’m just not used to letting other people help me.” Harry admitted. He steeled himself.
“Erm… you can probably guess that my aunt and uncle weren’t the most sympathetic people.
If I was hurt or injured or anything, they’d just tell me to stop whining and get on with it, so I
did. And - and you were right when you thought they didn’t take me to the doctor before.
They never did when I was ill, they’d just lock me up in my - er, room, until I sweated it out.
And that obviously was pretty miserable, so I don’t like telling people when I’m not well,
especially since before there was never any point because no one would care…”

He took a deep breath in. That was the first time that Harry had knowingly and willingly
confided in Snape about the Dursleys without being forced or prompted, and he felt oddly
tense about it. He waited to see how Snape would react.

“I see.” Snape was watching him very closely, now. His eyes felt piercing. “Thank you for
confiding in me.”

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed his arms, which had broken out with goosebumps.

“If it means anything, I won’t be angry when you come to me,” he added. “If you’re injured,
I can heal it easily. If you’re sick, you certainly won’t be locked up in your bedroom, either. I
wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know you wouldn’t, but it’s sort of instinct at this point to just deny,” Harry admitted.

“I understand. These habits take time to unlearn, I’m aware.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed and stared at his shoes. They stood in silence for a little while, listening
to the gentle rustle of the bushes in front of the house. A question bubbled up in the back of
his mind, and Harry blurted it out before he could stop himself.

“But how long does it take, in the end? When did that stuff stop being so difficult for you?”
he asked. Immediately after the words left his mouth, Harry wanted to smack himself in the
forehead. God, what a stupid thing to ask Snape! He was obviously going to flip…

But Snape didn’t scowl, or glower, or shout. His face became oddly drawn, but to Harry’s
shock, he actually answered the question. “It’s hard to pinpoint an exact moment where
things became easier. I was a very angry young man, and I took this out in ways I deeply
regret to this day, but some of that anger has faded with the years and with distance from the
situation. There will always be certain things that bring back the bad memories, though, no
matter how much time passes." He hesitated for a moment before subtly nodding to himself.
"Alcohol, for me. I refuse to touch it.”

“Really?”

Snape nodded. “It’s the biggest association I have with the unpleasantry of my upbringing, so
I prefer to stay away.”

Like me and cupboards, Harry thought, remembering the incident where he’d essentially
talked himself into an anxiety attack over Snape’s cupboard under the stairs. Cupboards and
wardrobes and other small, dark spaces were what Harry associated most strongly with the
nasty parts of his childhood. He wondered if things would always be that way…

Snape didn’t expand further on his own experiences, but Harry had heard more than enough
to fill in the gaps. He remembered a fair few occasions where Uncle Vernon had been
significantly rougher than him after coming home late from work drinks with alcohol on his
breath. From the sounds of things, Snape’s father had probably had something of a drinking
problem…

Harry truly couldn’t believe Snape had told him all of that, but the confession was strangely
powerful. Some of the lingering mistrust he felt towards the man seemed to simply melt
away, and Harry looked at him with renewed perspective.

Snape really did understand.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. Harry didn’t say what for, but he got the sense Snape would get
what he meant.

Snape nodded, and inclined his head in the other direction. “Shall we head back? I’d rather
not leave Draco alone for too long at the minute…”

“Right. Good point.”

“Don’t read his mail again,” Snape warned, his voice becoming stern again. “You won’t like
the consequences from either one of us.”
Harry cringed. “Sorry.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, until Harry dared to hesitantly look at Snape.
“What’s she so angry about, anyway? Same for Crabbe and Goyle. They’ve always all
seemed joined at the hip to me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Snape regarded him thoughtfully. “You’re muggle-raised,

so you won’t know too much about all of this, but there can be complicated politics
entrenched in the relationships between old pureblood families. Weasleys and Malfoys
despise each other on principle for events that happened centuries ago which no one can
remember, certain families like the Greengrasses are friends to all and close to none, and
money and power seep their way into the relationships of everyone involved, including
children.”

“Oh. Erm, okay.” Harry just felt more confused now.

Snape grimaced, picking up on this. “I’ll try and put it more simply. Many people are
severing ties with Draco because his parents are in Azkaban, and because the Malfoy family
name has lost much of its power. People no longer want to be associated with him as the
child of criminals because they think it will reflect badly on them and damage their
reputations.”

Harry frowned. “But Draco didn’t do anything!”

“Precisely his point,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “But he cannot extricate himself
from familial ties. People who Draco previously thought were friends are now shunning him
because of his parents’ incarceration.”

“That’s horrible,” Harry whispered, feeling pity stir in his chest again. Damn it, he did feel
sorry for Malfoy now! How ridiculous was that?

“It is rather unpleasant,” Snape said. He sighed again. “Does this give you any insight into
why Draco has been so angry these past few weeks?”

“A little,” Harry admitted. He was all too familiar with anger after what he’d been through
himself, but at least he knew he still had his friends to help him through it. He couldn’t
imagine how awful it would have been to deal with Snape finding out about the Dursleys and
losing all his friends in one fell swoop…

“Perhaps give him a bit of space today,” Snape suggested. “I’m sure you’d rather avoid a
confrontation, and I’m not sure if he can control himself -”

“I’ll leave him alone,” Harry agreed quickly.

He had fully intended on following through on this. Harry didn’t particularly enjoy fighting
with Draco on a good day, and on a day like this, when he was so clearly in pain, it just
seemed cruel to not give him a break. When they returned to Snape’s house, however, Harry
had occasion to talk to Draco far sooner than he’d meant to.
Harry had gone upstairs to the loo while Snape went into the kitchen, fully expecting his
room to be locked off. Surprisingly, the door was wide open. Despite himself, Harry lingered
on the landing, and looked through the open doorway.

Draco had his face buried in a pillow. The whole room looked significantly messier than it
had earlier that morning; Draco’s belongings were scattered all over the room, like he’d been
digging for something, and the floor and desk were littered with crumpled up bits of
parchment. There were several snapped quills surrounding an inkpot on the desk. The
infamous necklace was lying on the pillowcase next to Draco's head.

For a moment Harry thought the other boy was asleep, but Draco promptly dispelled that
theory when he lifted his head. He must have noticed Harry. Draco’s eyes were red and puffy
- he’d obviously been crying. His face twisted into a scowl when his eyes locked with
Harry’s. “Oh. It’s you.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, sorry,” Harry said, taking a step backwards.

“No. I could use some input, actually,” Draco said angrily, shoving himself upright. “Have I
committed a crime, Potter?”

“Um. No?”

“Exactly!” Draco hissed, slamming his hand against the desk. “So why, pray tell, am I being
treated like a criminal?!”

“Er… I don’t know,” Harry said rather awkwardly.

“Neither do I!” Draco shouted. “Seeing as all of Britain has decided that my entire bloodline
is evil, maybe the Ministry of Magic should get this whole sorry affair over with and throw
me to the Dementors already! After all, I’m Draco Malfoy. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve
engraved my bloody name onto a cell in Azkaban in preparation for my arrival!”

“Um,” Harry said ineloquently, his brain fizzling as he tried to reach for the right words that
he just didn’t have. Eventually, he came up with the slightly pitiful, “I don’t think you’re
evil.”

Draco’s eyes flashed with icy fury. “Oh, what high praise! I’ve got the admiration of the
darling Boy-Who-Lived, have I? Not evil, what a compliment! Is my Order of Merlin in the
mail, Potter?”

“You’ve really not done anything,” Harry said, ignoring the biting sarcasm. “People shouldn’t
blame you for stuff you didn’t do. It’s unfair.”

A look of deep, intense pain twisted Draco’s features. He snatched up a half-written letter
from the desk, took it between his shaking hands, and tore it clean in two with a noisy rip.

“This is fucking ridiculous!” he shouted. The letter was torn into quarters, and the shredding
sounds continued to punctuate Draco’s shouts as he ranted. “How are you the only one who
doesn’t think I’m a Death Eater in training? The world’s gone barking mad! Harry fucking
Potter is the only one on my side, and meanwhile my own bloody friends just abandon me at
the first sign of trouble. Can you even imagine how that feels?! You hate me! I’ve known
them since I was in nappies, and you’re the only one who can do me the courtesy of treating
me decently? If you of all people can see that it’s not my fault, why can’t they? Why do they
suddenly hate me?!”

Draco’s voice was hoarse and shaky with pain by the end of his rant, and Harry felt
something uncomfortably sympathetic stir in his chest. Moments later, rapid footsteps
ascended up the staircase, and Harry could have collapsed with relief. It was Snape,
presumably drawn in by the shouting. Harry never thought there would be a day where he
was grateful for Snape swooping in to intervene with something, but here he was.

Snape quickly assessed the situation, eyes darting between Harry’s slightly panicked
expression and Draco’s agonised, heartbroken face. He took Harry by the shoulders and
firmly moved him in the direction of the staircase.

“Downstairs,” he ordered. Harry nodded, and turned his head away just as Snape wrapped an
arm around Draco and started murmuring something to him, the exact words inaudible.

Harry hurried downstairs, sat down on the sofa and heaved a loud sigh. There was nothing
else for it but to admit it; he did feel sorry for Draco. This was going to be a problem.

This was all bloody Snape’s fault! Harry had been staunchly determined that even with all of
the enforced time together, he would still continue with the Malfoy-hating, but the old hatred
had just slipped away without him even realising it. Harry certainly didn’t like him, and
definitely still disliked him, but every time he tried to conjure up the mindless loathing of
before, it just wasn’t possible. He kept thinking of the evening games, and the slightly violent
but fun football matches, and Draco’s tearstained face as he tore up that letter…

He knew too much about the Draco behind the mask of Malfoy, and it had changed the way
Harry saw the other boy.

“For God’s sake,” Harry muttered, running his hands over his face. He wanted to take his
mind off these new, complicated feelings. Harry needed a good distraction. As he looked up,
he noticed a book, open on Snape’s coffee table. He walked closer, curious.

And then Harry saw the title. ‘CHILD NEGLECT’, written across the top of the page in bold,
black letters. Harry flinched backwards, his mouth going dry. Snape was reading that stupid
trauma book again, apparently.

The corner of the page was folded. This chapter hadn’t been dog-eared before.

But Snape had bought that book for Draco. It had been here before Harry had even arrived at
Spinner’s End. This had nothing to do with him, right? So why was Snape suddenly reading
about child neglect when he hadn’t been before?

“They neglect that poor nephew of theirs terribly, don’t they?”

“I didn’t realise you were experiencing medical neglect there…”

“Would your actual guardians buy you anything outside of basic necessities? I doubt it,
considering they don’t even provide the bare minimum…”

Harry stepped back, feeling slightly sick. The page hadn’t been dog-eared before, and now it
was. He couldn’t stop thinking about that, and he definitely couldn’t rationalise this being
about Draco… no, Snape was using this trauma book and reading about Harry.

Something nasty squirmed in Harry’s stomach. Snape was doing something for his sake
again. He thought Harry was neglected.

Harry’s general rule of thumb was to deny the facts, and do his best to push away any
thoughts that what the Dursleys did was wrong, but after his conversation yesterday, he knew
he couldn’t escape the reality of the situation. Not after finding out about that War Orphan’s
Stipend. Harry found he just couldn’t get past that. The Dursleys had money, and they didn’t
spend it on Harry. They could have, but they didn’t…

Harry had always thought that the neglect - if that was what this was, if that was the word
Harry dared to use - hurt more than the punches and the slaps. It always had. The ill-fitting
clothes, the untreated illnesses, the lack of food, the lack of kind words, of hugs. It was so
stupid, why did Harry care about that?

“Petunia doesn’t even touch him, have you noticed?”

Sometimes, Harry used to wonder if he had a disease, and that was why they wouldn’t come
near him. When he was too young to understand that his relatives wanted nothing to do with
him, and he’d try to hug his aunt and uncle like Dudley did, he’d always be shoved away and
given a disgusted look. Harry hadn’t been able to understand why, and a part of him still
didn’t understand. He’d try and try to be good, but nothing made them happy. They were
always just so angry…

Why? Why wasn’t Harry good enough for them? Why wasn’t he worthy? Why, why, why -

“Harry?”

He jerked his head around. Snape was standing in the doorway, looking worried. “Are you
alright?”

Harry nodded mechanically and shakily inhaled past the knot in his chest, which was terribly
difficult to do. He felt a bit lightheaded. “Yep. Great. Fine, completely fine.”

Snape made an exasperated noise. “That question was more of a courtesy. Tell me what’s
wrong. Draco again?”

“No, not that,” Harry said quickly. “He didn’t say anything rude to me, actually. He was just
sort of ranting.”

“Yes, I caught the tail end of that.” Snape sat down in his usual chair, and Harry was
suddenly struck by how utterly exhausted he looked.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked a little nervously.

Snape looked briefly stunned by the question. He let out a hoarse chuckle. “I’m managing, I
suppose. So, what’s your issue, then, if not that incident with Draco?”

Harry’s eyes flicked to the book again, and he bit down on his cheek. Snape, who was
annoyingly attuned to Harry’s body language, tracked where his eyes had darted. He stared at
the open book, and his lips briefly thinned. “Ah. You noticed my reading.”

Harry stared at the floor. He didn’t know what to say, and his chest was hurting quite badly
by now.

“There’s a lot about your background that I don’t yet understand, Harry, and I’m trying to
expand my knowledge,” Snape explained. “You could read the book sometime, if you’d like?
It’s quite insightful.”

“I can’t,” Harry said, feeling oddly panicked. “I can’t, no, I can’t -”

“No one is forcing you.” Snape said quickly, flicking his wand. The book flew back onto the
shelf, out of sight. “Take a deep breath. It’s fine.”

“Right.” Harry tried to loosen the tightness behind his ribs with a shuddering breath, feeling
furious with himself. This was so stupid. It was a bloody book! What was it about a book that
was making him freak out? What was wrong with him?

“It gets easier,” Snape said softly. “All in due time, Harry.”

He nodded mutely. Harry had to trust that Snape was telling him the truth, because the
prospect of always feeling this way was unbearable to contemplate. He knew he’d come quite
far as it was, from that lonely boy in the cupboard to someone with friends and a place to
escape Privet Drive, but there was still so much more Harry wished for. There were still so
many things about the Dursleys affecting him which he wanted to be rid of, and he didn’t
want to wait. Harry needed to know that it got better. He wished it could all be better now,
actually…

“Would you like to do something?” Snape asked, disrupting Harry from the spiralling. “How
does a game of chess sound? Perhaps today is the day you’ll finally beat me.”

“But what about Draco?” Harry asked, glancing towards the open living room door. “Don’t
you need to go back up to him?”

“Draco will come down when he’s ready,” Snape said, summoning the chess board. “He
wants to be alone right now.”

“Should he be?” Harry asked softly, staring at his shoes. Thoughts of Draco’s pained shouts
were mixing together with the memories of his own horribly lonely childhood. The idea of
leaving someone alone when they were that upset, even when that someone was his greatest
rival, pained Harry a little.

“Draco needs time to process what has happened without feeling forced to put on a front of
indifference,” Snape explained, setting out the chess pieces. “He needs a bit of time to
 himself. As desirable as it would be, these things can’t be fixed easily. It’s yet another thing
which simply takes time.”

Harry nodded. “Right.”

“Onto the chess, then,” Snape announced. Several of his pieces saluted him. “Perhaps we
should swap sets. Since I’ve been so thoroughly thrashing you, I’m a tad concerned your
pieces are developing suicidal tendencies.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry grumbled. He glared at his chess set when they all tried to hurry over to
Snape’s side of the board, and roughly shoved them back into position. “Stop it! I’ll have you
all court marshalled for this!”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “I doubt your army could survive that drop in numbers.”

“Stop converting my pieces to your side!” Harry said, glaring at him. “I’m going to beat you
this time, you know. I’m prepared.”

“Ah, Gryffindor optimism.” Snape smirked. “So fun to crush.”

Despite the insults being tossed, Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself as he moved the
first pawn. He knew Snape was just trying to distract him, but it was working, so he certainly
wasn’t going to complain. He focused hard on the chess game, and Snape’s rather eloquent
jibes that accompanied their playing, until the tension in his chest eased and the book faded
from his mind.

It was really quite nice to not be left to deal with his sadness alone now. Harry couldn’t put
into words how much he appreciated that.

Chapter End Notes

To anyone who was interested in a Snape pov, I have good news! His perspective of
chapter 6 and 7 has just been uploaded, entitled 'Draw Back the Curtain'.
 Mutually Assured Destruction
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

When Draco at last descended from his room, late in the evening, there was no evidence of
his breakdown earlier that day. He’d washed the ink stains from his hands and had scrubbed
the redness from his eyes, and his hair had been combed back into its usual, uniform style.
The only difference in his behaviour was that he was more lofty and cold than usual, if that
was even possible.

It failed to irritate Harry like it usually would, though. Draco was drawing the front of icy
indifference around himself like a cloak, but beneath sat the smarting wounds of his friends’
betrayal, Harry knew. He knew because it reminded him a little of himself. Harry was quick
to stoke the fires of his temper whenever the unpleasantness of the Dursleys flashed through
his mind, because it was easier to cope with than giving into the sharp grief that was always
swimming beneath the surface.

Harry didn’t want to think about how he was relating to Draco now.

Instead, he distracted himself with the usual evening Snape-enforced Monopoly game. Draco
had once again begged for Snape to join them, and to Harry’s surprise, he had actually agreed
for the first time. He settled on the ground opposite to Harry in a flurry of black robes, back
rigid and hawk-like eyes narrowed as he observed the dice rolls and exchanges of money. At
first, Harry was a little nervous with him there, but he gradually settled into the usual
gameplay.

Harry had been planning to let Draco win the game, since he was having such a terrible day.
Since Monopoly was partially luck-based, this mostly consisted of Harry agreeing to property
deals that were far lower than what he usually would expect, but he thought it was the right
thing to do and had been expecting Snape to do the same. To his shock, Snape played
ruthlessly. He picked his properties thoughtfully, and took a great deal of vindictive pleasure
in collecting rent and brokering utterly unfair property trade deals. Over an hour into the
game, Harry was becoming incredibly frustrated by him.

“Come on, sir,” Harry said exasperatedly. “It’s an even trade! Fenchurch Street Station for
Regent Street! Just accept it!”

“And allow you to obtain a monopoly so easily?” Snape’s eyebrows rose. “I think not. I’ll
take nothing less than an additional five hundred.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Harry snapped. “You have three railroads, I’m giving you the fourth one!
That’s such a good deal!”

“And I suppose the green properties are merely pocket change?” Snape smirked. “I’ll take
nothing less than what I’ve offered.”
Harry groaned. “That’s basically all my money! I can’t give you that much!”

Snape thought for several moments. “I’ll drop the price to two hundred and fifty if you add in
The Angel Islington.”

“I’m not giving you two properties and money!” Harry hissed. “Are you actually mad? No!”

“Then we don’t have a deal,” Snape said. “Very well. I believe it’s Draco’s roll?”

“Wait, wait, hold on!” Harry bit his lip and stared at the board. He really, really needed this
monopoly. Snape only had one of the light blue properties, and it was only a cheap one…

“Fine,” Harry agreed reluctantly. “I agree.”

“Excellent,” Snape said, the sneer evident in his voice. Harry made sure to glare at him with
as much vehement hatred as he could muster while he handed over the property cards. He
didn’t even have the money for his houses after all that…

“He is completely ripping you off, Harry,” Draco announced after the money had been
exchanged.

“You think I don’t know that?” Harry grumbled. He shoved the dice in Draco’s direction. “I
hate you all. You’re evil people.”

“Oh, I love it when you lose,” Draco said with a delighted sigh. Harry scowled at him.

Draco’s glee was short-lived, as Snape proceeded to subject him to the same brutal property
deals until his eventual victory. Harry, who hadn’t known that someone could be so good at
Monopoly, made a mental note to never play against Snape again.

At least it seemed to make Draco happy, though. That pleased Harry, especially since later
that night, he was fairly certain he could hear the muffled sounds of Draco crying into his
pillow. He needed any small joys he could get.

Still, he decided to take after Snape and do two things: one, not acknowledge what had
happened with Pansy and two, treat Draco as normal. Harry knew that if he was in the same
situation, he wouldn’t want a fuss, and Draco certainly wouldn’t either. That meant playing
their violent football knockoff with the usual vigour two days after the letter incident.

Usual vigour might have been a bit of an understatement, though. Despite the detached front
Draco was putting on, he was clearly still angry about the whole situation with his friends.
This, of course, manifested in an usually brutal match of their version of football, which was
really turning out to be more like dodgeball with the way they were playing. Harry didn’t
particularly mind, though. After all, he was more than capable of holding his own, and Draco
did want to pretend like nothing had happened, so he had every right to punt the football at
Draco as hard as he possibly could.

When Snape came to call them in for lunch, they were both rather worse for wear, caked in
dirt and a fair bit of blood. The man’s face settled into a deep scowl as he took in their
appearances.
"What on earth do you two think you're doing?" Snape hissed.

"Football," Harry said brightly, wiping away the blood under his nose. It had started bleeding
a bit after a particularly hard kick of the ball to his face.

Snape glowered at him and got out his wand. He jabbed it at Harry, and after a brief, sharp
sting, the blood dripping from his nose tapered off. "This is the second day running I have
called the two of you in for lunch, only to discover you covered in filth and blood! I may not
be an expert in sport, but I highly doubt whatever you're doing is proper!"

"We're Quidditch players at heart, Severus," Draco said innocently. "This is a rough sport,
that’s all. We're fine!"

“Really,” Harry said with a vehement nod.

Snape stared between the two of them, lips white and thinly pressed together. He clearly
knew they were up to something, but just couldn’t prove it. Harry couldn’t really understand
what the problem was here. He and Draco had two years worth of pent-up hatred and rivalry
that the football games were helping them channel. Snape had said he wanted them to get
over it, after all…

Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like 'idiotic teenagers' as
Harry and Draco shuffled inside. He threw out an arm to stop them from walking any further
than the bristly mat by the door.

“Do not trek mud through my kitchen!” he said severely. “Shoes off, now. Tergeo.”

Harry and Draco both yelped in tandem as they were hit by twin Cleaning Charms. Harry’s
skin felt rather tender and sensitive where the dirt had been cleaned, like he had been harshly
scoured.

“Merlin’s beard, Severus!” Draco hissed, rubbing his arms and glaring around reproachfully.
“Don’t put so much power behind that thing! You just took the entire top layer of my skin
off!”

Snape sighed loudly and pointed to the kitchen table where their lunch was waiting without
bothering to respond.

"You two are done with that football for now," he added as they sat down to eat. "I know
you're up to something, and I don't like it."

"But Severus, we're both enjoying ourselves!" Draco protested.

“Do not argue with me," Snape said, glaring at Draco. "You will find something else to
occupy your time."

Harry kept his eyes firmly fastened to his meal as all of this went down, feeling a little wary.
As he reflected upon it further, he realised Snape had been in a completely rotten mood all
day. He’d been snapping at both of them all morning for various minor incidents, including
one hissed reprimand directed at Draco for breathing too loudly. Harry wasn't sure why
Snape had suddenly decided to go back to being his usual, bastard self, but he wasn't
particularly happy about it.

Lunch was rather silent after Snape’s football ban. Draco seemed irritated, while Harry was
being careful so he wouldn’t set Snape off. While he felt reasonably assured by now that
Snape wouldn’t do anything like Uncle Vernon when he was angry, Harry still wasn’t in the
mood to get yelled at or dumped with a pile of dirty cauldrons.

Snape cleared his throat and examined them closely. “Perhaps it would be good for the two of
you to get out of the house for a bit.”

Harry looked up, interested. Given Snape’s behaviour, he hadn’t expected much interaction
between them and the irritable Potions Master that day…

“Where are we going?”

Snape hesitated for a moment, and Harry got the impression he was struggling with whatever
he was about to say. “The park. There is a travelling steam fair company who have set up a
number of rides and other attractions.”

Despite himself, Harry’s face lit up. There was a funfair company that visited Little
Whinging in the summer, and Harry had never been allowed to go with the Dursleys! Even
when he wandered over to the park to look around by himself, Harry didn’t have any money
to spend. All he could do was look longingly at the rides and enviously watch the other
children who had the funds to enjoy themselves. Dudley was almost always around, too,
which was certainly not desirable, since he’d always start up an impromptu game of Harry
Hunting if he caught sight of him.

But a funfair he could actually interact with, and a lack of vengeful cousins wandering
around the place and looking for excuses to beat Harry up? It sounded idyllic.

Draco seemed far less enthused. He opened his mouth, as if to protest, before abruptly
closing it again. Harry was fairly certain he’d just barely bitten back some sort of insult about
Muggles.

“Now, I have some important business to attend to this afternoon,” Snape said, “so the two of
you will be unaccompanied.”

Harry sharply jolted upright. Had Snape seriously just said that? Was he really giving them
permission to go out, especially alone?

Wasn’t he really worried about Sirius Black, though? Why had Snape suddenly decided to
relax his rules? Considering the horrid mood he was in, Harry would have expected a clamp
down on rules and regulations, not a whole new amount of freedom that neither he or Draco
had even asked for.

Harry just about restrained himself from asking any of these questions, too worried that
Snape would change his mind if Harry pointed out any of the obvious flaws in this plan. He
really did want to get out of the house, after all. Being locked up in Spinner’s End was very
boring.

“That sounds amazing!” Harry said happily. “When can we leave?”

“After lunch, when Draco has changed into his Muggle clothes,” Snape said, raking his eyes
over the green robes Draco was wearing, which were still quite muddy from his and Harry’s
aggressive take on football. “And Draco, I will remind you to behave while in the presence of
Muggles, or -”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine!” Draco rolled his eyes emphatically.

“Watch it,” Snape said sharply, his nostrils flaring. “Your abhorrent behaviour in the past has
thoroughly stripped you of the right to brush off my reminders. If you violate the Statute of
Secrecy while under my care, I will be truly furious, so you’d better be careful.”

He and Draco both scowled at each other, and Harry once again wondered what could
possibly be going on with Snape. He had spent the whole of lunch wielding his knife and fork
like they were weapons, not cutlery, and he was still clearly in a bad mood, judging by his
snarling face. If he was so angry, why on earth was he actually encouraging Harry and Draco
to get out of the house and do something fun? Snape in a bad mood was a happiness vacuum
at best! Very weird…

Of course, it turned out Snape wasn’t by any means eager about the situation, even if he was
letting them outside. As soon as Draco had changed into Muggle clothes, he began to fill
them in on his long list of rules.

“As you are both aware, Black is still at large,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “As
Harry is most likely a target for his violence, the two of you have to be inordinately cautious
today.”

“How would Black even know he’s in Cokeworth?” Draco asked, gesturing to Harry.

Exactly, he thought grumpily to himself. The world really had gone topsy-turvy when he was
thinking about how much sense Draco Malfoy was making…

“Black may have his ways,” Snape said sternly. “After all, he is an extraordinarily dangerous
man. Therefore, the two of you will keep your wands on you the whole time. Harry will also
be carrying this so you can escape in case of an emergency.”

Snape reached into his pocket and handed Harry a long, thin plastic tube filled with clear
liquid. Harry frowned, and held it up to the light. “Is this… a glowstick? What on earth…?”

“It’s obviously a Portkey, Potter!” he said exasperatedly. “Use some sense!”

Harry stared at him, baffled. “A what?”

Draco whipped around to face Harry, his face the picture of incredulity. “A Portkey, you
dolt!”
“I don’t know what that is!” Harry snapped.

He scoffed. “You’re having me on!”

“Draco!” Snape hissed. “Don’t be rude. I believe you’re aware that Harry’s relatives are
Muggles? They do not have the ability to use Portkeys, so Harry may really have not been
exposed to one before.”

“Right,” Draco mumbled, his cheeks colouring. Harry thought it was unwise to point out that
Snape had been irritated at him for not realising it was a Portkey just moments earlier.

“A Portkey is an enchanted object that can be used to magically transport the person touching
it to a secondary location,” Snape explained, his scowl easing. “Typically, wizards use rather
mundane objects you would expect to see anywhere - things that could blend in with
everyday litter, so Muggles don’t pay much attention to them. In this case, a glowstick is
appropriate, since they’re sold at the fair. Snap it and it will transport you to a secondary safe
location. Only use this if you fear your life is in danger, is that understood?”

Harry nodded, carefully placing the glowstick in his jacket pocket.

“And finally, the two of you are to stick together at all times,” Snape said, his tone
extraordinarily stern. “I don’t want you arguing and running off, or disagreeing about what
you want to do, or separating because you’re unsupervised. The consequences will be utterly
dire if I found out you've left each others’ sides - and believe me, I will know.”

Harry nodded and ran his fingers across the runes carved into his tracking bracelet. He
genuinely forgot it was there, sometimes, but at times like these, he remembered how Snape
had such omniscient knowledge over his location.

“Here’s some money,” he said, handing Harry some notes. “Draco, Harry will help you with
prices and payments. Ensure you ask. I’ll see both of you in a few hours - be back well before
dark, and do not leave the park and go elsewhere.”

“Bye, Severus!” Draco said, getting to his feet. Harry followed him, and the two of them
stepped out of the front door together. Harry couldn’t help his shiver of anticipation as he
walked over the threshold and out of the driveway. Even though Snape had just given him
permission, it still felt wrong to exit the property.

Snape still didn’t seem entirely happy about the situation, though. He watched after Harry
and Draco as they walked down the road for a very long time, eyes dark with worry.

“I’m glad we’re shot of him,” Draco muttered when they were out of earshot and around the
corner. “He’s been in a horrid mood all morning!”

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m pretty surprised he actually sent us out, actually. He doesn’t do
that when he’s in a good mood!”

“Right - mass murderers are out for your blood.” Draco paused for a moment, then rounded
on Harry. “Come on, Potter, tell me! Why is Black after you?”
Harry frowned. “How should I know?”

“Don’t try and push me off!” Draco complained. “Severus clearly thinks Black’s after you,
and he wouldn’t get so panicked for no good reason! What does that madman want with you?
Stop lying and just tell me already, it’s killing me!”

“I haven’t got any reason to lie, you know,” Harry said a bit irritably. “I don’t have a clue
why everyone seems to think Black is interested in me, specifically. Snape told me that it’s
because I’m the Boy-Who-Lived, and he’s not happy about me killing Voldemort -”

“Don’t say his name!” Draco snapped, putting his hands over his ears. His face had drained
of all colour. “Are you mad? Do you have a death wish or something?!”

Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t respond. After two years of being friends with Ron, he was
used to the strange panic of Purebloods when he said Voldemort’s name. As the man in
question had tried to kill Harry multiple times in his thirteen years of life, he was not
particularly concerned about upsetting Voldemort by saying his name. What was he going to
do, try to kill Harry? He already wanted to anyway!

After a moment of glaring, Draco continued on. “That’s really it? Are you serious? Don’t you
have people trying to kill you every other year for vanquishing the Dark Lord? What’s the
issue with him specifically?”

“Good bloody question,” Harry grumbled. “But either way, Snape’s doing my head in with all
the paranoia.”

“I wonder if there’s anything more he’s not telling you,” Draco said thoughtfully.

“Probably - this is Snape. But he’s certainly not telling me, whatever it is.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped. “He won’t tell me either, and believe me, I’ve been asking… I
even eavesdropped on him and Professor McGonagall while they were talking about it a few
weeks ago, but I got caught before I heard anything useful.”

“What did you hear?” Harry asked, curious.

“Nothing that made sense,” Draco grumbled. “Professor McGonagall said something about
you being friends with Black, which was weird. Severus noticed me listening in right after
and made me scrub the laboratory floor for listening in…”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I’ve never met Black before! How could I be friends with
him?”

“Beats me.” Draco shrugged. “I must have misheard, it was all muffled. Anyway, Severus
was furious with me for eavesdropping, so I’m fairly sure he’s refusing to tell me about Sirius
Black out of spite, now. It’s ridiculous! He’s related to me, after all, so if anyone has the right
to know, it’s me…”

“He’s what?” Harry demanded, whirling around to face him.

“Did you not know?” Draco frowned. “I thought everybody did. Everyone of my status, at
least, since we’re all taught the lineage. My mother was a Black before she married my
father. Sirius is her cousin.”

“Did she ever tell you about him?” Harry asked eagerly. “You must know loads!”

“My mass-murdering cousin isn’t exactly breakfast conversation, so no, I don’t know much,”
Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “Mother did say to me once that she was surprised he had
it in him, though. They all thought Sirius was a blood traitor, since he’s the only Black to ever
sort Gryffindor. He’s just as Dark as the rest of them, as it turns out…”

That surprised Harry a little. He supposed it was a bit ridiculous to assume that all of
Voldemort’s followers were Slytherins, but it still shocked him to learn a Gryffindor had
joined his ranks.

Draco seemed fascinated by other matters, though. He was staring at Harry, obviously
surprised. “Did you really not know that I’m related to the Blacks?”

“I don’t particularly care about your ancestors, shockingly,” Harry said shortly.

“But I know all of yours,” Draco said with a frown. “My parents taught me the whole Sacred
Twenty-Eight.”

Harry was half-certain if he told Draco he didn’t have a clue what the Sacred Twenty-Eight
was, his head might explode, so he simply said, “I was raised by Muggles, remember? I don’t
know much about any of that stuff.”

“Odd.” Draco stared at him for a long moment. “You’re distantly related to the Blacks too,
you know.”

“I am?” Harry said curiously. The only relatives he knew of were on his mother’s side of the
family, and even that knowledge was patchy since Aunt Petunia hated discussing her parents.
His father’s ancestors were a complete blind spot.

“Yep,” Draco said with a nod. “Your great-grandmother was a Black. She and my great-
grandmother were sisters, actually.”

“So we’re related?” Harry asked, feeling a small surge of disgust that he tried not to show on
his face.

“We are - I think we’re third cousins?” Draco said, furrowing his eyebrows with
concentration. “Most of us old pureblood families are related in some way, you know. That
does include you, even if your own blood status is - well…”

“I can’t believe you learnt all of this stuff,” Harry said, shocked. If this wasn’t Draco, he’d
have actually admitted how impressive that level of memorisation was. It rivalled even
Hermione.

“Any good pureblood heir does.” Draco jutted his chin out slightly.
After a moment of hesitation, Harry asked, “So… would you know my grandparents’
names?”

“Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, I’m fairly certain.” Draco turned to him, obviously
surprised. “How can you not know that?”

“My aunt didn’t know them,” Harry said, which wasn’t even a lie. Not that she'd have told
him about his magical grandparents even if they had been intimately acquainted, of course…

Fleamont and Euphemia. Harry stored that precious nugget of information away in the back
of his mind, smiling to himself a little.

Draco was looking at him like he was a puzzle piece that wasn’t quite clicking into place.
“You know, I keep forgetting that you’re Muggle-raised. Since you’re Harry Potter and all…
well. It’s baffling.”

“Look, we’re here,” Harry said quickly, gesturing to the park ahead of them, desperate to
steer the topic away from his relatives.

It was an exciting thing to behold. Harry had walked past the park with Snape and Draco
when they’d gone to Tesco on his second day here, and it had been a largely empty field
containing nothing but a couple of tattered football nets, adjoined by a slightly depressing
and neglected children’s playground. Now, the green had been covered with all sorts of
funfair rides and food stalls. They were old-fashioned in style, and all were painted in
metallic reds and golds. Harry smiled to himself at the Gryffindor colours - Draco was
probably disgusted by the lack of green and silver.

Harry could spot a ferris wheel and a carousel amongst a number of small-scale rides that had
been set up, as well as a few game stalls. Children were excitedly shouting and running
around, while parents gathered in clumps at the corners and watched with smiles.

Draco, to Harry’s shock, looked utterly fascinated as opposed to the look of revulsion that
Harry had been anticipating. Draco stared at the ferris wheel for several moments with his
mouth hanging open slightly before he turned to Harry and hissed, “How do Muggles have
ferris wheels? They don’t have magic!”

“They make them work with electricity,” Harry explained. He wondered where wizards
stored their ferris wheels, since Draco seemed to actually know what they were. Maybe Harry
could visit it sometime in the wizarding world.

Draco frowned. “You and Severus say that for everything!”

“That’s because Muggles use electricity for pretty much everything.”

“You’d think that someone would be able to tell me what it actually is, then,” Draco
grumbled.

Harry shrugged. “I’m not an expert in science, so I’m really not sure. Anyway, do you want
to try it out?”
Draco hesitantly stared up at the ferris wheel for several moments before his expression
changed to a look of firm resolve. “You know what? I think I would like that. Let’s go!”

Harry grinned. He paid the attendant - Draco watched on with a puzzled frown as the man
handed over their change - and the two of them joined the back of the queue. They were
quickly loaded onto the ride.

It took some time for everyone to be loaded on, and eventually, Harry and Draco’s bench
ended up at the top of the wheel while the people below were secured. Harry pointed out over
the roofs stretching out before them to the horizon, where the abandoned factory was clearly
visible. “Do you reckon we could see Snape’s house from here?”

“Possibly…”

It was rather windy at the top, and the carriage began to swing back and forth with a slight
screech. Draco clung to the lap bar and stared at Harry with wide eyes. “Harry, er - this is
safe, isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?” Draco demanded, face going white. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry snorted. “Are you scared of heights or something?”

“I’m a Quidditch player!” Draco snapped. “Obviously not, you knobhead!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said quickly. “But yeah, it’s safe. They inspect these things all the time,
I think.”

“Can these inspectors be trusted?” Draco demanded loftily.

“Yup. Muggles wouldn’t go on them if they couldn’t be.”

Draco continued to look vaguely sceptical, like he doubted the intellectual discretion of the
other Muggles on the ride, but Harry noticed he just about managed to relax by the time the
ride concluded. He still looked rather relieved to be free of the ferris wheel, though.

“What next?” Harry asked eagerly.

“No more of those just yet,” Draco said a tad faintly. Harry pulled a face, but remembering
Snape’s instructions about sticking together, couldn’t do much about his refusal. It wasn’t too
big of a problem, though; there were plenty of other things to do on the ground.

They both had a few goes on the high striker, where Harry was immensely irritated when
Draco managed to hit the bell before he did. The other boy crowed about it incessantly and
held it over Harry’s head until he threatened to take the hammer to Draco next. After, they
took a trip through a funhouse full of oddly shaped mirrors on every wall that twisted and
distorted their features, and Harry was vindicated when Draco smacked headfirst into his own
reflection. He teased Draco all the way to the hook-a-duck, a game that ended up being
largely unsuccessful when they hauled up the lowest possible point scores, so all they
managed to win were two small lollipops. They finally ended up stalling near a claw
machine, which Draco became very obsessed with.

“Draco, those things are rigged,” Harry said for the third time as the toy Draco was
attempting to lift fell through the claw’s pincers once again. “Just give up already.”

“But I was so close that time!” Draco hissed, pressing his face close to the glass wall and
squinting at the prizes below. “I just need a few more turns…”

“You’re going to spend all the money!” Harry complained.

“Half of it is mine,” Draco said, crossing his arms. “Come on, I’ll let you have the prize when
I win it!”

“No.”

“Please, Harry, I don’t know what the coins mean! Give me a hand!”

“Only if you agree to let me teach you what the coins are,” Harry decided.

Draco huffed. “Fine.”

“It’s really not that difficult to figure out yourself, the numbers are literally on the pieces…”

A few painful minutes later (Harry grouchily thought Snape owed him a huge favour for
suffering through teaching Draco the difference between a twenty pence coin and a fifty
pence piece) the claw machine was loaded with coins, and Draco at last found luck. The claw
held fast and dropped a prize.

“Finally!” Draco laughed as he bent down to retrieve his reward.

“You only had to bankrupt us for it,” Harry muttered, feeling around in his considerably
lighter pockets.

“Have it, then,” Draco said with a shrug, pressing a keyring into Harry’s hand. “Why don’t
we get some food? I’m starving…”

He began to walk in the direction of a stall selling fish and chips, but Harry remained frozen
in place, the screams and shouts of the funfair dying into a dull drone around him.

In his palm was a small keyring of a stuffed monkey.

Suddenly, Harry was transported back to his five-year-old self, watching Aunt Petunia place a
toy monkey far out of his reach while she scowled down at his crestfallen face. His chest hurt
in the same way it had that day.

“I do wonder what they did with the War Orphan’s stipend…”

That stuffed monkey he’d wanted couldn’t have cost more than five pounds.
Someone grabbed the crook of his elbow, and Harry flinched rather violently. He jerked his
head up from the keyring and saw Draco staring at him rather worriedly. “What’s your
problem?”

“N-Nothing,” he stammered, shoving the monkey into his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind.
The sting of the memory was harder to press down, though.

“Get a move on, then!” Draco said impatiently. “I don’t want Severus to storm over here and
kill me for abandoning you to get blown up by Sirius Black. Come on…”

Harry followed him to a queue, where they each bought a styrofoam container full of
steaming hot chips, drenched in salt and vinegar. They sat together on the grassy verge to eat,
and watched the people milling about. After a few minutes, Harry glanced to the side and
noticed Draco was staring at him with a slightly strained look on his face. He frowned.
“What?”

Draco hesitated for several moments, and stared at the grass. “Pot - Harry. I…I know I have
no right to ask you this, considering everything but - but please. Don’t tell anyone about my,
er… my reaction to Pansy’s news the other day.”

Harry’s mouth fell open - not from the request, but from Draco’s tone. He sounded
apologetic. He’d said please. Something about the desperation in his voice made Harry’s
heart seize, and he quickly said, “I wasn’t going to.”

Draco gave him a dubious look, and Harry pressed on. “Look. While we’ve been with Snape,
I think both of us have seen things about each other that we wouldn’t want people at
Hogwarts to know.” The bruises. “Do you know about mutually assured destruction?”

“Of course,” Draco said loftily. “It’s the idea of attack deterrence because an attack on either
side would result in the complete annihilation of all parties.”

“Well, it’s like that,” Harry said. “I won’t tell anyone about your personal stuff because you
know too much about me that you could also tell everyone at school, and vice versa. Even if
we don’t trust each other I think we can trust that we don’t want any of our personal stuff
getting out.”

Draco looked visibly relieved at that statement. “Good point…”

“And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have said anything anyway,” Harry added. “It would just
be the wrong thing to do.”

Draco looked at him for a long stretch, and snorted. “You can be annoyingly decent, you
know.”

“Care to reward my annoying decency with another go on a ride?” Harry asked, finishing his
last chip and licking the salt off his fingers. “I want a go on the carousel.”

“I knew you had a Slytherin side buried somewhere,” Draco muttered, throwing their empty
containers into a nearby bin.
“I nearly got sorted into Slytherin, you know,” Harry confessed as he started to walk over to
the ride queue. Draco abruptly grabbed onto his arm and whirled him back around. His
mouth was hanging open, and he seemed lost for words.

“You’re lying!” he shouted when he recovered his wits.

“It’s true!” Harry laughed, freeing his arm. “The Sorting Hat said I’d do well there, actually.”

“Why didn’t you get sorted into Slytherin, then?” Draco demanded.

“Er - dunno. Guess the hat just decided I’d do better in Gryffindor.”

Harry thought it probably wasn’t best to say he’d specifically requested anywhere but
Slytherin, in large part because of Draco and his general prattishness.

“It was probably for the best,” Draco decided. “If we’d shared a common room and a
dormitory, I think there’s a high chance we would have killed each other by now.”

“You’ve got that right,” Harry agreed, thinking of the tense atmosphere of the last few weeks.
“Hurry up and get in the queue with me!”

“Fine, fine…”

Draco began to trail behind Harry as he headed straight for the carousel.

“Do me a favour, Harry,” Draco said.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Severus you almost sorted Slytherin, and let me be there when you say it.” Draco
smirked. “He’ll have a brain aneurysm.”

Harry chuckled. “I bet he would.”

“What is this thing you’re dragging me on, then?” Draco asked. He stared at the carousel,
looking mildly alarmed. “Why have the Muggles stuck poles through horse corpses?”

Harry turned to him in horror. “They aren’t real!”

“Really?”

“No way!” Harry said quickly. “It’s all mechanical, they’re made of metal! They move up
and down and stuff, look. It’s more electricity.”

Draco watched closely as the carousel started. He looked utterly perplexed. “I just don’t get
it. What’s the point?”

“It’s just fun!” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “It doesn’t need to have a point! Just wait and
see…”
“So?” Harry asked, as they stepped off the ride. “Any good?”

“It wasn’t an entirely worthless experience,” Draco admitted rather reluctantly. “It was sort of
like riding a broom, but slower.”

“Will you try more of the rides, then?” Harry asked.

“I suppose,” Draco agreed. “If I’m being forced to live like a Muggle, I might as well partake
in some of the more enjoyable activities, as well as the menial.”

Harry tried to hide his grin as they headed over to a faster-looking ride. Draco had just
referred to something Muggle as enjoyable. Something about that was immensely satisfying.

“Are there no funfairs in the wizarding world, then?” Harry asked curiously.

Draco shook his head. “We have a couple of the same games and the ferris wheel, as I
mentioned, but not much else.”

Harry whistled. That was really quite strange to him.

“Well, let’s make the most of this one, then,” he decided.

Harry was also making up for a lot of lost time that night. Every single ride he went on felt
like a great big middle finger to the stupid Dursleys, who would be irritated to know he was
having any sort of fun. While Harry didn’t know how you were supposed to make up for the
childhood you’d missed out on so long after the fact, at last getting to experience these things
did help to ease a bit of the sting, strangely enough.

“So, what’s that pink stuff?” Draco asked, pointing at a young boy holding onto a stick of
candyfloss.

“Candyfloss. Want some?"

“What is it?” Draco asked a little nervously.

“Just sugar, I think,” Harry said. He’d never actually had any himself, but Dudley seemed to
enjoy it. “Let’s go buy some.”

Ten minutes later, a wide-eyed Draco was staring at the remains of his candyfloss in awe.
“Now that is a Muggle thing I can get behind.”

“It is pretty good,” Harry remarked, smiling to himself.

“I can’t believe Honeydukes hasn’t patented this yet!” Draco said, clearly shocked. “It’s
incredible! Can you buy this anywhere else? I have to ask Severus to get some!”
“He probably hates it, you know,” Harry said. “Miserable git that he is. He definitely won’t
buy it.”

“I’ll wear him down,” Draco announced.

Harry sat back with a satisfied sigh, but his shoulders slumped slightly as he noticed the
gradually pinkening sky. Snape had specifically ordered them to be back before dark, and
sunset was drawing ever closer. And, shockingly enough, he’d just had a day out with Draco
and had immensely enjoyed it.

A whole day with Draco, where he’d willingly interacted with the Muggle world with nary an
insult. Harry was reluctantly coming to realise that maybe - just maybe - Snape was telling
the truth when he said Draco was changing. Harry didn’t quite know what to do about it, or
what to do about the fact that a Draco who was less focused on constantly degrading Muggles
and Muggleborns was quite good fun. He had to keep reminding himself that Draco was also
Malfoy, the nasty boy he knew from Hogwarts.

The two people were becoming more and more distinct in his mind.

Suddenly, Harry noticed an orange glow at the very edge of the fairground, where a small
group of people had gathered.

“Hey, Draco, can you see that?” he said, pointing to the rising torrent of flames. “A bonfire!
Let’s go have a look.”

Harry was almost halfway to the bonfire when he realised the sound of footsteps on the grass
behind him had stopped. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Draco was frozen in
place, the reflections of the firelight flickering in his wide grey eyes. He started to slowly
take a few steps backwards before completely sprinting in the opposite direction.

Harry muttered an oath under his breath and started running after him, remembering Snape’s
vaguely threatening instructions about sticking together. Draco was surprisingly fast, and it
took him a good couple of minutes to catch up with the other boy when he finally stopped
running and leaned heavily against a tree far away from the Muggles, gasping for breath.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked when he finally caught up. “Why did you -”

“Just go away, Potter!” Draco shouted.

Harry suddenly felt as though a heavy object had smacked into his chest. He stumbled back
several steps before he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud. He grimaced and
struggled to get his breath back, since the force of the impact had winded him a little, and
gingerly lifted himself from the ground to try and see Draco. He had slid to the grass by now,
although he was facing away from Harry and staring pointedly at the tree in front of him. His
shoulders were heaving up and down with rapid breaths.

He hadn’t touched Harry, but that forceful shove had almost certainly originated from Draco.
Harry wasn’t the only one struggling with occasional bouts of accidental magic, it seemed.
And as he got to his feet and started to slowly walk towards Draco, Harry realised Draco’s
chest wasn’t heaving from the exertion of running. No, he seemed to be panicking. He was
practically hyperventilating, actually.

Harry’s mind suddenly flashed back to a couple of weeks ago, when Draco had gotten into
that explosive argument with Snape and started throwing things, or the shouting, crying
breakdown he’d had just two days ago. After everything that had come out about the
Dursleys, Harry often forgot he wasn’t the only one living at Spinner’s End who was
grappling with some serious issues. No, Draco certainly had some significant problems of his
own, even if Harry didn’t know the precise details of what they were…

So, he was rather hesitant and slow as he approached Draco, not quite sure what the right
thing to do was. Harry intentionally took heavy footsteps so Draco knew he was approaching.
The other boy didn’t look up, though.

“We can go back to Spinner’s End, if you’d like?” he suggested quietly.

“Fine,” Draco said in a tight voice. He got up from the ground and rubbed a hand across his
face, intentionally not looking at Harry. “I’m sick of this Muggle nonsense, anyway.”

Somehow, the comment didn’t anger Harry like it usually would. Perhaps it was because of
the hollowness behind Draco’s words, or the pinched, unhappy look of his face as he finally
turned back to Harry. He knew Draco’s dignity mattered to him quite a lot, and certainly
didn’t think it was right to start an argument with Draco when something was so clearly
wrong with him, so Harry didn’t respond to the mean-spirited comment. They walked
through the fairground in silence and emerged into the quiet streets beyond.

They were halfway to Spinner’s End when Draco suddenly wheeled around and glared at
him. “Don’t you dare ask me about it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Harry said with an intentionally casual shrug. “I’m not Snape, you know.
I don’t have to drag every secret of your life out of you.”

“Good.”

Harry was, admittedly, dying with curiosity about the situation, but Draco had been very
good about not asking prying questions when Harry had had his various minor freakouts over
the last few weeks. He felt obligated to extend the same courtesy. It had been the bonfire that
had triggered the incident, that Harry was certain of. Draco had been happy and laughing up
until he’d seen that. It was like a switch had gone off.

But why?

Draco certainly didn’t want to provide him with answers. They walked back to Spinner’s End
in perfect silence.

Snape opened the door to let them in just as Harry had raised his hand to knock. He had a
strange knack for sensing when they were nearby. Either that, or he’d been stalking their
location through Harry’s tracker. Snape raked his eyes up and down the two of them, before
they gradually settled on Draco’s haggard face. He crooked a finger. “You. Come with me.”

Draco scowled. “I don’t need -”

“With me,” Snape said firmly. He reached out a hand, placed it on Draco’s shoulder, and
steered him into the living room. As the door clicked shut, Harry decided to take himself
upstairs. He shrugged his jacket off, sat back on the bed, and took the keychain out of his
pocket. He squeezed it in the palm of his hand, the cool glass of the eyes pressing into his
skin.

It wasn’t quite the one that Aunt Petunia had torn from his hands in the supermarket that day
when he was five years old, but every time Harry looked at it, he felt a strange stirring
sensation in his chest. Something about finally being given this object that had been so
harshly ripped from him when he was young felt oddly meaningful.

Harry would never understand why that particular memory of the supermarket stung the way
it did. The Dursleys had done much worse to him, after all…

It was quite a long time before someone came upstairs. It was Snape, alone, features devoid
of emotion. By now, Harry had gotten quite good at recognising when his face was
particularly blank, signifying that he was Occluding. Odd - Snape normally only started using
Occlumency when Harry was frustrating him, or when he was discussing something about
the Dursleys…

“Is Draco okay?” he asked

“Yes, but he wants to be alone,” Snape said. “Apart from that incident, did you two enjoy
yourselves?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiled and glanced down at the keychain in his hand.

When he looked back up at Snape, the man's expression had completely shifted. Snape’s
Occlumency had slipped, and the look on his face was one of deep pain, drawing his lips into
a thin, unhappy frown. His eyes were downcast and oddly dull. When he noticed Harry
watching, Snape shook the expression from his face so quickly Harry was half-certain he'd
just been imagining it.

“Would you like to make dinner?” he asked.

“Er - we ate at the fair,” Harry said, nervousness rising up in him. Was that not allowed? Had
he done something wrong?

“And filled up on sweets, I suppose,” Snape said, giving him a knowing look.

“They were selling chips at a stall and we ate there too, so…”

“If you find yourself hungry later, you are to help yourself to something in the kitchen,
understood?”
 Harry nodded, relieved it didn’t seem like he was in trouble.

Despite that, Snape was still looking at him really strangely. Even though his face was blank,
there was something odd stirring under the surface as he watched Harry that he couldn’t quite
put a finger on.

“Is everything alright, sir?”

Snape opened his mouth, then hesitated. That, more than anything, was incredibly peculiar.
Snape was many things, but he was not a hesitant or doubtful person from what Harry had
seen of him. Snape always knew what he wanted and what to say. This was completely and
utterly out of character, and it set Harry’s teeth on edge.

In the end, Snape simply shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll be downstairs if you need
something.”

“Okay.”

Snape stared at Harry for a very long moment, eyebrows knitted together, before he pulled
the door closed. Harry frowned to himself, staring at the place where the man had been
standing moments before. Despite what Snape was claiming, he knew something wasn’t quite
right here. Anxiousness seemed to worm its way into Harry’s gut. Maybe it was all related to
Draco, and the strange fit of panic he’d had earlier? That sort of made sense…

But Harry didn’t think that was quite right. No, Snape had been watching him. There was
something going on. Harry just got the unshakeable feeling the man knew something he
didn’t want to let onto quite yet.

A few hours later, Harry was woken from a sound sleep to someone shaking his shoulder. He
blearily opened his eyes, only to jolt back when he saw Draco’s face mere inches from his
own. Harry opened his mouth to shout out with alarm, but Draco clapped a hand over it.

“Shh!” he hissed. “You’re going to want to come with me - the Headmaster is downstairs
right now, talking to Severus, and you can hear them from the landing. I think they’re having
some kind of argument!”

Harry pushed himself up, snatched his glasses off the desk next to his bed and jammed them
onto his face. “Really?”

“Yes,” Draco whispered, “and they’re talking about you. Come with me, now.”

Chapter End Notes

To anyone wondering why Draco didn’t say he knew more about Sirius: that’s because
in this universe, he doesn’t. In canon he seems to know about the betrayal when he
taunts Harry over it, but I always assumed this was something the Malfoys would have
told him after Sirius broke out of Azkaban since telling your kids the specific details of
various murders your family members perpetrated isn’t exactly a normal conversation.
Since the Malfoys were sent to Azkaban before Sirius broke out, Draco only knows the
information he told Harry in this chapter.
 A Midnight Confrontation
Chapter Notes

Today's chapter is once again brought to you by cliffhanger guilt! Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Harry crept out of the bedroom with Draco, heart in his throat. He was suddenly very grateful
that Snape was still forcing him and Draco to keep their door open at night so he could hear if
they tried to kill each other in their sleep or whatever it was he thought was going to happen.
It meant that the door’s hinges didn’t creak as they snuck through the open door and sat
together on the top step of the staircase. Harry peered between the bannisters. The house was
dark, but light was spilling through a crack in the living room door so a single golden beam
slashed through the gloom, hitting the wall of the staircase right beneath Draco’s foot. He
looked at Harry and slowly placed a finger over his lips before inclining his head in the
direction of the living room door. Harry tried to quiet his breathing so he could make out the
muffled voices of the people within.

“- shouldn’t have done it, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “You should have gone through me.”

“I didn’t have to, actually,” Snape said coolly. “Informing you is merely a formality. Minerva
is the Head of Child Welfare and Safeguarding at Hogwarts, as you well know. I only needed
her permission and support to investigate a child’s home life and potentially remove him
from his guardians, and -”

“This was not just any child, and you know it,” Dumbledore interrupted. “This was Harry
Potter.”

Harry stiffened. Draco sharply looked up at him, a question he couldn’t voice waiting in the
contours of his frown.

“To me, Harry Potter is like any other child and deserves to be treated as such,” Snape said
sharply. “His fame and legacy ought to make no difference when it comes to a situation like
this.”

Dumbledore scoffed - an odd sound to hear the Headmaster make, Harry thought. “I did not
realise you employed such a philosophy in regard to him, Severus. After all, you’ve spent the
last two years treating him like the reincarnation of James Potter, haven’t you?”

“Don’t throw that in my face,” Snape growled. Harry could easily imagine the scowl that was
almost certainly affixed to his features. “When I realised what that boy has been through, I
recognised the errors of my ways and have been doing everything I can to make up for it.
You would do well to recognise the error of yours! Still putting him with those awful people,
even after Minerva warned you what they were like, that they were the most awful sort of
Muggles, and you still left him there -”

“I knew they were not ideal people,” Dumbledore said, “but a flawed character does not
automatically make someone a child abuser. You cannot truly expect me to have predicted
their treatment of him!”

Harry tensed.

“You should have checked!” Snape shouted, his voice crisp and clear as it carried through the
house. “Why, Albus, why didn’t you?!”

“Because Petunia expressly refused to have any kind of contact with wizards if she was to
take the boy in,” Dumbledore said, his voice jarringly soft next to Snape’s bellows. “And it’s
not as though I left him unattended, Arabella was there -”

“And she told you they didn’t get on, didn’t she?” Snape hissed. “Figg said as much to me
earlier! You didn’t exactly do much after she wrote to you and said they were horrid to the
boy!”

Harry’s jaw dropped. Mrs Figg, his cat-obsessed neighbour who babysat him, knew the
Headmaster? And what did Snape mean he'd been talking to her?!

“Yes, Arabella told me they didn’t get on, but neither of us realised the extent of it!”
Dumbledore said, the irritation clear in his voice. “And once again, Severus - I assumed he
was unhappy. That was all I thought it was. Considering the importance of keeping him at
Privet Drive for his safety, I had to overlook that so he would stay alive! Unhappy does not
necessarily mean abused -”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know abuse if it hit you over the head with a Beater's bat,” Snape
muttered. There was the faint creak and groan of floorboards - it sounded like he was pacing.

“That is a highly unfair accusation.”

“It’s not, since you decided to invite yourself into my house in the middle of the night, ready
to lecture me about rightfully terminating their custody!”

“That is not my problem, Severus. My issue lies with you going behind my back,”
Dumbledore said with the air of someone who was struggling mightily to maintain their
patience. “My issue is with you single handedly destroying the blood wards that keep Harry
safe from Lord Voldemort.”

Harry gripped the edge of the stair he was sitting on, feeling something in his stomach lurch.
What did the Headmaster mean? Were those wards really gone? The ones linked to his blood
protection? Why?

“You acted rashly, Severus,” Dumbledore said reproachfully. “Do you even realise what
you’ve done? That was the one place he was truly safe during the summers, when he’s away
from Hogwarts. Those wards were irreplaceable, and now that you’ve destroyed them, I
cannot undo your damage.”

“My damage?” Snape said incredulously. “Petunia was perfectly happy to wash her hands of
him when I asked her if she'd give him up! If these oh-so important blood wards were as
strong as you imply, I shouldn’t have been able to destroy them with a few well-placed
words! They wanted nothing to do with him, Albus! It was shocking!"

Harry pressed his lips together, his chest tightening. They wanted nothing to do with him. He
knew the Dursleys hated him, though. It shouldn't still sting.

Moments later, the words Snape had said finally registered. When I asked her if she’d give
him up. Harry’s blood ran cold. As far as Harry was aware, Snape hadn’t spoken to Harry’s
aunt in over a decade. Why were the two of them suddenly talking?

Snape couldn’t have gone to Privet Drive, could he?

“If Lord Voldemort regains his powers, you’ve as good as killed that boy,” Dumbledore said
coldly. “No amount of warding can replicate Lily’s protections.”

“My warding can still do a damn good job,” Snape growled. “I know spells, Dark spells, and
I am more than willing to use them for Harry’s sake if I must. That’s why you entrusted him
to me for this time period, as you’ll recall? Because of my aptitude for Defence Against the
Dark Arts? I am able to keep the boy safe in a way no one else can, in a way that might
parallel Lily’s blood sacrifice.”

“Are you forgetting that this is the same boy I had to argue with you for hours about when I
was convincing you to take him in for less than a month?” Dumbledore said sceptically. “I
highly doubt you’re willing to house James Potter’s son every summer until he reaches his
majority…”

“I am willing to house Harry.” Snape paused for a moment. “You do not need to worry about
the warding being broken. You know perfectly well I can keep him safe and I will do it,
Albus. I will protect that child with my life if I have to. You remember my oath."

Harry was reeling. Was this really what it sounded like? Snape was willing to - to take him
in? What did that even mean? Still, Harry shook himself and pushed the questions to one side
for now. He had to keep listening.

"I believe you're incapable of safely guarding him if you're letting your emotions blind you to
the important things."

"You didn't see the things I did, Albus," Snape said, his voice terse and shaky. "You know I
am capable of Occluding my emotions to the Dark Lord himself, but what those people did to
him, what I saw -"

"Ah, yes, the things you saw when you Legilimised a pair of Muggles, correct?" Dumbledore
interrupted. “Without permission or consent?”
Harry felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. Suddenly, the confusing pieces of
the conversation all fell into place.

Snape had gone to Surrey. He’d spoken to Mrs Figg, he’d spoken to the Dursleys, and he’d
Legilimised them? What had he seen in their minds? Dudley’s bullying, his uncle hitting him,
the starvation, the horrid comments, the cupboard? Harry thought he might actually be sick
when he thought about Snape seeing that. This was a nightmare. This was hell.

Draco suddenly grabbed onto Harry's wrist and held his other hand in the air in a placating
gesture. Calm down, he mouthed. Harry suddenly realised he was dangerously close to losing
control of his magic and took a few deep, shaky breaths, biting down on the flesh of his
cheek until the copper tang of blood flooded his mouth. This was the best information he'd
gotten in weeks, and he couldn't screw it up now by having some sort of breakdown.

Snape was still speaking, and Harry did his best to tune back in. "- subsection 13J strictly
stated that I can legally use Legilimency upon the parents or guardians of a child enduring
suspected abuse."

"They're Muggles who were defenceless against mental attacks."

"Defenceless? Harry was defenceless!" Snape roared. Harry couldn't help but flinch back,
even though the shouting was far away. "I saw everything they did to him, Albus, when he
was far too young to protect himself! They hit him, berated him, neglected him. They locked
him in a cupboard for ten years of his life, all with two perfectly serviceable and unoccupied
bedrooms in their house! Don't you dare call those disgusting people defenceless, or I will
hex you right where you stand."

Harry felt very ill by now. He had pins and needles in his hands and did his best to gasp past
the rock that had lodged itself in his chest. So Snape definitely knew about the cupboard then.
That, for some reason, was just too awful for Harry to bear. He felt like he could float out of
his body at any moment, and the only thing tethering him in place was Draco's hand, still
tightly clutching Harry's wrist.

Oh God. Draco. Harry whipped his head to the side and saw the other boy watching him with
an expression of unmitigated horror. His silver eyes had gone wide, trained on Harry’s face.

Draco knew now, too.

Harry yanked his hand away and wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them close to
his chest. He buried his face in his arms, trying to make himself as small as possible. He felt
Draco tapping him on the shoulder, but couldn’t look up. Dumbledore and Snape’s words
continued to wash over him, even as Harry now found himself wishing he’d never overheard
any of this at all.

"Albus, it is a miracle the boy is not an Obscurial," Snape growled. "The things they did to
his magic…they punished him for his accidental magic, did I mention that? I didn't need to
Legilimise those disgusting excuses for humans to discover that. The boy has a panic attack
any time he exhibits harmless accidental magic. Do you know why? Because as a child, when
he did the same thing all wizarding children do when he was scared or angry, they would lock
him up and starve him. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"If you think I am not utterly ashamed of myself, you have severely misjudged the situation,"
the Headmaster said heavily. “Do you think I wanted things to turn out this way, Severus? Do
you think it brings me pleasure to discover all of this? I am just as disgusted as you are to
learn this information. I had hoped Petunia would treat him like a second son, and I am
bitterly disappointed!”

Dumbledore sounded angrier than Harry had ever heard him. He was normally so calm and
serene, and the terrible edge to his voice made Harry shiver. It had also seemingly cowed
Snape, and silence fell in the living room. Harry still didn't look up. He kept his face buried
in his knees and clenched his hair in his fists so it tugged painfully at his scalp.

It was quite a while before someone spoke again. Dumbledore broke the silence. "Even if the
wards were replaceable, I… I would not place him back there now, Severus. Not knowing
what you've informed me. I simply wish you'd given me a little bit of time to work out a
proper plan before destroying those wards. I don’t appreciate you going behind my back."

"I saw no alternative," Snape said. His voice sounded rather hollow. "We will never agree on
how I handled this matter, Headmaster, so I think it best we simply drop it and look to the
future to make these plans you speak of. You'll appreciate I intentionally did not inform the
Ministry of this matter?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore said wearily. "And are you certain Vernon and Petunia will not
mention relinquishing their rights to any questioning officials?"

"I believe I was rather…persuasive," Snape said eventually. "We'll face no trouble with them.
At any rate, I doubt they would ever speak to a witch or wizard who showed up asking
questions. Minerva and myself practically had to force our way in.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily and didn’t respond.

“Now, there is simply the matter of deciding Harry's future living arrangements."

"Indeed." Dumbledore made a slight humming noise. "And you're truly willing to take that
on?"

"I believe I said as much earlier."

“But what if Lord Voldemort regains his powers?” Dumbledore queried. “Your role…”

“This, I think, is equally important.”

“True, true,” Dumbledore conceded. “Severus, I must admit I am confused. Your relationship
with Harry is not exactly, ah… a close one, let’s say. Why are you suddenly so willing to look
after him? I'd expect you to put up far more of a fight, not egg me on!”

“Things change,” Snape said shortly.

Dumbledore made a thoughtful sound, and Harry imagined him examining Snape over the
tops of his half-moon spectacles. “You’ve come to care for the boy, haven’t you Severus?”

“I think the answer to your question is rather obvious,” Snape said quietly. Harry felt a
strange twinge in his chest. That almost sounded like a yes…

But it wasn’t.

“Well, I remember the promise you made me,” Dumbledore said softly. “I don’t doubt you
would protect him with your life, if it came down to it.”

“Indeed I would.”

"And I want Minerva to regularly check in with Harry to make sure things are going
smoothly if this is how we are going to go about things," Dumbledore said in a rather stern
voice. "I am aware of the previous nature of your relationship, and if she even so much as
suspects you're abusing your power over him -"

"Things between us have changed for good,” Snape interrupted. “That is really quite
unnecessary."

"You've spent a quarter of an hour berating me for not doing my job properly for the last
twelve years, so forgive me for wanting to do right by the boy for once."

"I won't fault you that, then, but let me assure you it will be an unnecessary precaution,"
Snape said.

"That is what I'm hoping." Dumbledore sighed again, a mournful sound. “Well…I suppose
this is the most logical option. It’s rather late, so I shan’t stay and disrupt your night further,
but we can iron out more of the details over the coming weeks, I suppose?”

“Yes, we can.”

"Severus…" Dumbledore sounded hesitant. "Do pass on my apologies to Harry for my part in
what he has endured. I should have taken a closer look at precisely why he was so unhappy at
Privet Drive instead of dismissing it. I have failed him."

"We've all failed him." Snape exhaled loudly.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said, so quietly that Harry had to strain his ears to hear. "I simply hope
we can make up for it now."

"I am going to do my best, mark my words."

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said. Harry heard a shuffling noise. "I will not impose on
you any longer. We shall speak soon."

"Goodnight, Headmaster." Harry heard the roaring sound that indicated the use of the Floo
network. Dumbledore was gone.
Someone tugged aggressively on the sleeve of Harry's top. He finally looked up and saw
Draco staring at him, wide-eyed, and pointing frantically in the direction of their room. Harry
nodded numbly, got to his feet, and followed the other boy away from the landing. It was just
in time, too; the golden beam of light started to grow wider as the living room door was
opened, chasing their skittering feet. Harry and Draco both dove into their beds. Harry shut
his eyes and pretended to be sleeping as Snape's footsteps made the ancient staircase groan.
He was shaking terribly beneath the covers, and still felt like he could be sick at any moment.

The shuffle of Snape’s footsteps halted as he arrived upstairs, right in the doorway of their
bedroom. Harry could hear the level sound of his breathing for a few moments before Snape
quietly spoke. "I know both of you are awake, and that you both presumably listened to that
conversation. I heard your footsteps as I came upstairs, and Harry, you're still wearing your
glasses."

Harry winced.

"Both of you get up and come downstairs," Snape ordered. "We ought to discuss what you
overheard…"

For once, Harry wasn't annoyed by the prospect of a chat with Snape. He had a lot of
questions of his own, that much was certain.

As Harry stood up, he had to tightly grab onto the desk to steady himself as there was a
strange rushing sensation in his ears. Once he regained his wits, he walked out of the room
after Draco and realised Snape had watched this all unfold, his shadowed face frowning. He
followed closely behind Harry as he walked down the stairs, like he was prepared to snatch
him from the air if he lost his balance again.

It was the first time that Harry had seen Snape out of his typical black robes, or the very
formal clothing he wore into the Muggle world. Dumbledore had obviously caught him by
surprise, since Snape was instead wearing a dark green dressing gown over pyjamas. Well, it
was late. As Harry and Draco sat down in the living room, he glanced up to the clock on the
mantelpiece and realised it was half-past two.

"Draco, I am extraordinarily annoyed with you," Snape said tightly. "This is not the first time
I have caught you listening in on things that are none of your business, and you know I do not
care for it."

"Wasn't like you were trying to keep your voice down," Draco muttered.

"The majority of our conversation would have been inaudible if you had simply stayed put!"
Snape said irritably. "It was none of your business, and you shouldn't have listened. And
Harry." He turned to face him, face stern. "While we have not had an in-depth conversation
about eavesdropping, I am certain you know it is something that would displease me?"

A hot wave of anger surged through Harry. "I don't care! It wasn't eavesdropping because you
were talking about me, you prick!"
Suddenly, something on the mantelpiece shattered. Harry froze in place, his heart
immediately speeding up. Snape slowly got out his wand and pointed it at the porcelain
ornament which had split clean in two. "Reparo. Do you require a Calming Draught, Harry?"

"No," he said roughly. "I'm… I'm fine."

"If you begin to grow too upset, I will insist," Snape warned.

"I said I'm fine!" Harry hissed. "I'm just - well, obviously I'm a bit on edge, since you went
and Legilimised my fucking relatives! How could you?!"

"If you continue to swear at me, I will count that as you growing too upset to continue,"
Snape said quietly. Harry bit down on his lip, struggling not to let loose another string of
expletives. He was extraordinarily angry at that moment, and Snape’s unflappable calm was
making him even more annoyed. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm down the loud
pulsing in his ears.

“Yes, I used Legilimency upon the Dursleys,” Snape said. “It was not to be intentionally
cruel, Harry. It was so I could determine precisely what had been done to you when Professor
McGonagall and myself visited Privet Drive to finalise your removal from their custody. It
was perfectly legal, you know.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Harry said loudly. “I didn’t want you to know all of it, Snape, it’s
embarrassing!”

“There are many words I would use to describe what the Dursleys did to you, but
embarrassing is not one of them.”

“Well it should be!” Harry shouted, his voice cracking. “You don’t understand!”

“Harry, it’s really not,” Draco said quietly.

“And you!” he whipped around to face Draco, who was looking rather concerned. “I didn’t
want you knowing any of that, and now you do!”

“What are you annoyed at me for?” Draco demanded. “I’ve not done anything! I woke you
up as soon as I realised they were talking about you and everything!”

“I’m annoyed because you’re going to tell everyone!” Harry shouted.

“No I’m not, you nitwit!” Draco hissed. “What kind of person do you think I am? I’m not
going to tell people you live with abusive Muggles!”

Harry huffed. “Oh, sure, you’re saying that now, but the moment I do something you don’t
like you’re going to spread it across the whole school, make fun of me again like you always
do about my dead parents -”

“Oh, just shut up, Potter!” Draco shouted, jumping to his feet. “I’m not like that anymore,
and if you think for a minute I’d tell people about that stuff you’re even more of a stupid little
-”
“Gentlemen!” Snape bellowed. He got to his feet and placed himself in between Harry and
Draco, his nostrils flaring. “Draco. This is hard enough for him without you making things
worse. If you cannot pull yourself together, leave.”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco muttered, sitting back down.

“And you,” Snape said, turning back to Harry. “Take a deep breath and calm yourself down
before I have to intervene. I want to explain what has happened tonight, and things will go a
lot more smoothly if you stop shouting at everyone.”

Harry nodded and drew his knees close to his chest, which felt like it was being crushed by
an iron press. Breathing was hard, and his heart was a stuttering drumbeat in his chest.

“And if it helps you feel any better, if you are not assured of Draco’s sincerity, if he even so
much as breathes a word about the Dursleys to anyone at Hogwarts, I will personally make
sure he lives to regret it for the rest of his sorry life.” Snape shot a withering glare at Draco,
who shrank back slightly.

“I’m really not going to tell anyone,” he said again, voice soft and uncertain.

“I’ll believe that when I see it, Malfoy,” Harry muttered, glaring at the other boy.

“Draco,” Snape corrected him sharply. “My rules still stand - no more last names. Now,
would you like for me to explain what you overheard?”

“Yeah.” Harry rubbed his arms to try and press away the goosebumps and looked up at
Snape. “I… I really don’t have to go back?”

“Never.”

Harry nodded jerkily, an odd lump in his throat. He felt a burning behind his eyes and tried to
hide his face. Harry would not cry in front of Draco. Absolutely not.

“And - and I’m living with you, then?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Snape said. “And I don’t want a fuss about staying with Weasley or Granger. I know
you may dislike me, but the Headmaster only wants someone who is sufficiently magically
capable, and I am the only one who meets these requirements, so -”

“I wasn’t going to complain.”

“Oh.” Snape stopped speaking, and seemed to deflate slightly. He looked surprised. “Well,
I’m glad you’re able to see things that way.”

Harry nodded, and leaned his head against the side of the sofa, feeling too weary to hold it up
on his own. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about living with Snape, in all honesty, but he
at least knew it was certainly a far sight better than staying with the Dursleys. Unless Snape
reverted back to the way he usually acted, that was…
“Now, you may have picked up on the fact that this arrangement is… quite hushed up,”
Snape said hesitantly. “Your fame and status complicates matters. If you were removed from
the Dursleys’ custody through the mainstream government channels, the Ministry for Magic
might try to take over your custody. I’m sure you can imagine the undesirable implications of
such a situation…”

“Yeah.” Harry shivered. He had a sudden vision of himself sitting on a stage in front of a
hundred witches and wizards, all bidding for his custody like eager buyers at an auction.

“The Dursleys agreed to sign away their guardianship rights to me in exchange for our
silence in regard to their treatment of you.” Snape’s lip curled into a sneer. “There is no
statute of limitations on their crimes, however, so if you wished to have them prosecuted,
your opportunity has not passed you by. You simply need to wait until you’re of age and out
of the Ministry’s potential reach.”

“Prosecute?” Harry said numbly. His ears were ringing again. “Like - like they could actually
get in trouble?”

“A topic for a different day, I believe,” Snape said quickly, “but yes. For now, I must impress
upon you - both of you - how important it is to keep my guardianship of Harry quiet. The
Headmaster has some tricks up his sleeve in case this little arrangement becomes public
knowledge, but things will be significantly simpler if the two of you do not mention this
custodial situation to anyone.”

“Who am I even going to tell?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting about
how everyone hates me now?”

Harry turned back to Snape, alarmed. “Er - sir. I…I already sent letters to Ron and Hermione
and told them I was staying here with you. I’m really sorry, I -”

Harry stopped speaking as Snape held up a hand and pursed his lips. “I suppose that’s…
acceptable. They’re capable of keeping a secret?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

“It’s fine for them to know, then. They are your closest friends, after all. I simply request you
keep the matter quiet from any of your other…Gryffindor compatriots.” Snape’s lip curled up
ever so slightly.

“I won’t tell them,” Harry promised.

“And Draco?”

“Don’t have anyone to tell,” he said again with a shrug.

“Good. Ensure the two of you keep it that way,” Snape said. “Now Draco, tomorrow
morning, you will be doing lines as punishment for eavesdropping.”

Draco scowled. “But Severus -”

“Don’t,” Snape said sharply. “Harry, consider this a final warning. Do not listen in on my
private conversations again.”

“Or what?” Harry muttered. “You’ll hide the fact you prodded around in my private
business?”

Snape sighed very loudly. “As a matter of fact, I was going to tell you everything tomorrow
morning. Don’t accuse me of lying,” he said sharply as Harry opened his mouth to protest. “I
was going to tell you everything in regard to your circumstances. I simply needed to consult
with the Headmaster first to properly confirm where you were going to be living after I
destroyed those blood wards. I wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t dispute my newly-
acquired guardianship of you once he found out what I did. I didn’t want to throw your entire
life into chaos without telling you how things would end up.”

“Sorry, but what exactly are these blood wards everyone’s going on about?” Draco asked
irritably, crossing his arms.

Snape hesitated for a moment. “This is once again completely confidential, Draco, and I am
only telling you this because I think you are more likely to respect my need for silence with
more information.” Draco nodded and leaned forwards slightly as Snape continued. “When
Lily - when Harry’s mother died for him, a powerful, protective blood magic empowered by
her love for him came into being. This is what allowed Harry to deflect the Killing Curse
when the Dark Lord tried to kill him all those years ago, and it continues to protect him to
this day. The Dark Lord cannot touch Harry without experiencing incredible pain and
potential death.”

Draco’s face lit up with fascination. “That kind of magic is incredible! Especially when you
consider that she was - well, nevermind. But Severus, you broke it?”

“Not entirely,” Snape said, raising one hand to his chin. “The Headmaster cast some spells,
and he believes there is still a degree of this protection in Harry’s blood despite the removal
of the wards at Privet Drive. It is now dormant, though. We don’t know what would happen if
Harry came into contact with the Dark Lord.”

“Why would you destroy these wards if they were so important?” Draco asked bemusedly.

“It was, in all honesty, quite accidental,” Snape said with a grimace. “It was never my
intention to destroy the wards when I arrived in Surrey. See, they rely on Harry considering
Privet Drive his home, and require Harry’s aunt to be willing to provide him a place to stay.
Petunia and myself had, ah… an exchange, shall we say, and it undid the protections on her
house before I realised what was happening. Harry… well, he never had a close relationship
with his aunt.”

“She hates me,” Harry chimed in helpfully.

Draco looked rather like he was sucking on a lemon. “I mean - but you’re family! Surely she
doesn’t hate you -”
“Oh, yes she does,” Harry said darkly. “You overheard everything about my life with them,
didn’t you? But trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Due to this strained relationship, it was very easy for these wards to be destroyed, far easier
than I expected,” Snape said. “But I believe it was worth it. There is no point in trying to
protect someone from external dangers when they are just at risk from the dangers within.”

Harry cringed. By now, Draco looked utterly appalled as the pieces began to come together.
“So those bruises… they were from - Harry, I - I had no idea it was -”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, glowering at Draco. “I don’t want your pity, so
don’t you dare start -”

“Alright, alright! I just - I won’t tell anyone, okay?” Draco said in a small voice, shuffling in
his seat. “I know you don’t believe me, but - I just really won’t. I promise.”

“Draco, why don’t you go back upstairs?” Snape suggested. “I need to speak to Harry alone,
and it is extraordinarily late.”

“Er - alright, then.” Draco got to his feet and headed towards the door. He stopped just short
of leaving and turned around to stare at Harry, expression pained and shocked. It was too
unbearable for Harry to look at his face for too long so he stared at the floor instead, and
refused to look up until Draco’s footsteps restarted.

As he began walking upstairs, Snape got to his feet and firmly shut the living room door.
“That should take care of that. I apologise, Harry. I would have taken more precautions
against prying, but the Headmaster admittedly caught me by surprise, and I had a lot on my
mind.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been a problem if we weren’t listening in,” Harry reluctantly
admitted.

“Indeed,” Snape said, “although I do appreciate that Draco was the ringleader in the
situation.”

“He probably was going to find out eventually.” Harry pulled a face. “Since we’re… living
together now.”

“Do you now see why I am so insistent on the two of you trying to get on?” Snape asked,
sitting back down and propping his elbows on his knees. “You have a fair few summers
ahead of you, which you’ll be spending together. They will be far more bearable if the two of
you simply drop this animosity.”

“I mean…he’s not that terrible,” Harry said reluctantly. “When we do football and Monopoly
and stuff, I don’t mind him that much. It’s just the other stuff I have a problem with, you
know?”

“Of course.” Snape nodded. “I am doing my utmost to make him change that.”
“I know.” Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned. “I wish he didn’t know. Oh my
God…”

“He will behave with appropriate discretion, of that I can guarantee you.”

“But I still wish none of it happened,” Harry said miserably. “I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Unfortunately, Harry, you must simply accept that this is the reality of your situation.”

He stayed silent, face hidden. Malfoy, knowing about the Dursleys? It made Harry’s skin
crawl. He’d only known a little about them before, and that had been enough for particularly
hurtful comments in his verbal arsenal.

“Those filthy Muggles you call a family threw you out, didn’t they, Potter?!”

“I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because
they’re not wanted at home…”

Harry grimaced.

“He may be able to understand more than you’d think,” Snape ventured.

He scoffed. “How could he possibly understand? His parents adore him. He can’t get it.”

“A parent can love a child, but that doesn’t always stop them from hurting their child,” Snape
said softly. “And the Malfoys have hurt Draco, even though they care for him. For instance,
the circumstances of their arrest were… traumatic for him, to say the least. And would you
not agree that being raised in an environment that promotes the bigotry he believes is
unhealthy, even if he doesn’t realise it?”

“I guess,” Harry said slowly. He supposed that Snape had a point there - the Malfoys had
taught Draco terrible things, even though they loved him, and that had to do some damage.

He supposed it was a bit like Dudley’s relationship with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.
They gave Dudley everything that he wanted and let him get away with murder so he’d
turned into a spoiled bully. Even though they loved him, they were still hurting him.

“It reminds me of my cousin and Uncle Vernon,” Harry decided to confess, finally looking
up. “I never looked up to Uncle Vernon because he’s… well, him, but I know Dudley does
because they actually like each other, even though Uncle Vernon’s really not an ideal role
model. It’s sort of the same with Draco and his father, isn’t it? And all of his family seems to
be in Azkaban for something - he was telling me how he’s related to Sirius Black earlier.
Does he have anyone to look up to in his family who isn’t in prison for some sort of terrible
crime?”

“Draco’s aunt, Andromeda Tonks, is his only close relative who isn’t incarcerated or dead,”
Snape said heavily.

Harry exhaled loudly. “Wow.”

“You two have a lot more similarities than you’d think when it comes to these matters,”
Snape said. “Simply give him a chance, and he may be far more understanding about your
family situation than you might expect.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Snape didn’t respond, and Harry sunk back into the sofa cushions, feeling rather weighed
down. He was still struggling to grapple with the fact that he was going to be living here,
with Snape and Draco, and that was just it. No more Dursleys. He couldn’t actually believe
this was happening. He’d just sort of assumed that Snape was going to get him away from
them and then wash his hands of Harry.

But now Harry was living with him. What did that even mean? How would it all work?

“Sir…I’m confused.”

Snape inclined his head, and Harry ploughed on. “Look. You - you have to put up with me
just because Dumbledore stuck you with me originally, okay? I know you hate me, and you
shouldn’t get forced into living with me just because there isn’t anyone else around who
might. I’m not your problem.”

Snape made a slightly strangled noise. “Harry, let me make one thing crystal clear. I do not
hate you. Not anymore. Far from it, in fact.” He got up from his armchair and moved across
the room so he was sitting next to Harry on the sofa. “I am not being forced into this in any
way, shape or form. The Headmaster may be one extraordinarily powerful wizard, but he
could not compel me to do this if I did not want to. In fact, as I presume you overheard, I had
to quite vociferously argue him into the arrangement.”

“I just - I have so many problems, and I don’t think that you should have to deal with it -”

“Harry. Look at me.” Harry slowly raised his head and looked into Snape’s eyes. They were
blazing with a fierce conviction. “I have seen everything the Dursleys did to you, and that
does not change a thing. You can and will live with me, and I am going to help you through
this. I give you my word.”

Harry looked away, the lump in his throat practically choking him, and tried to blink back the
tears that had welled in his eyes. He didn’t want Snape to see them.

“I hope one day you will learn to trust me.”

Harry tensed. “I - I don’t not trust you -”

“Don’t lie to me. You don’t trust me…” Snape sighed, his shoulders slumping. “You never
mentioned the cupboard, after all.”

Harry dug his nails into his palms. “That - I don’t talk about that to anyone. Not even Ron
and Hermione, and they already know some of it. You - don’t you understand it’s difficult?”

There was a long silence. After a moment, Harry chanced a look at Snape’s face and noticed
some of the pain on his features slowly fade into nothingness, to be replaced with the blank,
slack expression of Occlumency.

“You’re right,” Snape said finally. “It is difficult. But you need to try and talk about it, for
your sake. If not with me, then with Professor McGonagall, or one of your friends. Just
someone.”

“I…I will try,” Harry said. “It just might take some time.”

“These things often do.”

“Um…the cupboard was why I said the stuff I did about Professor McGonagall not caring the
other day,” Harry mumbled. “My Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the
stairs. Since she signed it and all, I sort of assumed she knew.”

Snape tutted. “Harry, Minerva does not individually address those letters. She has a spell that
does it for her.”

“Oh.” Harry pressed his lips together, suddenly filled with extraordinarily powerful guilt. He
shouldn’t have assumed that about Professor McGonagall, he supposed. Harry still forgot
how much witches and wizards relied on magic.

“This is why it can be helpful to talk about these things, you realise,” Snape said, tapping a
finger against his leg. “You can dispel misconceptions you didn’t even realise you had.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew Snape was right, of course. As
irritating as Snape’s forceful talks could be, they’d already taught Harry a thing or two. He’d
learnt things about the Dursleys and himself he’d always considered to be normal just
weren’t, and he wouldn’t have figured that out by himself.

Like it or not, Snape had helped him. Nothing could change that.

“I was really going to tell you,” Harry said softly. “About the… the, um…”

“The cupboard?” Snape prompted.

Harry pulled a face and nodded. He hadn’t been able to force the words through, for some
reason.

“I did sense that there was something you were keeping from me,” Snape sighed.

“I kept trying to say but I just couldn’t, you know? Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise for that!” Snape said exasperatedly. “Merlin’s beard…”

Harry stared at the ground and didn’t respond, feeling rather depleted.

“The fact that they did that, when there were two perfectly good bedrooms -” Snape made an
angry growling noise at the back of his throat. “Petunia truly is a spiteful old shrew.”

Harry didn’t disagree. “They moved me into Dudley’s second bedroom eventually, at least.”
This answer did not seem to please Snape, whose expression turned into an all-out snarl.
“Needless to say, nothing of that nature will ever happen in my house, do you understand
me?”

Harry nodded, and wrapped his arms around himself. He just couldn’t believe Snape had
actually seen it. Every time Harry thought about it he got cold all over, like he’d just walked
through a Hogwarts ghost.

Snape glanced towards the clock and winced. “Unless there’s anything you’d like to talk
about immediately, perhaps it would be best for you to go to bed, and save the rest of this
discussion for tomorrow. It’s almost three - you must be exhausted.”

Harry nodded, and slowly got to his feet, relieved they didn’t have to talk about this anymore
for now. “Right. Okay.”

He started walking to the door, but stopped when Snape cleared his throat. “Is there anything
you’d like to talk about?”

Harry almost immediately responded with a no, but stopped himself moments before the
words left his mouth. He didn’t know if he exactly trusted Snape yet, but he still had
something he needed to say.

“I just…I want to say thank you,” he said finally. “I know you had your issues with my dad,
but you’ve helped me anyway. No one else tried this hard to get me away from the Dursleys.”
He swallowed hard. “And you did, even though I’ve been really fighting you on it, so…
thanks.”

“I don’t need your thanks,” Snape said stiffly. “It’s the least any adult could do for a child in
your situation.”

“Yes, but…just thanks anyway, sir.”

Snape stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know, if you’re living with me on a more
permanent basis, perhaps Draco has a point about you calling me Severus. Would you be
willing to give that a go?”

“Er…okay. Thank you, S-Severus.” Harry pulled a face. That felt completely and utterly
wrong to say, and he was never going to do it again. Nope, never.

Snape, shockingly enough, smiled. It was thin and strangled, but still present. “We’ll work on
it, I suppose. Goodnight, Harry.”

He nodded and finally left the living room, allowing the misery to fully spread across his face
once the gloom hid his features. As Harry slipped back into his bedroom, he noticed Draco
had fallen asleep on top of the covers. It looked like he had been waiting up to speak to
Harry, but he’d been downstairs in the living room with Snape for too long.

Harry could not imagine calling him Severus. Ugh.

 He laid back on his own bed - his bed for good, now, from what Snape was saying. Harry
really couldn’t believe he was actually staying here. With Snape and Draco. Forever. He
thought it should horrify him more than it did…

Harry knew his basis for judgement was skewed. He’d grown up with the Dursleys, after all,
and they had been admittedly awful. Almost anybody would look good by comparison. He’d
never have chosen to get stuck with Snape as a guardian, but all things considered, he hadn’t
been utterly unbearable so far this summer. He was weirdly paranoid about mass-murderers,
and he lost his temper and shouted sometimes, but compared to the Dursleys, he was
practically a saint. Harry knew intellectually that none of this was ideal, but as far as things
went in his life, this wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him. After all, Snape seemed
pretty hell-bent on helping him, even when Harry didn’t have it in him to help himself. As
hard as it was to admit, maybe he needed that.

But Harry just didn’t know for certain that everything would be alright. Snape obviously
didn’t want this. After all, he’d been forced into it by Dumbledore originally! Just because he
was saying he was willing to do it now didn’t mean he was telling the truth…

And from the sounds of things, Snape was only becoming Harry’s guardian because he was
the only one qualified to do the job. The same had been true for Aunt Petunia - she was the
only one who could make the blood wards work, so she was forced to take Harry in. She had
hated every second of it, and had made that perfectly clear for his entire childhood. Snape
would surely grow to resent this as much as Harry’s aunt had, and everything would switch.
Life here would be just as bad as life at Privet Drive if he just gave it time, only this time, he
wouldn’t have an escape through Hogwarts like he’d had with the Dursleys.

Unless Snape washed his hands of Harry, of course. That option was still far too likely.

He pulled the duvet over his head, suddenly overcome by the urge to hide from the world.
Why did everything have to be so complicated?

Chapter End Notes

Fun news! With the help of @autumnkirigi on tumblr, this fic now has a spotify playlist!
I hope you all enjoy the song choices! (fun fact, this fic was essentially written with
True Blue by boygenius on repeat lol)

https://spotify.link/iNNjTM8d9Cb
 Chafing Ties

Harry woke up late.

This was unusual for Harry, since he’d had early risings hardwired into him by his aunt and
uncle. He was expected to be up and cooking breakfast for the family before they awoke most
mornings, of course. The times in his life where he’d had a lie in were few and far between,
even once he’d started at Hogwarts where sleeping in was actually an option on weekends.

But he’d done it today, even though Snape’s rule was that they had to be down for breakfast
by eight. It was now almost half-past nine, and Harry had only been awoken by the sound of
Draco shutting the bedroom door behind him to go and eat. Harry had completely overslept,
and his insides twisted with nerves as he contemplated what would happen when he got
downstairs. Would Snape be furious? Was the day already ruined by rule-breaking before it
had even started? He was almost certainly in a bad mood already because of the
eavesdropping last night…

Harry got ready as quickly as he could, afraid he would be in even more trouble the longer he
delayed, and hurried down the stairs. It took him a few moments to get up the confidence to
push open the kitchen door. When he entered, Snape and Draco were already partially
finished with their food. Both of them looked up at Harry, and he scanned their faces for
signs of annoyance but failed to find any.

Snape gestured to a plate of scrambled eggs. “I left a Heating Charm on it. I thought you
needed some extra sleep after the events of last night.”

Harry nodded, and he felt a strange lurch in his stomach. That was so considerate, and he
hated it. He didn’t want Snape to be considerate, because any sort of kindness like that was
limited and came with strings attached. People always got angry if they were forced to take
care of Harry for long enough, and Snape was certainly no exception. Things were all going
to go horribly wrong again now that Snape was his guardian, and it would be even worse than
Privet Drive had been if Harry dared to hope everything would be fine.

Harry wasn’t going to let himself get hurt again.

He poked the eggs, his stomach twisted in knots. This was all such a mess…

Harry didn’t eat a bite of food, and didn’t manage more than a monosyllabic answer when
Draco or Snape asked him a question. He was so distracted by his worries that he barely even
heard what they said half the times he was addressed. When they eventually realised he
wasn’t feeling particularly responsive and started talking amongst themselves, Harry tuned
their conversation out into a mindless drone that washed over his ears.

Even though Snape wasn’t explicitly addressing him, though, it was still clear that his
attention was upon Harry. He could practically feel Snape’s eyes burning a hole in the top of
Harry’s skull as he stirred the eggs into an unappealing mush, but he didn’t call attention to it.
He never brought up Harry’s food issues in front of Draco, after all. That sort of
consideration that he was normally so grateful for just made Harry feel worse. For one thing,
it just reminded him that it was all pointless, since Draco knew, and for another, it was just
another horrid kindness that Harry just couldn’t tolerate. He couldn’t look at either of them
and just stared at his plate, wishing he could crawl back into his bed and hide from the day.

It wasn’t until Draco left the room that Snape finally addressed him directly. He tapped a
finger next to Harry’s plate. “You need to start eating.”

All of a sudden, an unexpected flash of anger burst up in Harry. Who the hell was Snape to
come into Harry’s life and start changing everything? Why did he have to be so controlling
about things like this? It was ridiculous! Was this how things were going to be from now on?
Snape constantly bossing him about, micromanaging his every action?

The idea of him being Harry’s guardian, of him having any sort of power over Harry’s
decisions and autonomy, was truly terrifying. The Dursleys had tended to just leave him
alone, but with Snape, it felt as though Harry’s every action was under a microscope, and he
just couldn’t bear it. Harry wasn’t used to having any sort of attention from the adults in
charge of his care, and it really chafed. He didn’t know how to do this, he didn’t understand
how any of it worked, he didn’t know what to do…

“Harry.” Snape’s tone was laced with warning.

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, pushing his plate away slightly.

“At least try -”

“No.”

Snape exhaled loudly. “At least try to eat some of it? You haven’t touched a thing.”

Harry crossed his arms and jutted his chin out, feeling furious and defiant all at once. “You
can’t make me.”

“I think you’ll find I can, because you’re not leaving this table until you eat something.”

Harry scoffed and glared at Snape, whose jaw had gone quite tight. “No. You can’t tell me
what to do.”

He went to push his chair out and leave, but found that he couldn’t pull his thighs up from the
seat of the chair. The legs also didn’t have any sort of give when Harry tried to scrape them
against the floor. All of a sudden, something Draco had said to him a few days ago sprung to
mind. “He’s a big fan of Sticking Charms…”

Harry looked up at Snape, who had arched an eyebrow, and shot him the nastiest look he
could muster, hoping it conveyed the full depths of his hatred. “Let me up.”

“Eat your breakfast,” he retorted.

“No.”
“Then we appear to have reached an impasse,” Snape said snarkily. He laced his fingers
together and examined Harry closely, eyes cold. “I’ll release the Sticking Charm when you
do as I say.”

“I don’t want it!” Harry said loudly. “It’s not a big deal if I skip a meal because sometimes I
just don’t feel like eating! Calm down!”

“You cannot refuse to eat every time you’re upset,” Snape said levelly. “That sets a
potentially dangerous precedent, and I am not willing to have you miss any meals, given how
malnourished and underweight you are.”

“I am not going to drop dead from one missed meal!” Harry shouted, digging his nails into
his palms. “I’ve had way worse, you know! I know what actual, proper hunger feels like, and
I know when I do and don’t want something, and I don’t want to eat right now! Why is that so
hard for you to understand?!”

“You are not leaving until you eat,” Snape said in a tone that beggared no argument. “Do you
really want to have this fight with me? You’re not going to win, so eat your breakfast and
we’ll be done with this.”

Harry, who had not stopped glaring at Snape for the duration of this, decided that he did want
to have this fight. Yes, this was going to be the hill Harry would die on. He didn’t want Snape
to be out controlling every aspect of his life, because he hated the man’s unique ability to
send every one of Harry’s carefully suppressed emotions spinning out of control, and he
couldn’t stand it any longer! It was the principle of the thing that made Harry want to
disobey. This was a battle of wills, like Snape was implying, and Harry would not yield.

“I’d really suggest you reconsider your stance,” Snape said irritably, getting to his feet. “I’ll
be back soon, and I want that food to be gone when I return.”

He swept from the room, and Harry had to resist the childish urge to pick up his plate and
hurl it against the wall. It was only the uncomfortable parallels to Dudley that scenario
brought up that made Harry restrain himself.

Anger was pulsing through Harry in waves, only intensifying as he was left alone in the
kitchen. The more rational side of him knew that he should just suck it up and do what Snape
said, since he didn’t want to spend all morning stuck to a kitchen chair, but he remained
undeterred.

In all honesty, Harry didn’t quite know what the point of all of this was, but he knew he had
to follow through. He wasn’t sure if he was proving a point to himself, or if he was trying to
see what Snape was going to do to Harry for breaking a rule, or if Harry just needed to show
Snape how much of a mess everything in his life was so Snape would realise what a horrible
mistake he’d made taking guardianship of Harry and would leave. That would be for the best,
because Harry couldn’t allow himself to get invested. It was unacceptable. He needed to see
the point at which Snape’s tolerance would snap, causing him to turn into another version of
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and he needed to find it out soon.
Twenty minutes passed before Snape returned. His eyes flicked between the full plate up to
Harry’s face, and his expression darkened. “Will you put an end to this ridiculous tantrum
and eat already?”

“I already told you it’s not happening,” he said angrily, crossing his arms.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “I do not tolerate disobedience, Harry. If you don’t do as I say, there’s
going to be trouble. You won’t like what happens…”

Those words, as well as the tone they were delivered with, sent a chill down Harry’s spine,
but he couldn’t back down now. He glared at Snape and muttered, “Wanker.”

A very dangerous look settled on Snape’s features. “You’d better watch your language.”

“No!” Harry said loudly. “I don’t want to watch my fucking language, so you can just fu -
mmph!”

His words were cut off as something very bubbly and slimy seemed to coat the insides of
Harry’s mouth. He spluttered, feeling like he’d stuck his tongue into a bottle of washing up
liquid. It was remarkably unpleasant, and a horrid, soapy residue seemed to linger no matter
how much water Harry swallowed from his glass.

“What did you do that for?!” he demanded, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“You know perfectly well why I did it!” Snape said angrily, tucking his wand away. “How
many times have I warned you these past few weeks that if you didn’t mind your language, I
would use a Soaping Spell? You knew the consequences and chose to disobey me anyway. I
am sick of your behaviour this morning, and I will not stand for it any longer, Harry! Do as
I’ve instructed immediately.”

Snape was on the verge of really losing his temper, Harry could tell. A muscle in his jaw had
started twitching, a surefire sign of an incoming explosion. Still, Harry was feeling
dangerous. He glowered at Snape, and carried right on.

“No! I’ll gladly sit here all day!” Harry hissed, lacing his tone with as much venom as he
could muster. “I could sit here for weeks, so shove off already!”

“Very well, then. You’d like to play this game?” Snape got to his feet, his hands gripping the
edge of the table as he loomed over Harry. His face was white and livid. “Let me explain to
you what I am going to do, then. If you do not begin to eat within the next five minutes, I will
be forced to spell food directly into your stomach, a highly unpleasant process which I can
assure you nobody will enjoy! I will then speak to Madam Pomfrey about your food issues,
and you will be suspended from the Hogwarts Quidditch team until further notice.”

If Harry had thought he was angry before, it was nothing compared to the outrage he was
feeling right now. “You can’t do that!”

“I think you’ll find I can!” Snape said loudly, his nostrils flaring.
This was exactly what Harry had been afraid of! Snape using his guardianship power to make
Harry’s life a living hell, with absolutely no room for recourse on his part. Taking Quidditch
away was just the beginning - what would he do to Harry next? Terror coursed through him,
which Harry did his best to shove down. He gave into the anger instead.

“You’re a right bastard!” he shouted, the fury exploding inside of him like crackling
fireworks. “I hate you, you’re ruining everything!”

The fireworks of anger suddenly exploded out of Harry in a great wave of power. There was
an almighty bang, and the high-pitched cacophony of breaking glass. As the sounds faded,
Harry realised he'd somehow ended up on his feet, chest heaving with the exertion of his
vexation. The Sticking Charm had broken.

It wasn't the only thing that was broken.

The kitchen door and window had been reduced to a glittering carpet of shards, which cast
strangely shaped patterns of light onto the ceiling as the sunlight hit them. Any plates or
glassware that were out of the cupboards had also shattered. Harry had seemingly destroyed
almost everything that could be broken…

Snape was slowly getting to his feet at the far end of the room, where he surely must have
been thrown, because he hadn't been standing there before. He winced and pressed a hand to
his head, and with a sudden rush of sickening realisation, Harry realised that the bang he’d
heard had been the impact of Snape hitting the far wall.

At last, Harry had done it. His freakishness had gone and hurt someone.

Revulsion crawled over his flesh. He couldn’t believe he’d just done that! What was Snape
going to do to him? What the hell had Harry been thinking, pushing him to the extremes of
temper like that? He was going to completely lose it!

Harry had never felt panic like this. It was as if someone had grabbed his lungs in their fists
and was squeezing them, crushing them, and Harry was never going to breathe again. The
rapid, shallow gasps he attempted seemed to stick in the back of his throat, choking and
painful.

Snape turned to face Harry, opened his mouth, and he was going to say something, but Harry
couldn't stay in this room and face whatever horrible thing Snape was going to do to him, so
he ran. The sharp glass cutting into his feet barely registered as pinpricks in Harry's panic-
ridden brain, since he had to leave, he had to flee to safety -

But Harry didn't get far before his vision began blackening at the edges. His ears rang, his
whole body felt oddly fuzzy and leaden, and he just couldn't keep his balance for a moment
longer between it all. Harry felt his legs buckle out from beneath him, and would have fallen
fully onto the ground if someone hadn't caught his arms on the way down. Harry couldn’t see
who, since it felt like he was tumbling into a great black tunnel.

After a moment Harry surfaced, and realised he was lying on his back on the floor now. His
head was leaning against a leg while someone held it upright - Draco, he realised. He must
have caught Harry during the fall. Draco’s eyes were wide and panicked as he looked down at
Harry, who felt too weighed down to prise himself off the floor.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, in a tone that suggested that sentence had been repeated. Harry
did his best to reply, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even breathe -

“Severus!” Draco shouted, voice panicked. “Something’s really wrong with him!”

“No!” Harry gasped at last, trying to shove himself upright. His arms felt like jelly, and
barely supported his weight. “No, don’t! Don’t, I hurt him, please don’t -”

“You did not,” a low voice said. Harry tilted his head upwards and saw Snape standing high
above, holding two vials. The panic worsened with the man’s approach, especially as he
crouched down next to Harry. He was within hitting distance. Harry felt like he was going to
be sick…

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, unable to make his voice louder than a hoarse gasp.

“I know,” Snape said quietly, calmly. Too calmly. “I’m fine, see?”

He reached out a hand, and Harry jolted away so violently that his elbow sharply jabbed into
Draco’s ribs. He grunted in pain, but Harry didn’t pay any attention, too busy watching Snape
and trying to writhe away, but his limbs felt sluggish and out of control. His heart was beating
so quickly it was a wonder it didn’t explode out of Harry’s chest in one great, violent rip.

“I didn’t mean to, it was an accident, I’m sorry, I -”

Any further words were cut off by the glass rim of a bottle pressing into Harry’s lips. He tried
to turn his face away, but Snape reached out his free hand to hold Harry’s head in place,
gentle but firm. It still just made him panic all the more, because he couldn’t get away, he
was trapped, his arms and legs weren’t working, Snape had to be furious and Harry’s head
was so fuzzy from the explosion of magic…

“What’s wrong with him, Severus?” Draco’s voice seemed to be coming from somewhere
very far away.

“He’s hysterical, not now.”

The bottle tilted forwards insistently, and the potion within seeped between Harry’s lips.
Snape was continuing to hold Harry’s head back, and he had no choice but to start
swallowing. All of a sudden, the panic vanished, as if all sensation had dropped off a sharp
cliff. Harry stared vacantly at Snape, feeling rather empty of any feeling, and absolutely,
utterly exhausted. He felt as if he could sleep for days.

Harry’s chin lolled forward slightly, and he felt a pair of hands take his shoulders and move
him so he was lying flat on his back, staring at the dancing dust in between the beams of
sunlight. Someone - Snape, he supposed - poured more liquid into his mouth, and a heavy
black curtain seemed to descend.
Everything felt fuzzy. That was the first thought Harry had when the darkness he was floating
through at last softened, and he became aware of the sound of steady breathing beside him. A
blanket was covering Harry, warm and soft.

He cracked his eyes open and realised the breathing came from Snape. He was reading a
book in his armchair, which had somehow migrated next to the sofa that Harry was
apparently lying on. He tried to sit up, unsure of why he was here. Snape noticed he was
awake and reached out a hand, stopping Harry from moving up. He was surprisingly strong.

"Stay still," Snape ordered.

"Oh, he's awake?" Draco said from somewhere behind Harry's head. His body felt too leaden
and stiff to attempt a look around at the other boy, wherever he was.

"Yes." Snape was staring at Harry with a look of unmitigated concern. "Fetch that Restorative
Solution I left out, please. How are you feeling?"

Harry frowned, thinking hard. Did he feel anything? Not really.

“Floaty,” he decided.

"That would be the Calming Draught," Snape said. "You're on quite a high dose at the
moment."

“Mmm.” Harry wriggled his arms out from under the blanket and held them straight out into
the air, keeping his elbows locked. Moving them felt like he was dragging his limbs through
thick treacle.

“What on earth are you doing?” Snape sounded both exasperated and amused.

Harry tried to think up a response, but his brain felt like it was made of cotton wool, and he
couldn’t quite catch onto any particular words. He was overcome by a sudden vision of him
with fluffy white wool tumbling out of his ears and giggled.

“Good grief,” Snape muttered. “I knew I gave you too much. Sit up a bit, you need an
antidote. Do try to remain calm as it wears off…”

Harry obeyed and tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite support his weight on his hands. He ended
up settling for leaning on his elbows while another vial was held to his mouth. Harry
obediently drank it down, grimacing at the strange, grassy taste, and some of the layers of
fuzziness wrapped around his brain seemed to be stripped away. He felt like he could finally
string together a thought -

And then it all hit him.

Harry clapped a hand to his mouth as it all came flooding back. The argument. The explosion
of accidental magic. The broken glass, and Snape pressing a hand to his forehead after Harry
attacked him -

"Everything is fine," Snape said, keeping a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder.

"It's not!" he whispered, horror mounting. "I - I blew up your whole kitchen!"

"An exaggeration of the situation," Snape said with a casual shrug that was clearly
intentional. "You blew up the glassware, which I fixed with five minutes of Repairing
Charms."

"And I hurt you!" Harry said, feeling the panic mount.

"Not intentionally," Snape said, staring at him intently. "The accidental magic merely pushed
me away from you. I fell because I was caught by surprise and lost my footing when I got to
the wall. Accidental magic, Harry. At any rate, your magic was just trying to get me away
from you, not injure me. This wasn’t intentional harm.”

"But I still did hurt you!" Harry said despairingly. "I'm so -"

"Do not apologise to me," Snape said in a low, intense voice. "I have told you time and time
again now that you are never in trouble for accidental magic. You can't help it!"

Harry groaned and pressed his hands over his face, unable to bear the prospect of looking at
Snape after everything that had happened. As the antidote to that overpowered Calming
Draught coursed through his veins, peeling away the numb layers that had protected him,
more and more was coming back to Harry, and he was mortified. Why had he taken things
that far with breakfast? And why had he completely lost his head after the accidental magic
in front of Snape and Draco? It felt like one of those panic attack things he’d been having on
the day he’d run away, but far, far more severe. He’d been a babbling, hysterical mess! It was
humiliating…

“If anyone should be making amends, it is me,” Snape said. Harry refused to look up, even
though the man’s words were a shock to him, because he wanted to crawl into a hole and die
from the mortification. “I grossly mishandled that situation."

"But -"

"Can you let me explain myself, please?" Snape asked wearily. Harry didn’t respond, and
Snape seemed to take his silence as permission to continue. "It is no excuse, but I found
visiting the Dursleys and speaking with the Headmaster yesterday to be incredibly
exhausting, physically, magically and emotionally. That coupled with the lack of sleep meant
I regrettably lost my temper and escalated things unnecessarily…"

"You didn't really lose your temper, though," Harry pointed out. He’d seen Snape go postal
far more spectacularly than he’d done that morning.

Snape scoffed. "Please. I shouldn't have threatened to remove you from the Quidditch team
over that."
"You could have done worse," Harry mumbled, finally removing his hands from over his
face. He still couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes, though. He was scared of what he
might see…

"I could have also handled things far more calmly, and I did not," Snape said tightly. "Which
is why I am apologising. I am fully willing to admit I make mistakes, Harry. I know I have a
short temper, and I lost it."

"I lost mine…"

"Because you just found out your entire life as you know it is changing," Snape said. Harry
fiddled with the edge of the blanket. "That's as good a reason as any to struggle with
maintaining your composure, and I wish I’d realised that. If I had handled things in a calm
manner, you would not be lying here with magical exhaustion."

Harry shot him a questioning look. "Magical exhaustion? What?"

"Destroying that much glassware and breaking a wanded Sticking Charm with accidental
magic forced you to act as a conduit for a great amount of magical energy at once, more than
your body could take," Snape explained. "The exertion caused you to faint."

"Oh." Harry stared into his lap. His cheeks were burning fiercely.

"It's similar to the state you were in after the Quirrell incident in your first year," Snape
added. "Only this time did not put you in a coma for three days. You've been asleep for a little
over three hours."

Harry nodded, and continued to twist the blanket's corner between his fingers, twirling and
knotting it. His fingers and limbs still felt strangely leaden and clumsy, and his head was a
swirl of guilt and embarrassment. Even though Snape had tried to assure him that there was
nothing to be embarrassed about, Harry still felt ashamed.

"Why am I still doing accidental magic at this age?" he asked finally. "Isn't that kid stuff? Is
there something wrong with me, or -"

"Everyone does it, actually," Draco said, pushing the door open. He was holding a canary
yellow potion. "I had some at the fair, remember?"

Harry thought back to the odd gust of wind that had pushed him backwards and nodded
slowly.

"It normally balances out by the time you're fully trained in magic when you reach
adulthood," Snape added. "Mainly because your brain has matured and developed enough
during adolescence to be better equipped in emotional regulation. Even fully grown adults
may experience accidental magic in times of severe emotional distress, though."

"Wait, really?"

"Yes - I know a man who set his curtains ablaze when he woke up to find a note from his
wife, who had just left him for another wizard." Snape swallowed, hard. "I myself had a
magical outburst when I heard the news of… of your mother's passing."

Harry turned to Snape, shocked. "What happened?"

"I withered a rather old tree, and scorched all of the grass within a twenty foot radius," Snape
said, looking away so Harry couldn’t see his face. His voice was tight and wooden.

"I shook the whole house the day my parents were sentenced to Azkaban,” Draco said,
handing the brightly coloured potion to Snape. “Think about it this way, I guess - you can’t
control crying when you get really upset, right? Or, ah… sweating if you’re nervous. Magic’s
the same way. It’s an automatic physical response to your feelings.”

“Oh.” Harry was surprised that Draco, of all people, could come up with such a helpful
explanation. He supposed being raised in a magical environment helped it all make more
sense.

Harry bit down on his lip and looked over at Snape, still feeling quite worried. “But it’s not as
common after you go to Hogwarts - I know it isn’t, because you don’t see people blowing up
windows left and right. Why does all this accidental magic keep happening to me at the
minute? I’ve done like five or six things in the last two weeks or something ridiculous, but
when I was younger, months would go by without me doing anything weird! It was almost
like it was easier to control then than it was now, like I’m going backwards! What’s
happening to me?”

Snape regarded him closely. “I do have a theory, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me anyway,” Harry said desperately. He needed to know what was causing all this
awful magic so he could make it stop. Every time it happened, he felt completely terrified
and out of control, two things Harry did his best to never feel.

“You found it easier to control outbursts of accidental magic as a child because you had no
choice but to suppress your emotions and especially your magic around your relatives,
because of their… disinclination towards wizards,” Snape explained. “Now that you have
been removed from their home, you have left - survival mode, shall we call it.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“Your mind is now forcing you to process what happened to you while you lived with the
Dursleys, because you’re in a… a less hostile environment,” Snape continued haltingly. His
eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. “Part of this is closely linked to your magic. Since
you were forced to suppress it as a child out of a fear of punishment, you couldn’t learn how
to control your magic as it links to your emotions at the appropriate age. Since punishment
isn’t a threat to you anymore, you’re beginning to go through the motions of magical
regulation now, at a later age.”

Harry sighed loudly. “But why? Can’t I keep suppressing it?”

“No. It doesn’t work like that.”

Harry thought his brain was being rather stupid, because it would be a lot easier for him to
just forget everything that had happened so he could move on with his life. If he could
repress everything before, why did he suddenly have to stop? He supposed there was some
deep, psychological reason - Snape probably had all the answers in that stupid book of his,
Harry would bet - but it still annoyed him that he had to deal with this. He just wanted to get
over it!

“So how do I make it stop?”

Snape grimaced, and Harry’s heart sank as the man began to speak. “You don’t. Managing
magic as it links to emotions is a skill all witches and wizards have to learn, including you.
Unfortunate as you may find it, it’s going to take time for this to calm. You have to do this the
hard way.”

“I don’t want to,” Harry said in a small voice, wrapping his arms around himself. “It really
stresses me out…”

“There’s no reason for it to, since you do not get in trouble for accidents,” Snape said sharply.
“I keep my word. You’re not in trouble for today, and you will not be in trouble if something
similar happens again in future. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this for it to
sink in, but it’s the honest truth.”

Harry swallowed, hard, and attempted a nod. Snape had been right; that explanation did not
make him very happy. Still, at least there was an explanation now…

“I can’t believe they did this to you!” Draco said angrily. Harry jolted; he’d forgotten the
other boy was even in the room. He was standing in one corner, eyes narrowed, face aflame
with righteous indignation. “Muggles are so horribly -”

“Draco Malfoy, don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Snape said in a low, dangerous voice.
The dark look he gave Draco made him shrink back slightly and stare at the floor, although
he still looked a bit cross.

“I think most Muggles I know would be thrilled by magic, actually,” Harry ventured
uncertainly, sensing the direction Draco’s sentence had been going. “My aunt and uncle
just… aren’t.”

Draco didn’t look all that convinced, but didn’t say anything else. Quite possibly because
Snape was giving him the infamous look of doom, which would cow anyone into silence.

Snape uncorked the canary yellow potion and held it out to Harry. “Drink this.”

Harry eyed it nervously. “Er…what does it do?”

Snape gave him an exasperated look but started explaining anyway. “It’s a Restorative
Solution. It will help with the magical exhaustion.”

“Oh. Okay.”
Harry took it from Snape and drank it as quickly as he could to try and avoid tasting it,
wrinkling his nose as an odd, filmy layer clung to the back of his teeth. Still, the potion
almost instantly eased the heaviness in Harry’s limbs, which had been really bothering him,
and remedied a deep ache in his muscles that Harry hadn’t even realised was there. He tried
to get up from the sofa again, since he didn’t want to be here with Snape right now after what
Harry had done to him, but the man easily pushed him back into place. Despite the aid of the
Restorative Solution, Harry still felt quite weak and couldn’t really fight back.

“I already told you not to move,” Snape said sternly.

“I don’t want to be down here -”

“You aren’t well. If you get up now, there is a high chance you will lose consciousness
again,” he said. “You also ran across broken glass, so I’m not entirely certain you can walk at
the moment.”

“Oh. I forgot about that.” Harry glanced down the sofa to his feet, which were poking out
from the end of the blanket. One was bandaged, but didn’t feel particularly painful when he
wriggled his toes and rolled his ankle in circles. “I feel fine, though.”

“And you can trust me when I say that if you put any weight on that foot, you will most
certainly stop feeling that way. You need to allow my healing salves time to work properly.”
Snape got out his wand and twirled it between his long fingers. “If you’d rather rest in your
own bed, I can levitate you upstairs?”

“God, no!” Harry said quickly, feeling mildly horrified by the prospect of Snape floating him
up the staircase. He noticed Draco trying to hide his snickers and looked daggers at the other
boy.

“Draco, don’t you have some lines you should be attending to?” Snape said pointedly.

Draco sighed loudly and shuffled from the room. Once the door clicked shut behind him,
Snape cast a spell at it and turned to Harry with an attentive look on his face. He winced.
Harry knew this expression well - it was the face Snape wore when he was gearing up to have
a talk.

“Why were you so angry this morning?"

Cutting right to the chase, Harry thought. He sighed quietly. “I don’t know.”

“How did I guess you might say that?” Snape asked, raising his eyebrows. “I have a sneaking
suspicion that this was about something deeper than eating breakfast. Would I be correct?”

“Yeah…”

“And would I be correct in assuming you were intentionally trying to provoke me?”

“Erm…a little, I think.” Harry admitted reluctantly.

“So, you have an issue of some kind,” Snape said, sitting back. “I’ve been doing some
thinking while you were asleep, and the only thing I can imagine that caused this morning’s
incident was what you found out last night. Explain yourself.”

Harry wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the floor. He supposed that he owed
Snape an explanation, considering that he’d slammed the man into a wall and destroyed his
kitchen, but Harry barely had the words to explain it all to himself.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said eventually.

“Do what?”

“This!” Harry gestured between himself and Snape. “I don’t know how to have a proper
guardian! Like - I mean, do you think the Dursleys ever asked how I was doing? They barely
ever talked to me! And you… it’s just the complete opposite to them, and it’s weird. I’m so
used to it just being me, and I don’t know what to expect! How does any of this actually
work?”

A look of understanding dawned on Snape’s face. “You’re scared.”

“I am not scared!” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “I’m not some sort of coward!”

“I never said you were.” Snape tilted his head slightly. He looked contemplative. “You know,
I’m not entirely certain how to be a guardian to someone myself. I was not expecting to
become a guardian to anyone, let alone two people, when I started out this year. I am just as
uncertain as you are about what to do.”

Some of the tension dissipated from Harry’s shoulders at those words. It was sort of nice to
know he wasn’t alone…

Because even though he would never admit it, Harry was scared. Just a little.

“Would it help if I told you my intentions?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I certainly won’t mistreat you like your family did, although I hope that was already a
given.” Harry nodded slowly as Snape went on. He looked quite unsure of himself. “I
suppose I’ll be someone you can rely on, mainly. You’ll have a place to stay, food to eat,
clothes to wear, and if you have issues, you can come to me and I’ll do my best to help.
That’s how I mean to go about things.”

“Oh. Okay.” That all sounded reasonable to Harry. “And, er - what do I have to do?”

Snape’s lips sharply tugged into a frown. “Nothing.”

Harry stared at him blankly. That simply did not make sense to him. At Privet Drive, Harry
was given… well, not a lot, but the little he was given, he had to earn through chores and the
like. What did Snape want for all of this?
“Harry, this is not transactional.” Snape’s frown had deepened into a look of concern. “I don’t
expect any sort of return for being your guardian, you know. Being cared for isn’t something
you have to earn.”

Harry thought it wasn’t a particularly good idea to ask ‘why’ again, so kept quiet. Snape
seemed to read into what he was saying through his silence, though, and a look of sadness
fell over his face. Harry squirmed uncomfortably, not knowing what to do or say, and
wondered when he’d finally learnt to read Snape’s expressions.

“You’ll come to understand eventually,” Snape said. It seemed like he was telling himself that
more than Harry, somehow. “If you must do something for me in return, I suppose you could
actually do what I tell you to do when I ask.”

“Er - right.” Harry grimaced at the thinly veiled reminder of that morning.

“But it’s not as though I’m going to throw you out for disobeying me,” Snape added quickly.
“No matter what you do, that will not happen. You are stuck with me, unfortunately for you.”

Harry hesitated, then asked, “No offence or anything, but - well, how do I know you mean
that? Like how do I know for sure you’re not going to flip right back to the way you were
before?”

“You don’t know that. You have to just trust me.” Snape pursed his lips. “But I can tell you it
is a guarantee that circumstances will not return to the way things once were because my
understanding of you as a person has fundamentally changed. The way I previously treated
you was because I thought you were arrogant, spoiled, and generally egotistical because of
your fame and because of who your father was. I have gotten to know you better, and I’ve
realised none of those things are true - quite the opposite, in fact. I won’t go backwards.”

“But I can’t know that for sure,” Harry said again.

“Then you’ll simply have to wait and see,” Snape said, holding his hands out. “I understand
these things can’t happen overnight. But Harry - think about what you have experienced since
I found out about your home life. You have made me lose my temper a few times since then -
have things gone back to the way they once were? Think about it.”

Harry obeyed. He thought first about the time he’d punched Draco. Snape had certainly lost
his temper then; he’d been visibly furious, and had shouted a fair bit, but he hadn’t actually
reverted back to the regular Snape that Harry knew from Hogwarts. And earlier, he’d been
angry… but it was because he wanted Harry to eat breakfast, and he was being completely
ridiculous about it, even though he knew it was important to Snape.

And even though Harry had shoved him across the room and shattered his windows, he’d
given Harry potions to deal with the magical exhaustion after he’d fainted. That was weird -
his relatives had never done anything like that. They wouldn’t care if Harry fainted. It had
happened a few times at Privet Drive, when they hadn’t fed him enough, and Petunia
normally snapped at him for it when he finally came back to consciousness.
But Harry was being given potions, and he’d somehow gotten from the floor to the sofa.
Snape must have moved him here, and he’d even put a blanket over Harry. The Dursleys
never would have cared enough to do something like that, but Snape did without him having
to ask. He looked after Harry, even when he was being a complete pain in the backside…

“I’ll work on trusting you,” Harry said finally. “I… well, I’d like for that to happen.”

“I’m glad.” Snape nodded rather briskly. “But if you’re going to trust me, you also need to
trust my intentions. I do not make rules for the fun of it, Harry. Even when you’re upset, you
cannot weaponize your health to anger me. That’s dangerous.”

“I wasn’t weaponsing it!” Harry said exasperatedly. “I really was upset, you know, and that
doesn’t do wonders for my appetite. Er - I guess making you angry was just a fortunate side
effect…”

“If you’re feeling too upset to eat in future, perhaps it would be better to actually talk about
these things,” Snape said, with a slight sarcastic bite to his words. “I feel very strongly about
you missing meals. Don’t you dare do anything like that ever again, do you understand me? I
will not be nearly this lenient again.”

Harry nodded vigorously. Snape’s voice had gone very low, and his tone was stern and
forbidding. “I won’t.”

“Good.” Snape waved his wand, and a tray and bowl flew in through the living room door
and landed on Harry’s lap. He looked down, and found a bowl of soup awaiting him. “Then I
suppose this morning’s disagreements will not be repeated with lunch?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry tucked in with vigour, hoping to prove a point and make up for being so dreadful that
morning. As he ate, Harry realised with a jolt that he was really quite hungry. He hadn’t even
realised.

Harry clenched his hand into fists, fighting back a rising wave of shame. Even though part of
him knew that the tangled knots of anxiety and worry that seemed to twist his stomach were
all in his head, it never felt that way in the moment. He hated feeling like his brain was lying
to him. It had been useful once upon a time - since Harry experienced such extended periods
of missed meals at Privet Drive, he supposed his mind got used to tricking his body into
thinking he wasn’t as hungry as it was, since there wasn’t much point to his body telling him
he was hungry if there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

But missing meals at Privet Drive almost always happened when Harry was in trouble, so he
thought his mind also must have started sticking together feelings of worry with not eating,
even now he was away from there. Harry rolled his eyes - he had a funny feeling that Snape’s
stupid book would have the answers to whatever was going on here. That thought irked him
slightly.

It was only when Harry had finished every last drop of soup that Snape started speaking
again. He banished the bowl and tray and looked at Harry closely. “I believe I underestimated
the severity of your food issues.”

Harry tensed. “I don’t have -”

“Can we skip the protests please?” Snape asked exasperatedly, pressing his fingers to his
temples. “We both know that you do. Let’s not bother bickering over phrasing.”

Harry sighed and didn’t respond while Snape continued to size him up. He looked strangely
hesitant about something, and it filled Harry with a feeling of foreboding.

“Harry… after I returned from Surrey yesterday, I went into your bedroom to fetch something
of Draco’s, and I noticed something in your trunk. There were some ants that seemed to be
attracted to it. I looked for the source of their interest, and discovered, ah…”

“Oh.” Harry ducked his head, his cheeks aflame as he realised what Snape was referring to.
“I - that’s - oh no.”

The panic rushed back, almost as sharp and potent as it had been that morning after the
accidental magic. He could not believe Snape had found his food stash! The Dursleys had
never managed to - Harry's loose floorboard was nearly foolproof - but there weren't any
good hiding spots in his room at Spinner's End. He'd been forced to hide the food in the
bottom of his trunk…

But Harry hadn't been eating out of it as often as he usually did because he'd actually been
given full meals three times a day. He'd almost forgotten the food was in the bottom of his
trunk entirely, so some of it had definitely gone off. Harry cringed - Snape was probably
furious he'd been stealing out of his cupboards, too! He'd thought Snape wouldn't notice, he'd
thought he was being sneaky…

After a moment to try and calm the fierce mortification and panic he was feeling, Harry
chanced a look up at Snape to scan his face for any signs of anger, but was surprised to see he
looked… lost. Almost overwhelmed. When his eyes met Harry's, and Snape noticed the fear
that was almost certainly written all over his face, that overwhelmed look turned into one of
despair. After a moment, Snape actually leaned forwards and buried his face in his hands,
long, greasy hair sliding forward to hide his face from view. Harry, who felt rather alarmed,
tried and failed to come up with the right words.

"Um… sir?" Snape did not move. Harry was so worried he even tried, "Severus?"

Still nothing. Was he angry? What was Snape even doing? Harry had never, ever seen him
like this. Should Harry get Draco or something?

“Er - sorry about the ants.”

This apparently was not the right thing to say, as Snape abruptly rose to his feet and strode
from the room without a word. Harry remained in place, unsure of what to do. Was he
supposed to follow?
Before he had to make up his mind, Snape returned, face rather haggard. He was holding a
plastic bag, which he placed down on the ground next to Harry.

“This is yours,” he said wearily. “Do with this what you like - I’m not going to go looking for
it. All I ask is that if you open something, you eat it or reseal it so you don’t attract pests.”

Harry leaned over and peered into the bag. He caught sight of a few things lying on top - a
few individually wrapped granola bars, and a packet of digestives. It was all food. He felt an
odd lump rise into his throat. “Thank you.”

Snape didn’t respond. He sat heavily back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. He looked
utterly exhausted.

“It’s not that I think you’re going to starve me or anything!” Harry said quickly, hoping
Snape hadn’t gotten the wrong idea. "I don't think that at all, I promise! I mean - I think the
opposite, even. Like you're properly obsessed with me eating. Completely mental about it,
actually…"

Some of the tension faded from Snape's face, and his lips quirked in a way that could almost
be characterised as amusement, so Harry pressed on.

“I just - I like knowing I have something there. Just in case. It’s mostly stuff I saved up at
Hogwarts for when I was staying with my aunt and uncle, so…”

“When I was in Petunia’s mind, I saw something about a cat flap?” Snape’s brows knitted
together in confusion. “Where your room was. She put soup through it, if I recall correctly?
Legilimency can be rather vague at times, so could you clarify what that was about?”

Harry grimaced. “Er - that’s right. Last summer was… yeah. They had me locked in my room
without that much to eat until the Weasleys broke me out. And that’s why I have the food, in
case it all went wrong again this year.”

“What do you mean, they broke you out?” Snape asked.

“Er - Uncle Vernon had Hedwig locked up so I couldn’t write to anyone, which they thought
was weird, so Fred, George and Ron nicked their dad’s car and flew it to Surrey in the middle
of the night to rescue me,” Harry admitted.

“Of course they did.” Snape shook his head, but he was actually smiling slightly. “This is the
Ford Anglia?”

“Yeah.” Harry winced slightly, remembering that Snape had been the one to find him and
Ron after they flew it into the Whomping Willow. While they loudly discussed how they
were hoping he’d been sacked, naturally.

“I suppose I can’t condemn them too harshly for it,” Snape admitted begrudgingly. “Someone
ought to have gotten you from Privet Drive in that situation, although perhaps through more,
ah - traditional routes.”

Harry, who had quite enjoyed the ride in the flying car, chose not to respond.
“Just know my kitchen is always open to you,” Snape said, gesturing to the door. “You are
completely free to take food from the cupboards whenever you feel like it. As a matter of
fact, I encourage it.”

“Okay,” Harry said softly.

“We’ll make this work,” Snape said. Harry again got the impression he was speaking to
himself. “We’ll find a way to manage this.”

I hope so, Harry thought.

“Um…are we done, then?” he asked hesitantly. Snape still looked so tired, and it was
unnerving him.

“I suppose, but I want you to stay there and rest,” Snape instructed. “I can give you potions,
but the main thing that aids recovery from magical exhaustion is time.”

“Okay.” Snape sat back in his armchair and reopened his book. Harry frowned. “You don’t
have to hover.”

“I am not hovering.” Snape gestured to the book and didn’t look up. “I’m reading.”

“Can’t you read somewhere else?” Harry said grumpily, shuffling back into the sofa to try
and get comfortable.

“Considering the fact that this is my house, I can go and do what I please,” Snape said,
shooting him a pointed look. “But yes, I am also keeping an eye on you. I’m sure you’ll
suffer through.”

Harry sighed loudly. “Can’t I at least have a book or something, then?”

“No. You’re meant to be resting. Shut your eyes, or sit there quietly.”

Harry crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. “This is boring.”

“If not for the lack of blonde hair, I’d be fairly certain Draco Malfoy was sitting in front of
me right now.” Snape said, turning the page of his book while rhymically tapping the cover
with one finger.

“That’s right, Draco,” Harry said quickly. “Can’t I play chess with him or something? That’s
not really strenuous.”

“Considering how violently competitive the two of you are with one another, I actually think
that it would be incredibly strenuous.” Snape rolled his eyes. “Although I find it interesting
that you just suggested spending time with Draco.”

Harry made a face. He had, hadn’t he? Had Harry been infected with a brain parasite or
something? Since when was spending time with that prat something he actually considered to
be fun?! Maybe staring at the ceiling would be a better way to spend his time if this was what
he was reduced to…
But after about another ten minutes of doing nothing, Harry was willing to have a friendly
chat and a cuppa with Voldemort himself to relieve his boredom. He huffed and stared at
Snape. “It’s not working. Didn’t you say I’ve been asleep for three hours already? I’ve
already been resting.”

“Not good enough,” Snape said, still steadfastly refusing to look up from his book. “You
know, if you don’t recover from this quickly, I might have to rescind my permission for you
to stay in Diagon Alley with the young Mr Weasley and his family on the thirty-first of
August.”

Harry jolted upright, his mouth agape. “You’re - I’m doing what?”

“You’re lying down.” Snape glared at Harry and sharply pushed him back onto the sofa.
“And if you do enough of that, then you will be allowed to stay at the Leaky Cauldron with
the Weasleys on the last day of the holidays. They will escort you to King’s Cross.”

Harry beamed, thrilled beyond words. “I thought you’d never agree to let me do that!”

“How was I supposed to agree to something that you didn’t ask about?” Snape looked at him
disapprovingly. “I had no knowledge about your desire to participate in this activity until I
received a rather strongly-worded letter from Molly Weasley informing me that I should, in
fact, allow you to see your friends instead of being strict for the sake of it. A confusing letter
to receive, I must say, considering I had never actually banned you from doing this.”

“I thought you’d say no,” Harry mumbled, feeling his cheeks burn. He did appreciate Mrs
Weasley standing up for him, but he felt a little embarrassed since Snape hadn’t actually done
anything wrong. It was his fault, though.

“While I can utilise Legilimency, I do not generally make a habit of reading minds,” Snape
said, putting his book to one side and crossing his arms. “Therefore, if you want something,
you need to actually ask for it. The worst that I can do is say no.”

“Um…okay, then.” Harry smiled slyly. “Can I play chess?”

“No.” Snape sighed. “But I will play chess with you this evening if you rest now.”

“Fine…I’ll try.”

Harry shifted slightly and smiled to himself. This morning had been awful, and stressful, and
emotionally taxing, but he certainly felt a hell of a lot better than he had earlier right now.
Even though it had been really difficult, talking all of that through with Snape had actually
helped. Harry had been so worried and mixed up, and some of it felt a little clearer now that
they’d talked about the guardianship situation.

And the food, and being allowed to stay with the Weasleys? It was kindness without visible
strings, like Snape had promised. Nice things that Harry didn’t even expect to have that
Snape was giving to him. Maybe… maybe he could try and just accept that Snape was doing
something nice for him without worrying. Perhaps he didn’t have to assume maliciousness
was lurking around every corner. Sometimes, people were capable of just being decent.
And that included Snape.

Bored of the ceiling, he decided to at last try and shut his eyes. Harry still thought it was a
useless effort. He really just couldn’t fall asleep in the middle of the day, after all…

He drifted off five minutes later.

 A Hound in Shining Armour

To Harry’s immense annoyance, Snape’s obsession with him ‘resting’ carried on for a fair
few days. Harry was at least allowed to move about when his injured foot was declared
healed in the late afternoon following the accidental magic incident, but Snape strictly
insisted that he stayed seated and got on with things quietly unless he was walking to the
bathroom. Worst of all, he kept hovering. He remained in the same room as Harry for the vast
majority of the time, mainly reading complicated books that Harry could barely understand
the titles of. He was unable to truly forget Snape's presence at any given time, and it felt
weirdly awkward.

Harry had been hoping Snape would disappear into his laboratory so he could go back to
doing as he pleased, but Snape seemed to anticipate that Harry was going to break his
recovery instructions the instant his back was turned and kept an annoyingly close eye on
him. It seemed like all Harry was permitted to do was sit back and finish off the last few bits
of his homework, or occasionally participate in a game of chess if Snape was feeling
particularly indulgent.

Harry was feeling very ashamed of the way he’d acted the day after the Headmaster’s
conversation with Snape, so he tried to allow the hovering without too much complaint.
There was still a bit of eye rolling and huffing, of course, but compared to the amount of
whining he didn’t verbalise, Harry thought he was behaving with remarkable restraint. It was
all just really foreign to him. Harry hadn’t had someone worry about his health before, after
all.

And although he wouldn’t admit it to Snape, Harry wasn’t really feeling like himself. He was
quite tired and weary, and his muscles ached like he’d just finished up a brutal Quidditch
practice. Harry also felt himself get a little lightheaded whenever he got up to use the loo, and
he had to hold onto the sink basin for several moments after climbing the stairs to the
bathroom until the stars in his vision faded. Because of this weariness, Snape had also
annoyingly insisted Harry go to bed earlier while he ‘recovered’. He really resented that, until
he found himself falling asleep as soon as he hit the pillow each night.

The magical exhaustion didn’t last very long, though. Harry felt a million times better by day
two, and on day three, he almost felt completely normal, if a bit more lethargic than usual.
This did not seem to satisfy Snape, though, who kept up with his annoying recovery regime.
Harry was getting so antsy and restless from the lack of activity that he couldn’t sleep when
he got into bed that night. He spent hours tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling or the
dark backs of his eyelids, long after even Snape had gone to bed. Eventually, he huffed to
himself and gave up. Harry wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon.

With a sigh, Harry decided to give up altogether and go to the kitchen to make some tea.
Maybe that would help. He slid out of bed and padded quietly down to the kitchen. By now,
Harry knew the quirks of the Spinner’s End architecture well enough that he didn’t need to
worry about squeaky floorboards or other house creaks that would wake Snape up. The only
sound that he made came from the slightly groan of the pipes as he filled the kettle.
The kettle itself was rather strange. It was styled after an electric kettle, but wasn't actually
plugged into the wall, like many of Snape's seemingly Muggle appliances. Instead, the button
on the side activated an enchantment that made the water boil. Harry was fairly certain it also
sped up the amount of time it took the water to boil, too. He smiled to himself as he got out a
mug. Sometimes, Harry just really loved magic.

The kettle was just starting to whistle when Harry heard the door swing open behind him and
jumped. He turned around and realised it wasn’t Snape, who he’d been expecting, but Draco.
He scowled at Harry. “What are you doing down here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Something like that.” Draco looked between Harry and the kettle, which had just finished
boiling. “Make me some, will you? I drink the peppermint tea.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s bossy tone but got out a second mug and the necessary tea
bag nonetheless. While the tea steeped, he turned around and realised that Draco had sat
down. He was slumped over, leaning his face against the side of the kitchen table, twirling
something between his fingers. A necklace, Harry realised. He assumed it was the one he'd
been accused of stealing. It was a pretty but delicate thing, with a dark gemstone pendant at
the end of a thin, golden chain, which Draco was running between his fingers with a
mournful look on his face. Harry placed down their mugs on the table and sat opposite to
him, wondering again what was going on inside of Draco’s mind.

“Severus has been keeping me away from you,” Draco said abruptly.

Harry frowned. “What? Why?”

“He didn’t want me asking you nosy questions, apparently.”

“Ah.” Harry had thought Draco had been weirdly absent the last few days, but he hadn’t
given it all that much thought. Snape had made frequent passive-aggressive comments about
minding one's own business and obeying his rules at meals for the last few days, so Harry had
assumed that Draco was still in trouble for eavesdropping and was stuck in the potions
laboratory scrubbing cauldrons or something. If Snape had really told him not to ask any
questions, Draco was probably buzzing with questions about the Dursleys that he finally had
an opportunity to ask. Harry winced.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked worriedly, finally raising his head from the table. “I’ve never
seen you like that. The way you were the other day, I mean. Does that sort of thing happen to
you often?”

That had not been the prying question Harry had anticipated, but he still grimaced. Harry felt
absolutely mortified over the complete freakout that he’d had, especially since it had
happened in front of Snape and Draco, and he really didn’t want to talk about it. Draco was
probably looking for ammunition, things to use against him…

But then Harry looked up and didn’t find a single trace of a sneer on his features. It was just
pure concern. Something about that made Harry want to answer honestly.
“Not often. I mean - stuff like that’s happened a couple of times but never like that. It was…
not nice.”

“Didn’t look it.”

Harry just nodded and sipped his tea, needing to do something with his hands.

“And it was just doing accidental magic that set you off?” Draco’s eyes were wide. “That was
all?”

Harry scowled. “I don’t want to talk about it. But yes.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to live like that,” Draco said softly.

“It’s shit.”

Draco made an affirmative sort of noise and stared into his mug. Harry watched him closely,
tense. He really didn’t want this line of questioning to continue.

Luckily for him, Draco changed the topic. “That fair the other day was the most fun I’ve had
in ages.”

Harry managed a thin smile. “Yeah, same. I wish Snape actually let us outside more. I am so
sick of sitting around and 'resting'…”

“I can try and convince him to let us go to the park tomorrow, if you want?”

“You can try, but he’ll never go for it,” Harry said. “Black, remember? Snape’s a complete
paranoiac when it comes to him.”

“I have my ways,” Draco announced. “I’ll wear him down.”

Harry thought for a moment, wondering who was going to win that argument. Sure, Snape
could be stubborn when he set his mind on something, but Draco was incredibly annoying
when he started going on about something he wanted. He’d spent all of last week going on
about some new hair gel that he just had to get, until Snape threatened to spell his mouth shut
if he didn’t stop nagging. Harry wondered if he might just say yes to them going out
somewhere to shut Draco up…

While he mulled it all over, Draco had gone back to leaning his head on the table and staring
listlessly at the necklace. It was over five minutes before either one of them spoke again.

“I miss my mum,” Draco said softly.

Harry tensed at the words. He wasn’t sure what to say in response to a confession like that…
was there anything to say?

“I’m sorry,” he said helplessly.

Draco sighed. “So am I.”

He got to his feet and left the darkened kitchen without another word, leaving a confused and
saddened Harry in his wake.

“Keep your elbows off the table when you’re eating,” Snape said, giving Harry a
disapproving look. Harry sighed and did so, but not without a small roll of his eyes.

“You’ve ignored it easily enough for the last few weeks,” he muttered.

“You are my ward now,” Snape said, slicing into a sausage. “You and your appalling table
manners now reflect upon me. Sort them so I don’t spend the entirety of the autumn term
glowering at you from across the Great Hall.”

“Fine…”

Snape could be so obsessive about certain things, Harry reflected, as he returned to his
breakfast.

“At any rate, if I am going to take the two of you out to a restaurant this evening, I’d rather
have you actually exhibit decent manners in public.”

Harry and Draco both jerked their heads up.

“A restaurant?” Draco said eagerly.

“Tonight?” Harry added.

“Yes,” Snape said. “Nothing too extravagant, but I have a very long day ahead of me, and I
don’t particularly wish to cook.”

“Are you brewing something new?” Draco asked, his eyes glinting with interest.

“Unfortunately not." Snape scowled. “In preparation for the beginning of term, I have to
attend a staff meeting.”

He spat it like it was a dirty swear word, and Harry couldn’t hold back a snort. Snape could
be so dramatic. He shot Harry a withering look in response. “It will waste the majority of my
day, and I will be up in Scotland for the duration. I’m sure the two of you can amuse
yourselves without my input?”

“Could we go to the park?” Draco asked. Snape opened his mouth to speak, but before he
could, Draco quickly ploughed on. “Don’t say no. You let us go alone a few days ago for the
fair, didn’t you? There’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to again. It’s literally the exact same
situation!”
Snape’s lips thinned, and he paused for a moment. Eventually, he sighed. “You…you have a
point. I suppose if you take the same precautions you did a few days ago, there is no plausible
reason for me to deny you from going…”

“Wonderful,” Draco said with a smug grin. He’d backed Snape into a corner with logic, and
all of them knew it. “I suppose we’ll head out when we’re done here, then!”

“Buy yourselves something for lunch, and be back no later than three,” Snape said, the
warning for what would happen to them if they didn’t clear in the sharp edge of his tone.
“And you’re to take it easy, Harry. Come straight back home if you start feeling at all unwell
-”

“Oh my God, I’m fine!”

“You keep an eye on him,” Snape ordered, turning to Draco and fixing him with a stern look.

“I will,” Draco promised.

“I don’t need to be hovered over!” Harry complained loudly.

Snape arched an eyebrow. “I suppose you’d prefer to remain in the house all day?”

Harry pulled a face and said, “I’ll be careful…”

“Good. Here’s some money, then. Enjoy yourselves.”

“You’re a genius,” Harry said to Draco as they walked along Spinner’s End. “I never thought
you were going to convince him!”

“I knew he couldn’t reasonably refuse,” Draco said smugly, hitching the football he was
carrying further up his arm. “Not without admitting the only reason he originally allowed us
to go was because he wanted us out of the house while he used Legilimency on those
Muggles you live with, which I doubt he wanted to confess to.”

“Er - right.” Harry shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of the Dursleys. He was almost
certain that Draco was just aching to nag him about it further, a theory that was unfortunately
confirmed when the other boy turned to him with an inquisitive look on his face.

“Look,” he said, slowing down his pace to match Harry’s, “like I said, Severus wants me to
avoid the topic, but -”

“I thought we had an agreement,” Harry said stiffly, intentionally not meeting Draco’s eyes.
“We don’t treat each other like Snape treats us. No probing questions. Leave well enough
alone.”
“Maybe we should get over that,” Draco said thoughtfully, bouncing the football against the
pavement. “We are going to be living together next summer, right?”

Harry did his best not to pull a face. “It’s the end of August. It’s not like we have to talk to
each other between now and next June.”

“Oh, come on, Potter!” Draco snapped. “If you must know, I’m only asking because it’s
really confusing me!”

“What’s confusing about it?” Harry said tightly. “You heard the long and short of it. I grew
up with my Muggle relatives, and they hate me. You don’t need all the gory details.”

“No, not that!” Draco said impatiently. “I just - I don’t get it! I feel like everything I thought
I knew is just a lie. You’re Harry Potter!”

“Really?” Harry said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I wasn’t aware that was my name…”

“But everyone’s always talking about how you’re a hero!” Draco’s eyes were wide. “They
bloody well worship you, people would have been lining up to take you in and give you a
good home! When I was growing up, everyone thought you’d been whisked away by
Dumbledore himself for special training because of how powerful you were! Then I find out
you grew up with those awful Muggles?”

“Well, reality is always worse than what you’d think.” Harry scowled. He didn’t particularly
appreciate the insulting tone Draco had used for the word ‘Muggle’.

“It’s bloody unfair, is what it is,” Draco said, kicking a pebble. It skittered up the road and out
of sight. “You could have had a way better life, but you got stuck with them? Ridiculous…”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Harry muttered. This conversation had him on the
defensive, and he felt oddly resentful and raw. “I’m pretty damn clear on how life isn’t fair.”

“My point is,” Draco stressed, “that you’re different than I thought you were. I was
convinced you always thought you were better than me because you’re so famous but…well,
I’ve learnt a lot about you these last few weeks. You’re a lot more normal than I thought you
were.”

“I don’t think I’m better than you because I’m famous,” Harry said, shooting Draco a dirty
look. “I hate being famous.”

Draco scoffed. “Please! Everyone wants to be famous!”

“Oh really?” Harry said icily. “How would you feel if you were famous for something you
don’t even remember doing? Famous for the day your parents got murdered and you got
stuck living with your horrid aunt and uncle?”

Draco at least had the decency to look a little ashamed. They walked in silence for a few
minutes, and Harry contemplated his words. All this time, Draco had been jealous of him?
That was what had caused his general nastiness these last two years? Well, that and the
rejected offer of friendship on the train, Harry supposed. It just seemed a lot simpler than
he’d always thought. He couldn’t see why there was anything for Draco to be jealous of.

“You know… I don’t think I understood about your parents until this year, really,” Draco said
softly. “How horrible it must have been to lose them.”

“Oh?”

“How do you bear it?” Draco asked abruptly. His shoulders were hunched. “Your parents not
being around, I mean.”

Harry didn’t know what he’d been expecting Draco to ask, but it certainly hadn’t been that.
Part of him almost instinctively reached for a sharp retort, automatically assuming Draco was
insulting him, but Harry stopped himself at the last minute. His face was tight and pained,
and obviously earnest. Harry floundered for a few moments, since he didn’t exactly have an
answer to that to hand.

“I… I don’t know,” he said finally. “I don’t know any different, honestly. I’ve never had them
around.”

Draco sighed. “They don’t even let me write to them, you know. My parents.”

“Really?” Harry said, shocked. “That seems a little -”

“Unfair?” Draco finished. “Yeah, it is. It’s a nightmare trying to get under-seventeens
permission to visit Azkaban, so it’s not like I can even see them in person. The Ministry used
to allow mail, but then Black broke out, so they’ve changed the security measures in case
someone snuck something in through the post to him. So I’m stuck with no visits, no mail
and no contact.” His breath hitched. “It’s the same as if they were dead.”

Well, a small part of Harry’s brain unhelpfully wanted to point out, it wasn’t really the same,
but his more empathetic side won out as he looked at Draco. His face was forlorn and hurt,
and he was blinking rather rapidly. Harry glanced away so Draco would have the chance to
wipe away any potential stray tears without being watched.

Shockingly enough, Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for the other boy. Over the last week in
particular, Harry suddenly found himself able to separate Malfoy, the bullying Slytherin who
made his life miserable, from Draco, the other parentless boy who played Monopoly and
football with him. He didn’t know what was going to happen when the two of them were
back at Hogwarts just a few days from now, but the Draco he’d come to know at Spinner’s
End was surprisingly nice to be around at times.

After a moment, Harry tentatively reached out a hand and placed it on Draco’s arm. To his
surprise, the other boy didn’t recoil or pull his arm away.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “That’s really rotten.”

Draco nodded rather jerkily. “Well…if anyone understands what it’s like, I suppose it would
be you.”
“Are you ever going to see them again?” Harry asked. Even though he knew that the elder
Malfoys were in prison, he still didn’t know how long for, or what they’d even done to get
locked up.

“I don’t know,” Draco said, bouncing the football rather aggressively. He muttered an oath
and just about managed to snatch it back out of the air before it landed in the road. “My
father’s got twenty years, as of right now, but they’re probably going to re-try him for a
bunch of other things he got off on before.” Draco glowered at the pavement. “Mother got
five years. I know for a fact she wasn’t involved, but no, they were just looking for any
excuse to cart all of my family off to Azkaban…”

“But won’t she be out by the time you’re eighteen?”

Draco scowled. “Since you’re practically half-Muggle, I suppose you must have forgotten
how magically draining Azkaban is! Even if she does make it out, there’s no telling if she’ll
be the same person on the other side. Mother’s always been rather ill, and she might - she
might not…”

Draco’s voice had started cracking towards the end, so Harry thought it was better to not push
the topic, even though Draco still hadn’t told him what the Malfoys were in for. “Right.
Sorry.”

They’d at last reached the park, which looked a little bit depressing without the bright lights
and attractions of the travelling funfair. The grass was slightly brown from the August sun,
and broken bottles glittered here and there. There was also a small playground with a peeling
red swing set and a faded plastic slide backed by a brackish stream and a large willow tree
that two girls were trying to climb. Harry and Draco wandered through the field adjoining it
until they reached a very ragged-looking goalpost, so they could play an actual game of
football for once. The net in the back of the goal had been completely torn out, excluding a
few ragged strands of string attached to the plastic rim that were blowing in the gentle breeze.
Harry sat down next to it and leaned his head against the plastic pole, which was hot with the
heat of the August sun. Draco settled down opposite, the football in his lap.

“It’s like Snape says, I suppose,” Draco said. “We’ve got some stuff in common. Like our
tendency to smash anything breakable in his house…”

Harry groaned. “The stupid accidental magic is doing my head in!”

Draco tutted. “At least you only smash stuff on accident, so you don’t get in trouble for
breaking plates.”

“You never broke a plate, though.” Harry frowned, his eyebrows knitting together.

“Not while you were here,” Draco said, casting his eyes downward. “When they first sent me
to live with him, though? Well, if you think I’m bad now, it was carnage back then. You
should have seen us in July.”

“Really?”
"As you know, I'm not exactly happy to be here," Draco said, scratching his neck. "Between
my parents getting sent away and going from my previous life to… well, this -” he gestured
around the park with a disgusted look on his face, “it was a right shock to the system, and I
wasn’t all that happy with Severus. I was making his life a nightmare, honestly. We
practically spent the entirety of July screaming at each other all day…"

"You did?" Harry said, surprised. He'd seen Snape lose his temper, sure, but even then he still
seemed to have exacting control of himself the majority of the time… he couldn’t imagine
constant, screaming rows between him and Draco.

“How do you think he manages to stay so calm with you when you start yelling at him?”
Draco asked, arching an eyebrow. “Severus isn’t a naturally patient person, you know, but my
temper was something of a trial by fire. He had to figure out how to not let me get under his
skin before we throttled each other. He worked out eventually that shouting back made it all
worse, so he’s annoyingly calm with me nowadays when I’m angry. Especially after he
started using Occlumency when he noticed me getting annoyed, I really couldn’t get a rise
out of him anymore. I think he started taking pleasure in seeing how frustrated we both get
when he doesn't react, actually…”

“I still don’t really get what Occlumency is,” Harry said.

“Well, you wouldn’t,” Draco said loftily. “It’s mainly to protect your mind from Legilimency
attacks, but it does also help with managing your emotions, you know. Severus has actually
been teaching it to me.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” he said. “You should ask him sometime, I bet he’d teach you, too. Maybe that would
help with your little accidental magic problem.”

“Hmm.”

Harry, as tempting as that sounded to him, was never going to do that. Mostly because the
idea of asking Snape for help still felt a little wrong, and he didn’t want to be an even bigger
drain on the man’s time than he already was.

Draco got to his feet. “Enough of this depressing rubbish. Snape’s let us out of the house for
the first time in a billion years, we should make the most of it instead of sitting here and
chatting!”

Harry smirked. “You’re on. Let’s play some actual football for once, eh?”

Even though Harry felt almost entirely better, he annoyingly discovered that strenuous
exercise like playing football really took it out of him. Draco was beating him with ease,
which he was thoroughly smug about, naturally. After a few hours of this, Harry finally
admitted defeat, and the two of them wandered around Cokeworth until they came across a
corner shop to buy themselves lunch.

“What’s this?” Draco asked, picking up a bottle of coke.

Harry noticed the cashier behind the counter staring at Draco with a puzzled look on his face
and winced. He pointedly elbowed Draco and hissed, “Muggle thing. Not so loud.”

“Right.”

Draco went to put it back, but Harry stopped him. “Give it a go! You might like it.”

He shrugged. “Alright.”

Harry picked up some of his own, as well as some chilled sandwiches and crisps. This whole
situation was rather odd, Harry thought to himself as he handed over the money. He very
rarely got to buy things from corner shops, since he never had any Muggle money of his own.
Aunt Petunia always used to let Dudley buy sweets after school, but he was forced to stand to
one side and watch longingly while his cousin bought out half the shop.

The two of them settled on a creaky wooden bench with one missing slab near the store to eat
their lunch. As Harry tucked into his sandwich, he noticed Draco holding the bottle of coke
up to the light, a puzzled look on his face. He looked exactly like Snape did when he
examined the colour of one of his potions, and Harry snorted.

Draco scowled and elbowed him. “Don’t!”

“Just drink it!” Harry laughed. He opened his own bottle and took a pointed sip, eyebrows
raised.

“Okay…” Draco cracked open the bottle and cautiously sipped it. A moment later, his eyes
widened to the size of dinner plates. “It’s - it’s fizzy!”

“Yeah?” Harry laughed again. “It’s a fizzy drink, that’s the whole point!”

“But they’re Muggles!” Draco said, staring at the bottle with fascination. “How can they
make that work?”

“It’s carbonated.”

“Excuse me? What is that?”

As it so often happened when he tried to explain Muggle things, Harry found himself
stumped. “Um… they put carbon under pressure, I think. Then it makes those bubbles, and
you drink them.”

“Odd.” Draco took another swig of the bottle. “I still prefer Butterbeer, though.”

“What’s that?”
It was now Draco’s turn to look shocked. “You don’t know?! You’re missing out!”

After a lengthy conversation where Draco explained in detail how amazing Butterbeer
supposedly was, which Harry was almost certain was entirely exaggerations, they began to
walk back to the park. They didn’t make it that far from the bench they’d eaten on, however,
before someone loudly cleared their throat from behind.

“Oi, specky!” A voice called. Harry glanced over his shoulder and saw a group of three boys
walking up the path behind them, hands in their pockets. They all looked around fifteen or
sixteen, and were leering at Harry. He turned his head back around and started walking more
quickly, hoping Draco knew to match his pace. Something about the expectant smirks on the
boys’ faces made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up.

“Stop!” One boy shouted. “Don’t walk away when we’re talking to you!”

Harry was preparing to further quicken his pace, but unfortunately Draco stopped and turned
around, his nose wrinkled as if he’d just smelled something rotten. “Yes?”

“Heard you talking,” a boy with a shaved head said casually, stepping forward. He was
alarmingly tall. “You two aren’t from round here. I don’t remember you from school…”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “No, we aren’t from around here. We’re simply visiting during our
summer holidays from boarding school.”

He drew out the words ‘boarding school’ as if they were a badge of honour. Harry tried to
hide his wince as the three boys exchanged crafty looks. This wasn’t good…

“If you go to boarding school, you must be pretty well off,” a muscular boy who looked a lot
like Goyle commented casually.

“Of course,” Draco said loftily.

“Well, we should really get going,” Harry said loudly, grabbing Draco’s wrist and
intentionally squeezing hard. “Nice chat -”

“Hang on a minute,” Shaved Head said, stepping forwards. He had his hands in his pockets.
“Now, since you’re not from round here, you don’t know the rules. You don’t leave until we
say you do.”

Draco sneered. “I’m not going to be ordered around by some Muggle.”

Shaved Head’s face instantly twisted into a snarl. “What did you just call me?”

“A Muggle,” Draco said, stepping forward and glowering up at the older boy. “What, are you
stupid or something? Well, you would be…”

Quick as a flash, the boy shoved into Draco and pinned him against a nearby wall with an
audible thump. “I think you want to be more careful about how you talk to us, posh boy.”
Draco plunged a hand into his pocket and jabbed his wand directly into the boy’s chest, face
fierce. “Get off me, you filthy -”

“Draco!” Harry hissed. “You can’t! You’ll be arrested!”

The four boys laughed.

“Arrested for what? Pointing some stupid stick?” A crooked-nosed boy sneered. “How
pathetic!”

Still, Draco had understood, and that was what mattered. He slowly slid the wand back into
his pocket, but the boy pinning him to the wall didn’t let him go.

“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Harry said nervously.

Goyle’s clone snickered. “Here’s what you don’t know, new kids. Around here, we decide
who makes the trouble. Now turn out your pockets and hand over all your money. I know
you’ve got some.”

Harry was very familiar with this kind of situation. This was exactly the kind of thing Dudley
spent his summers doing with his own gang back in Surrey. Well, at least he knew how to
deal with this. Harry bit back a sigh and kept his eyes lowered and deferential as he reached
into his pocket to dig out the measly three pounds they had left over from Snape’s allotment.

Unfortunately, Draco apparently did not know how to behave around a group of bullies who
were both older and stronger than he was. Harry’s hand had just closed around the coins
jingling in his pocket when Draco jerked his knee directly into Shaved Head’s groin. The boy
howled and doubled over, releasing Draco from the wall he’d been pressed into. He shot off,
grabbing Harry’s forearm as he ran to tug him along. Harry began to run as quickly as his
legs could carry him, hearing the sounds of the boys’ footsteps slapping against the concrete.
They were in hot pursuit.

Unfortunately, it was far easier to run away from his obese cousin than it was to escape a
group of older boys with significantly longer legs, so Harry and Draco had barely managed to
make it back to the edge of the park before the gang caught up. Crooked Nose grabbed a
fistful of Harry’s shirt and yanked him backwards. He landed a punch on Harry’s face,
snapping the bridge of his glasses against his nose. Pain spread throughout his face, only
worsening as he was struck a second time.

Harry saw a blond blur running over in his peripheral vision. “Get off him!”

To his immense shock, Draco was currently trying to yank Crooked Nose off him. It was a
fruitless effort, especially once the two other boys grabbed Draco and started beating him,
too. He gasped in pain as Shaved Head drove his fist into Draco’s stomach, over and over
again.

Harry kicked Crooked Nose as hard as he could in the shin and tried his best to shove Shaved
Head off Draco, but Goyle’s twin got to him first and threw him to the pavement. Harry
barely had time to catch himself before his head smacked into the concrete, and felt the sharp
sting of the surface ripping open his palms. Without his glasses, he couldn’t see the attacker
who began repeatedly kicking him in the ribs. Harry couldn’t help his gasp the third time the
boot smacked into his side, causing an explosion of agony that seemed to splinter through his
entire chest. He heard a noisy crunch - someone had smashed his glasses under a foot. Harry
squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the next hit -

But no blow came. Instead, he heard one of the boys - Crooked Nose, if he was correct -
shriek in terror. Moments later, there was a series of low growls and noisy barks. Harry
squinted, and saw a large, black dog with its teeth latched into the boy’s leg.

“Ahh! Get it off me!” Crooked Nose shrieked, trying in vain to shove the dog away with one
hand. He yelped again as the dog unlatched its jaw from his leg and tried to bite his hand.

“What the bloody hell is going on with it?!” Goyle’s clone shouted. “Jim, help him!”

“No way! Run, quick!” Shaved Head - presumably Jim - shouted. “Leave the kids to distract
it!”

Harry watched as three blurry figures ran as quickly as they could, chased by the hazy black
smudge that had to be a dog, still yapping at their heels. The creature kept up the hunt until
the boys rounded a corner and vanished from view.

Harry didn’t move. Many years of being viciously beaten by gangs of boys, particularly his
cousin, had taught him that the minute you moved, all of the adrenaline flooded out of your
body and you became very painfully aware of every single abrasion lacing you. It would all
come to him eventually, but right now he wanted to savour the last few relatively pain-free
moments he had.

“Sorry,” Draco said hoarsely from nearby. “I didn’t realise that was going to happen.”

“Idiot,” Harry mumbled through bloodied lips. He hoped his nose wasn’t broken…although
as Harry reflected further on where precisely his face was throbbing, he realised that the
majority of the blood was coming from a pulsing cut across the bridge of his nose where his
glasses had broken. It was intermingling with the blood from a split lip.

My glasses… Harry pushed himself up at last, every part of his body screaming in protest,
and started blindly feeling around for them. Draco suddenly gripped his wrist and deposited a
pile of twisted wire into his open palm.

“It’s no use,” he said. “They’re shattered.”

Harry groaned. “Great…”

“Can you give me a hand?” Draco asked stiffly. “I think I twisted my ankle when they shoved
me back and I can’t really put weight on it.”

“Okay, but you have to direct,” Harry said as Draco put an arm around his shoulder, gasping
in pain again as Draco accidentally touched his injured ribs. The other boy gave him a
concerned look.
“Fine,” he managed to grit out.

They began hobbling along, and Harry attempted a weak chuckle, instantly regretting it when
it made the sharp pain in his side worse. “Look at the state of us. This really is like the blind
leading the blind…”

Draco tutted. “You’ve got that right. Hey, how bad is your vision anyway? How many fingers
am I holding up?”

“Four. I’m not completely blind, you dolt,” Harry grumbled as four hazy digits waved in front
of his face.

It was slow work, between the two of them. It was hard supporting Draco, who could barely
put any weight on his ankle, while Harry himself was in rather a lot of pain from the kicks to
his ribs. It seemed like an age before they made any significant progress.

“We shouldn’t have ever come here today,” Draco muttered.

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Dangerous Muggles, lurking around corners and attacking you for no good reason…”

Harry sighed very loudly, causing another sharp jolt of pain. “Draco, it has nothing to do with
the fact that they’re Muggles! They’re just a gang of horrid pricks that like to go around
terrorising people, okay? Wizards can be just as bad! And are you really telling me that
mugging doesn’t exist in the wizarding world?”

“Well - yeah, but I’ve never been mugged there!” Draco said indignantly. “Then the moment
I go to the Muggle world, I am? I don’t think it’s a complete coincidence…”

“It’s just because Cokeworth is a complete shithole,” Harry grumbled. “But it’s not a shithole
because of the Muggles, Draco.”

“If it wasn’t because they’re Muggles, why did they get so angry and vicious when I called
them Muggles?” Draco challenged.

“Because as far as they could tell, it was an insult. You have a very insulting tone, you know.
And you also called the Muggle stupid, remember?” Harry was trying very hard to keep his
temper in check, but was finding it difficult. As far as he could tell, they would have gotten
away three pounds poorer and without the beating if Draco would have kept his mouth shut.
He just had to boast and fight back, didn’t he…

Draco sniffed. “Witches and wizards aren’t that violent. It’s the Muggle blood that makes
them aggressive -”

“Are you actually being serious?” Harry asked incredulously. “Our kind are probably even
worse than Muggles! Are you forgetting the entire massive war we had twelve years ago? Or
what about the time Ron tried to make you puke slugs? Or, actually, any of the other billions
of duels that happen at Hogwarts all the time? The snake you shot at me last year? Oh, or -”
“Okay, okay, I get it!” Draco snapped. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Potter…”

Harry glared at him and resisted the urge to smack Draco round the back of the head.

Draco huffed. “I just don’t get why you have to wax lyrical about Muggles constantly,
especially since we just got attacked by a group of them -”

“And I don’t get why you have to act like they’re worthless cockroaches, but I’ll agree to
disagree for now.” Harry’s lip was rather swollen from the punch to his face, and it was
making speech rather difficult. He was worried he was accidentally going to bite it while he
talked, and that would certainly hurt like hell. He wasn’t going to deal with extra pain just to
bicker with Malfoy…

After a few moments, Draco grunted. “Can you shift my weight?”

“Right.” Harry readjusted Draco’s arm over his shoulder. “Um… look, even though you’re a
complete idiot, I just wanted to say - er, thanks.”

“For getting you beaten up? Oh, you’re very welcome!” he said sarcastically.

“No, that’s what I mean,” Harry said, wiping a trickle of blood from his face from the back of
his hand. “I meant thanks for not leaving me to get beaten up. You could have kept running,
but you tried to drag those Muggles off me when they caught me.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Draco scoffed. “If I’d abandoned you with a gang of violent
Muggles, it wouldn’t have mattered that I’d gotten away since Severus would have killed me
for ditching you!”

“You still helped me,” Harry insisted. Despite Draco’s insistence to the contrary, that meant
something in his mind. The Draco he’d known before probably would have joined in to help
those Muggles finish the job, but he’d actually tried to help Harry! It was unexpected, but it
made a strange, warm sensation spread in his chest.

Draco scoffed. “Gryffindors. Always so stupidly honourable…”

“Picking a fight with a group of older boys is pretty Gryffindorish, you know,” Harry pointed
out. “That’s foolish, headstrong behaviour right there.”

Draco made a fake gagging noise. “Merciful Merlin, you must be rubbing off on me. How
perfectly awful. I’m turning into a bloody Gryffindor…”

“Watch it, you slimy Slytherin.”

After a few moments of silence, Draco sighed very loudly. “Well…if we’re on the topic of
thanks, I suppose I ought to…properly acknowledge what you did for me,” he muttered.
Every word was slightly strained. “I do appreciate your ill-fated attempt to drag that Muggle
off me.”

That, Harry thought, was the most roundabout way of saying ‘thanks’ he could have possibly
mustered, but considering this was Draco Malfoy, he could still appreciate the progress.
“You’re welcome, Draco.” He looked at the other boy. Even without his glasses, Harry could
see he looked utterly awful. “Maybe next time, try not to pick a fight with everyone and
everything? Make a few sacrifices for the sake of a quiet life.”

“You don’t need to lecture me,” Draco said, sounding rather disgruntled. “Believe me, I’ve
learnt my lesson. Besides, Severus is going to give me a hard enough time when he finds
out.”

Harry stopped walking, frozen. “Wait, what?”

“Speaking of, there he is,” Draco said, nodding up the road. Harry could see a black figure
making its way in their direction. “He must have gotten back from his meeting early.”

“What on earth happened to you?!”

Harry didn’t think he’d actually seen Snape run before, but he did so now in his haste to get
to Harry and Draco. He wrenched Harry and Draco apart, and Harry winced sharply as the
contact jolted his sore side.

“Have you two been fighting again?” Snape demanded, expression furious. “I thought you’d
at last put aside this ridiculous -”

“No, we weren’t fighting, for God’s sake!” Harry hissed. He barely bit back an insult,
Draco’s warnings of Snape’s anger still at the forefront of his mind. Still, it really annoyed
Harry when Snape always assumed the worst of him.

“What happened, then?” Snape asked. He gripped Harry’s shoulder, fingers almost bruising.
“I think I’d recall sending you out of the house bruised and bloodied!”

“We got beaten up by some boys,” Harry quickly explained before Draco could talk. He
couldn’t help but think that Draco’s idiocy had been punished enough by that beating - he
didn’t need Snape’s lecture on top of it as well. Judging by his grateful squeeze of Harry’s
arm, the gesture wasn’t missed.

Snape muttered an oath under his breath and took ahold of Draco’s arm. “Can you walk
unassisted, Harry?”

He nodded.

“Inside now, then,” he snapped, helping the limping Draco through the last little bit of the
distance to his house. Harry followed closely, wiping some of the blood off his face with the
edge of his shirt.

Snape led them both into the kitchen and pointed at the table. Harry and Draco sat down as
Snape silently left the kitchen and stormed up the stairs, his footsteps crashing against the
steps.

“How much trouble are we in, then?” he whispered nervously as the sound of someone
loudly rummaging through a cupboard echoed through the small house. It sounded like Snape
was cursing under his breath, and Harry winced. He was really going to lose it on them…
Draco frowned as he propped his injured ankle up on a spare chair. “Why would we be in
trouble? We’re the ones who just got beaten up!”

“Then why is he angry?” Harry asked blankly.

“I am not angry at you, Harry!” Snape shouted exasperatedly from upstairs. Harry winced;
he’d forgotten how good the man’s hearing was. “Did you ever consider I might be angry at
the aforementioned gang that decided to use you and Draco as human punching bags?”

“Oh.”

Harry hadn’t, actually. The Dursleys were the masters of burying their heads in the sand
when Harry was beaten up by Dudley, so he wasn’t all that used to people caring about his
injuries.

“I know you are constantly engaging in some sort of mischief,” Snape continued as he
walked back down the stairs, “which normally results in my immense irritation. I would like
to clarify, however, that I am not angry with you every time I am angry.”

“Er - right.”

Snape placed something cold into Harry’s hand. It turned out to be some sort of ice pack.
“Hold that on your face for a minute.” He turned to Draco. “Your ankle is injured?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s broken.” Harry saw Draco wince as Snape started running a wand
along the side of his foot. A piece of parchment appeared in the air, which Snape snatched up
and read closely.

“Just a nasty sprain,” Snape reported. “Keep it elevated for the moment. Where else are you
hurt?”

“My face, obviously, and my stomach,” Draco said, gesturing vaguely to his torso. Snape
started running his wand along Draco’s stomach, and a quill began scribbling across the
parchment. Snape watched it, and nodded. “All bruising, nothing broken. I’ll apply a salve in
a moment.”

Snape shifted around to face Harry. “Now, onto you. What hurts? An honest account, please,
I know what you’re like.”

Harry bit back the instinctual response of ‘I’m fine’ and removed the ice pack from his face.
“Well, there’s this. Oh, and they kicked me in the side.”

He barely had a moment to prepare himself before the end of Snape’s wand was in his face.
“Desepticus.”

Harry yelped as the open cuts on his face stung and burned. “Can’t you warn me before you
do that?!”

“I will next time.” Snape’s hand suddenly started moving towards Harry’s face and he
flinched. Snape froze.
“I am just going to apply a healing salve to some of the open cuts so they stop bleeding,” he
explained in a very calm, level voice. Irritation surged up in Harry at the tone. He didn’t need
to be managed.

“It’s just because I can’t see,” he muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed. He’d gotten a little
better about the flinching, but being without his glasses left Harry feeling horribly vulnerable,
since he couldn’t see everything going on around him.

“I’ll fix your glasses in a moment, I just thought I should make it so you can actually wear
them first,” Snape said, putting a steadying hand under Harry’s chin as he dabbed something
that smelt of liquorice onto the cuts on Harry’s nose and lip. The hand was probably to stop
him from jerking away like an idiot again, he thought glumly.

“Oculus reparo,” Snape said, handing the glasses to Harry. He shoved them onto his face,
wincing as they touched the tender skin on the bridge of his nose, which was still slick with
the healing salve. Harry sighed with relief as the world immediately came into sharper focus.
He looked across the table and gasped slightly as he got a clear look at Draco’s bruised and
bloodied face for the first time. One of his eyes was almost completely swollen shut, and
blood was steadily trickling out of one nostril.

“Is it really that bad?” Draco asked fearfully, noticing his reaction and instantly hiding his
face with his hands.

"I don't know how you're going to get by anymore without those good looks," Harry said
with mocking solemnity, putting a hand over his heart.

“You’ll be fine,” Snape said briskly, pulling Draco’s hands away and repeating the same
healing process he’d performed on Harry, before also applying some sort of unidentifiable
potion to Draco’s stomach and ankle. Harry didn’t pay much attention, since his ribs were
really starting to hurt by now. Every time he inhaled, it was like a sharp knife stabbing him in
the side. He tried to take shallow breaths, but it didn’t help much.

Harry, of course, was just going to deal with it - not like he hadn’t had bruised ribs before,
growing up with Dudley - but Snape, of course, noticed. He finished up with Draco’s ankle,
ordered him to keep it elevated, and turned to Harry. “What side were you injured on?”

“The left.”

Snape pulled up Harry’s shirt and inhaled sharply. Harry looked down and realised his ribs
had already bruised to a brilliant, mottled purple. He ran his wand along Harry’s side, and he
struggled not to wince as it touched the tender skin. The text on Snape’s parchment glowed
blue, and he shook his head. “A fracture, as I suspected. Skele-Gro will take care of that.”

Harry pulled a face. “I’d rather deal with the fracture.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Snape rolled his eyes, flicked his wand, and a bottle flew into his
hand. He then summoned a glass, and began to pour the smoking yellow liquid into it. The
whole situation was somehow worse than it had been last year, since Harry now knew what
was coming.
“I thought Skele-Gro was only for regrowing bones,” he said a little desperately. “Can’t you
just heal it with your wand?”

“Skele-Gro can be used for a variety of bone-related afflictions,” Snape said. “I’m not a
qualified Healer, so I don’t like to use Episkey for ribs. They can be rather tricky. You don't
want a badly-grown bone fragment piercing the lung, after all.” He slid the glass across the
table to Harry. “Drink up.”

Despite Harry’s best efforts, he was unable to stop the coughing and spluttering as he choked
down the vile potion. It really burned, and the horrid aftertaste didn’t fade even after Harry
tried to wash it down with a glass of water. Snape somehow managed to procure a stick of
gum from somewhere, which helped a little. That was surprisingly considerate, especially
given that this was Snape. Madam Pomfrey had not been particularly sympathetic last year,
he recalled.

“You should be back to normal in a few hours,” Snape said, brushing off his hands.

“Really?” Harry said, surprised. “When I was regrowing the bones in my arm last year it took
all night!”

“Mending a fracture is a lot simpler than regrowing an entire arm’s worth of bones.” Snape
scowled rather fiercely. “I still don’t know what that utter buffoon Lockhart was thinking…”

“No one does,” Harry muttered. He half-expected a rebuke for insulting a professor, even if it
was a former one, but Snape actually nodded his agreement.

“Now, onto your assailants,” Snape said, staring down Harry and Draco. “Describe them, if
you please.”

Harry and Draco both quickly did so, and Harry passed on the name of the boy, Jim, who
Crooked Nose had begged for help after being attacked by the dog.

Snape’s expression darkened. “Ah, the local hooligans. I’m familiar with those particular
boys, I’ve had dealings with them in the past…” He pushed his chair back. “The two of you
are to rest upstairs while I deal with them.”

“Deal with them?” Harry asked a little nervously.

“Why can’t we come?” Draco complained. He had a slightly vindictive look on his face.
Harry was familiar with it after two years of hallway fights.

“Because you shouldn’t be walking,” Snape said pointedly, shooting a look at Draco’s injured
ankle. “At any rate, it would not be, ah… appropriate, to have the two of you attend.”

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked, suddenly overcome by visions of Snape deftly
hexing the boys, or chopping them up into potions ingredients.

“They’re terrified of me,” Snape said simply, rising to his feet. “I will simply… inform them
of how unwise a repetition of such behaviour, particularly with my wards, would be.”
There was a fleeting moment where Harry scoffed to himself - as if a stern talking to would
work on nasty thugs like those boys.

Then, he caught sight of Snape’s face.

Ever since the man had found out about the Dursleys, the usual horrid Potions Master Harry
was used to seemed to have faded away. The current Snape was calmer, less insulting, and
generally less intimidating than the man Harry was familiar with from Hogwarts. So, the
usual look of doom Snape wore at school coming back all at once was rather disconcerting.
Yes, Harry could definitely see how that furious glower would be intimidating to most
teenagers, even the ones that had beat him and Draco up…

It was still a little surprising to know that someone, especially Snape, was willing to defend
him, though. A warm glow seemed to spread in Harry’s chest, but he immediately shoved it
away. It was a very weird thing to be happy about, he reminded himself.

Even if he didn’t want to admit it, though, it was still nice.

“Enough of this chatting,” Snape said briskly. “We’ll adapt our evening plans to account for
this incident and get a takeaway instead. You two ought to rest.”

He pointed his wand at Draco, who shouted out as he was levitated into the air.

“No walking on that ankle!” Snape’s lips twitched slightly as Draco shrieked his protest.
Harry laughed as Draco floated through the hallway; it might have been a tad spiteful, but
Draco had also laughed when Snape had threatened to levitate Harry a few days ago, so he
thought it was karma.

“You’re also injured, Mr Potter,” Snape remarked, smirking at Harry. “Care to join him up
there?”

“No, no, I’m alright!” Harry said quickly. For a moment, he was worried Snape was going to
do it anyway, but quickly realised the man was simply teasing.

Snape. Teasing. It was a strange thing to realise, but not as unsettling as it might have been
before. Harry was finally starting to get used to all of this, he thought. He hurried along up
the stairs, trying to stifle his snickers at Draco’s continual shrieks of indignation, since
laughter was unsettling his prickling ribs.

Harry slipped into his room and sat on his bed while Snape at last put Draco down on the
opposite twin. He glowered up at Snape, who was still smirking slightly. “Both of you stay
here and rest. Believe me, I’ll know if you don’t. I should be back in under an hour.”

He shut the door moments later, and Harry heard the loud crack of Apparition echo out from
the hallway. Harry settled back against his pillow and stared at the ceiling mournfully. Snape
was going to doom him to rest forever at this rate…

“You know,” Draco remarked, “we got really lucky with that dog, didn’t we?”
“I know,” Harry said, remembering the loud growls and barks of the creature as it chased the
terrified boys away.

“I wonder why it came after them?” Draco said thoughtfully.

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe it smelled the blood or something?”

“Possibly. It did look like a stray.”

“Whatever the reason was, it saved us. It didn’t seem like they were gonna clear off anytime
soon…”

They fell into silence. Harry wondered for a moment why that dog had looked so oddly
familiar. He supposed that without his glasses, any dog would probably remind him of Aunt
Marge’s collection of awful hounds. They also liked to bite, after all…

“We’re not really going to lie here and do nothing, right?” Draco asked.

“Nope,” Harry said, sitting up with a wince. “I want a distraction from the Skele-Gro.”

“I don’t envy you,” Draco remarked, leaning on one elbow and watching Harry. “Maybe
that’s what Severus should do to those stupid Muggles - force-feed them Skele-Gro.”

“That would be amazing,” Harry said, running his tongue against the back of his teeth. Even
with the gum, he swore he could still taste the awful stuff. “Wouldn’t it hurt them, though, if
they aren’t injured?”

“Who cares?” Draco said. “And no, it wouldn’t. Skele-Gro only grows something if you have
a bone problem. It would just taste terrible.”

“I wonder what Snape is gonna do to them?”

“Oh, I hope he curses them.” Draco sighed, a daydreaming expression on his face. “He
knows a lot of Dark Magic, I think. Maybe he can permanently turn their ankles backwards
or something… oh, or he could make their flesh start to melt before their eyes -”

“Chess?” Harry asked abruptly, feeling the sudden need to stem the tide of Draco’s slightly
violent thoughts.

“Sure.”

As Harry shuffled over to get their chess sets out, he abruptly recalled an incident back in his
first year - fighting the troll with Ron and Hermione. The experience of toppling a ten foot
mountain troll had an odd bonding effect, and they’d all been friends ever since.

Something about the experience of a common enemy brought people together, even if the
common enemy was created by Draco Malfoy being an unaware idiot with no street smarts.
Harry still couldn’t believe that Draco had actually tried to defend him today. Draco might
claim that he hadn’t had a choice, but Harry knew the boy from before would have fled, no
matter what Snape would have had to say about it.
He had defended Harry like a friend. Something about that made him unable to stop smiling.
 Winds of Change
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“I should have known the two of you would disobey my instructions.”

Harry winced and turned around guiltily to meet Snape’s disapproving gaze. As usual, he’d
managed to enter the room without making a sound, defeating Draco and Harry’s plans to
jump up from the floor and away from the chess game they were engaged in when Snape
returned home.

Snape strolled over and examined the chessboard. He tutted. “My word, Draco. He’s
thrashing you.”

Draco scowled while Harry smiled to himself. It was still a little strange to him whenever
Snape actually paid him a compliment, but it became a little less foreign with every passing
day.

Snape waved his wand over the two of them, and a piece of parchment appeared from thin
air. He read it with pursed lips before nodding. “You appear to both be healing well. How are
you feeling?”

“Fine,” Draco said, rolling his ankle for effect.

“And you, Harry?”

“Fine.” The sharp pain of the fractured rib and the Skele-Gro had simply dulled to a slight
tenderness.

“Good.” Snape joined his hands together. “Those boys have been… taken care of.”

Ominous.

“What did you do?” Draco asked eagerly. “Did you curse them? Oh, did you poison them?”

Snape frowned. “You do realise everything you’ve listed is illegal, particularly when it comes
to a group of Muggles.”

“But did you do it?”

“Plausible deniability, Draco,” Snape drawled. “Do not incriminate yourself.”

Draco’s eyes gleamed. Harry stared between the two of them nervously. He didn’t think
Snape had just murdered a group of Muggle teenagers, but that phrasing shook Harry’s
confidence a little…
“Now, shall we order dinner? I have a series of menus the two of you can choose from if you
follow me.”

Snape swept from the room. Feeling a surge of excitement, Harry leapt out of bed, ignoring
the slight lingering prickle of pain in his side, and would have sprinted downstairs if not for
the slow, exacting pace Snape was taking ahead of him on the staircase. He shot Harry a
disapproving look, clearly having sensed Harry’s urge to run into the kitchen. Harry thought
he had the right to be excited, though. He had never been allowed in on the food when the
Dursleys ordered in. He didn’t even get leftovers, like he sometimes would with regular
meals, because Dudley would go to great lengths to finish up everything just to spite Harry.

Eventually, they reached the kitchen, where Snape started digging through a drawer and
retrieved a series of menus. He laid them out on the table. “Does Indian sound appealing to
the two of you?"

“It sounds lovely, Severus,” Draco said with a nod. He didn’t look too put-out by their change
of evening plans. Harry assumed it was because he was happy he didn’t have to enter a
Muggle-infested restaurant anymore.

“Harry?” Snape arched an eyebrow. “Is that alright with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Decide what you two would like, then,” Snape said, setting the menu onto the kitchen table.
Draco immediately began to rattle off names. Harry stared at the different dishes, but didn’t
have a clue where to start.

After a few moments, Harry awkwardly looked up at Snape and cleared his throat. “Er - do
you have any suggestions?”

Mercifully, Snape didn’t comment, other than to point a finger towards one of the meals.
“Chicken tikka masala tends to be well-liked.”

“Okay.”

“Do Muggles have poppadoms, Severus?” Draco asked.

“If a food isn’t somehow enchanted, it’s safe to assume Muggles have it,” Snape said. He
flicked his wrist, and their order began to write itself on a notepad.

“The only stuff I’ve come across that Muggles wouldn’t know are things like chocolate frogs,
honestly,” Harry chimed in, “and even Muggles have food shaped like animals. The only
difference is that theirs don’t move.”

“But what’s the point, then?” Draco asked, looking rather disappointed.

“Does there have to be a point?” Harry asked. “Like you can get chocolate bunnies in the
Muggle world at Easter. What’s not to love? Who cares if it can’t move?”
“Set the table, you two,” Snape said loudly, cutting off Draco’s brewing retort. “I’ll head
around the corner to pick up the food.”

Harry and Draco spent the duration of the time Snape was away debating the inherent point
of chocolate frogs and bunnies with far more vim and vigour than the topic probably
required. Still, it was very light-hearted bickering. Harry was starting to realise that he just
enjoyed arguing with Draco about things, even if it drove Snape spare.

For his sake, though, both of them did cut it off when the front door swung open as Snape
returned with their food.

To Harry’s immense delight, the chicken tikka masala was incredibly enjoyable. He paired it
with the poppadoms Draco thought Muggles didn’t have, as well as naan and pilau rice, all of
which Harry thought he couldn’t get enough of. Harry made a concentrated effort to stuff
himself, since the food was just so good. Snape, in his usual state of obsessiveness over
Harry’s eating habits, watched all of this approvingly. He even offered up some of his
chicken vindaloo to Harry when he saw him looking at it with interest. Harry was initially
reluctant, since he didn’t want to basically steal off Snape’s plate, but the man was very
insistent. In the end, one comment blew past all of Harry’s reservations.

“It may simply be too spicy for you,” Snape said. “You probably can’t manage.”

Harry scoffed indignantly and scooped a bit onto his spoon, pride wounded. “I can handle it!”

Harry, as it turned out, could not handle it. Eyes watering, he immediately downed an entire
glass of water, feeling as though he’d just eaten actual lava. Snape observed all of this with
obvious amusement, then proceeded to eat a mouthful without so much as flinching.

“How do you eat that and just not react at all?” Harry demanded. “I feel like my mouth’s on
fire!”

“You adjust over time. At any rate, I enjoy the burn.”

Harry, with a newly-developed respect for Snape’s heat tolerance, returned to his milder
curry. Draco observed him haughtily over his lamb bhuna, which, he said loftily, Harry would
not be allowed to try any of because he obviously had the spice palette of a toddler. Harry
glowered at him, retorted that Draco had the sharing capabilities of a toddler, and proceeded
to hog the rest of the garlic naan.

The following morning, the usual Prophet owl that arrived at breakfast to bring Snape the
paper was accompanied by a second, very familiar owl.

“Hedwig!” Harry said happily as she landed to one side of him. He unattached the letter on
her ankle, instantly recognising Ron’s spidery handwriting on the envelope, and ran a finger
over her feathers. “I missed you.”

Snape frowned at him. “I notice she’s been rather absent this last month? Why exactly is
that?”

“Er - well, since Ron’s been in Egypt and Hermione’s been in France, it takes her longer to
get places,” Harry lied. He thought it wasn’t smart to mention that he’d just sent Hedwig
away to stay with Ron, since he hadn’t trusted her safety around Snape and Draco in that
first, horrid week. Snape didn’t comment, but judging by the downward twist of his lips, he
knew something wasn’t quite right. Harry placed the letter from Ron in his pocket, ready to
read a little later.

“Now, you two need to finish packing your trunks today,” Snape said. “It’s only two days
until term starts, and your robes are everywhere, Draco! We’ll all be leaving for Diagon Alley
rather early tomorrow morning, and I don’t want to come back here to pick up misplaced
belongings.”

With a jolt, Harry realised that Snape was right. There were only two more days of the
holidays. What had seemed like a great stretch of time at Spinner’s End back at the start of
August had actually started slipping away quicker than he could have realised…

And as much as Harry loved Hogwarts, a slight air of anxiousness settled over him as Snape
continued to chide Draco for his scattered things. Harry tried his very hardest not to think too
much about the new, positive dynamic between him, Snape and Draco, but there was no way
to avoid it now - Harry really liked the change. Spinner’s End Snape was far preferable to
Hogwarts Snape, and the same applied to Draco. They’d reached a tentative equilibrium in
just the last few days, really, and things felt really comfortable. Harry didn’t want things to
start shifting.

But there was no way around it; Hogwarts would change things. Would Snape and Draco
revert back to their usual selves? Would Harry? Did everything they’d built these last few
weeks just dissolve when they all returned to school?

And the letter burning in his pocket was a stark reminder of that. Because of the self-imposed
lack of communication with his friends, Harry hadn’t dedicated much time towards thinking
about what Ron and Hermione would have to say about his new relationships with Snape and
Draco, mainly because Harry himself was still trying to get his head around it all.

And Snape was his unofficial guardian from now on. Harry was actually going to be living
with him for the foreseeable future. What would they think of that?

It weighed on Harry, he had to admit. He found himself becoming rather quiet and withdrawn
as he packed his belongings, which had scattered far and wide across Snape’s house, much
like Draco’s. As his trunk filled, he couldn’t help but feel like packing was writing the end to
a chapter he wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to end, and wasn’t that a complete shock?

Packing was a rather time-consuming activity, especially with Snape strictly supervising and
Draco constantly being around some corner or other, asking Harry a question or accusing him
of stealing some article of clothing or book. None of this was particularly conducive to
allowing Harry private time to read his mail, so he didn’t manage to get a moment alone to
open Ron’s letter until just after lunch.

Harry,

You must actually have the worst luck in the world! Living with Snape and Malfoy? That
sounds completely miserable. Good luck with that, I’m so glad I’m not you right now.

And yes, I’ve heard all about Malfoy and his parents. I was saving this news for when we
meet up again, but my dad was actually on the team that raided their house so I’ve got loads
of details! It’s absolutely mad! I’ll give you the summary now, though.

You know how the Malfoys are all Dark, and Dad’s been trying for years to get Lucius Malfoy
on something, but he just couldn’t prove anything. Anyway, he was really on the warpath this
time because of everything that happened with Ginny and that diary. After we found out
about that trapdoor to the basement and told him, he managed to get another search of
Malfoy Manor authorised, and they actually found something this time! It was some sort of
separate hidden room in the basement, Dad was the one to discover it and everything. The
whole place was absolutely stuffed with Dark artefacts, stuff that could net you decades in
Azkaban.

Problem was, one of the Malfoys - my bet’s on Mr Malfoy - used this Dark spell to try and
destroy the evidence. I think it was called Find Fynd Fiendfyre? It’s hard to spell, I’d never
heard of it before this. Dad didn’t want to go too much into it, but it’s super bad. It burned
their house to the ground and destroyed most of the evidence, but there was still some dodgy
stuff that survived the fire that the Ministry got them on, and they both got time for casting
the actual spell, since no one would fess up to it.

I think it’s karma for all the Malfoys! After what Mr Malfoy did to Ginny, he deserves to be
locked up for way longer than twenty years. He might be, too - Dad’s heard rumours in the
Ministry that they might be trying Lucius Malfoy for all the stuff he did as a Death Eater that
he claimed he was forced to do originally. It shouldn’t be too long before it gets announced in
the papers.

Our Malfoy will finally have to get off his high horse now, won’t he? The Ministry’s seized all
the Malfoy assets and money that survived the fire, so he’s even poorer than I am! The next
time he tries to make fun of my family or my robes, I’ll be ready to get right back at him. You
can use it against him too whenever you get this letter, especially if he’s being as much of a
massive git as you’re saying. I might send this with Errol instead of Hedwig, since you want
her to stay here, but I don’t think he could survive the flight. Anyway, let's make sure Malfoy
pays for everything he’s done.

Best of luck with those two! I hope you can keep your temper. It would make your life a hell
of a lot harder if you blew Snape up like that aunt of yours, even if it would be pretty funny to
see him floating around like a balloon.

Best,

Ron
Harry put the letter down next to him and sighed. Normally, mail from his friends never
failed to cheer him up, but this one had just had the complete opposite effect.

So, Dark magic and artefacts. That was why the Malfoys had gone to prison….

Harry really didn’t like Lucius Malfoy in particular, and thought he did deserve to be in
Azkaban. He was even happy that Mr Weasley had been the one to catch them. Harry just
couldn’t take the sort of vindictive pleasure in Draco’s misery that Ron was expecting him to
take, though. Just weeks earlier, if he’d received this letter, Harry would have been absolutely
gloating, he knew.

But, despite all of his determination for things to remain the same, they just hadn’t. He’d
personally witnessed how broken up Draco was over his parents’ imprisonment, and being
happy about some sort of Malfoy family downfall was just impossible when you’d witnessed
their son crying because his life as he knew it was forever changed. Even if Draco’s parents
deserved punishment, he was a victim in all of this. It really tamped down the urge to dance
around and celebrate.

That part about the Fiendfyre made Harry feel particularly uncomfortable. Draco’s house had
burned down? That was awful! Harry generally didn’t pay much attention to Draco’s
belongings, but after a morning full of packing, Harry had to admit it was quite weird that
almost everything Draco owned could fit in his Hogwarts trunk…

In the same way that Harry, who’d barely had any belongings to call his own before he’d
started at Hogwarts, could fit everything into his trunk. It was a startling parallel.

No wonder Snape had been so angry when he’d thought Harry had stolen the necklace that
had belonged to Draco’s mother. That really was all Draco had of her, since everything else
he’d ever owned had burned to a crisp…

And Harry really did understand why Ron was pleased. He knew perfectly well that Draco
would have mocked Ron mercilessly if he was in Draco’s shoes without a moment of
remorse, which Ron would never do without Draco starting it. He wasn’t trying to be cruel,
Harry knew.

But Harry, troublingly enough, really wished that all of this hadn’t happened to Draco.

He angrily shoved the letter to one side and stormed from the room. He felt oddly torn
between his best friend and his - well, whatever Draco was to him. And, once again, he’d just
been violently reminded of how much things were going to change when he got back to
school in ways he didn’t quite want to witness.

Harry spent the rest of the day in a terrible mood. He floated silently from room to room,
retrieving his belongings and not speaking to anyone. He gave Snape entirely one word
answers while they cooked together, and spent most of dinner gloomily pushing his food
around his plate and not looking at anyone. He felt decidedly downcast.

“Right, that’s enough,” Snape said once Draco, who had finished eating far more quickly
than Harry had, went back upstairs to continue packing. “Why are you in such a mood?”
“I’m not.”

“Well, if this is you in a good mood, I’d hate to see you annoyed,” Snape remarked.

“Am I not allowed to just be grumpy?” Harry asked exasperatedly.

“You aren’t generally prone to fits of purposeless adolescent moping,” Snape said, raising an
eyebrow. “There’s always a reason with you. Tell me.”

Harry sighed and ate a tasteless bite of chicken to try and buy himself some time. “Just
thinking about things.”

“What things?”

“Just… how it’s gonna be at school,” he said finally. That wasn’t entirely a lie, after all…

“Ah,” Snape said, lacing his fingers together. “I did wonder if you were going to bring that
up.”

Harry sighed and stared hard at his plate.

“Let’s discuss it, then,” Snape said briskly. “The relationship we had at Hogwarts was…
strained, to say the least.”

Understatement of the century, Harry thought, feeling rather disgruntled.

“I would like to assure you that my previous attempts to humiliate you will cease,” Snape
said. “As we have discussed, my perceptions of you have changed, so there was never a risk
of this happening again.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. Part of him still didn’t entirely believe Snape, but he wasn’t sure
what either of them could do about that before school started up.

“Apart from that, I do not think it would be wise to behave as though we are anything more
than a regular student and teacher,” Snape added. “We have spoken about how this
arrangement would be a far more convenient one if it was largely withheld from the general
public, so we ought not to give people the idea that we are particularly close. The Hogwarts
staff will know, as I presume Weasley and Granger also shall, but outside of those parties we
ought to limit the information.”

“Right,” Harry said with a nod. “Just… well, won’t people be suspicious of something if you
suddenly stop picking on me?”

“You vastly overestimate how much your peers pay attention,” Snape drawled.

Harry cleared his throat rather awkwardly. “Er - okay, then.”

“If you must come up with some excuse to a particularly nosy classmate, feign ignorance or
say you think that the Headmaster had a word with me, I suppose,” Snape said after a
moment. “I doubt it will be a problem. My plan is to largely let you get on with things, so if
you refrain from blowing things up or drastically ruining brews, we shouldn’t run into any
issues.”

Harry nodded again, but didn’t speak. He had a slightly sarcastic comment about his Potions
performance that he didn’t think it would be wise to voice, since he sensed Potions lessons
were still tender and uncharted territory for the two of them.

Harry still wasn’t entirely sure what approach he was going to take when it came to Potions
this year, actually. He automatically found it difficult, which meant he didn’t bother that
much with homework he was bound to fail at anyway, especially since Snape refused to give
him good marks when he hated Harry so much.

But if things really were different now, maybe Harry should put in a bit more effort to at least
get passable marks, even if he found Potions hard. After all, he didn’t particularly want to fail
a subject his… well, guardian was teaching. Besides, Snape had a habit of noticing traits of
Harry’s and determinedly wearing him down until they were fixed or addressed, and his poor
performance in Potions could very well end up being one of them if Harry wasn’t careful. He
really didn’t want to end up in some sort of Remedial Potions class.

Harry would probably give it more of a go than he usually did, at any rate.

“When we’re in public, I will switch back to Potter,” Snape added. “In private, such as in my
study or quarters, first names are appropriate, but we should otherwise maintain a level of
formality.”

“Right.” Harry thought about Snape’s wording for a moment and frowned. “Wait, your
study? Your quarters? Since when am I allowed there?”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “I do not plan to ignore you for an entire year. I do wish to check in
on you from time to time, especially since we’re living in the same place.”

“Oh.” Harry hadn’t really thought about things from that angle, truth be told. He supposed
that was another symptom of having the Dursleys for guardians. Harry largely pretended that
they didn’t exist during the school year, and they certainly didn’t bother to write him letters…

But Snape was actually invested in Harry’s wellbeing, as odd as it was. He didn’t ignore
Harry like his previous guardians had, so they actually could talk to each other. Harry
supposed it would be a bit odd if the two of them wrote letters to each other like everyone
else did when they were in such close proximity.

“You remember where my office is from the incident involving the flying car, I presume?”
Snape asked.

Harry nodded, trying to hide his wince at the reminder of the Ford Anglia. “More or less.”

“My quarters are located through there. You may seek me out whenever you wish.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “What if you’re busy?”

“Then I won’t answer the door, and you can come back at a different time,” Snape said
simply.

Right. Harry supposed that made sense. He was still having a bit of a hard time imagining
himself really going to Snape with issues, though. While Harry was a bit more willing to talk
to Snape when prompted than he had been a few weeks ago, Harry didn’t tend to seek him
out to talk. He was just used to dealing with things on his own. Besides, he’d be a bother.

“Does this alleviate some of your concerns, then?” Snape asked.

“Yeah, it does,” Harry said. “Thanks.”

“Eat up, then,” Snape ordered. Harry nodded and returned his attention to his meal, which
was actually a great deal easier when he wasn’t so preoccupied with his worries.

“Another thing,” Snape added suddenly. “You’re able to buy all of your school supplies
without my aid, I presume?”

Harry gave him a bemused look. “Yeah, obviously?”

“I simply wished to check, since you’ll be largely unsupervised tomorrow,” Snape said.

“I’ve got it,” Harry said again.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Be sure to behave yourself. Do not leave Diagon Alley, don’t
even look at Knockturn Alley, or you will face highly unpleasant consequences.”

“I wouldn’t anyway!” Harry said quickly. His ill-fated trip through the Floo network had
thoroughly disabused him of any desire to explore there.

“And you’re to be polite with the Weasleys,” Snape added. “Ensure you mind them.”

“I will.” Harry smiled to himself a little. It was odd to see Snape going all… well, parental
was the only word he could think of to describe it.

Snape frowned thoughtfully. “This has reminded me - what electives did you decide to take?”

“Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.”

Snape wrinkled his nose. “Divination? Really?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry demanded.

“I do not believe it is a subject that can be taught.” Snape flicked his wand, and Harry’s
empty plate began to scrub itself in the sink.

“Well, I’m being taught it.” Harry cocked his head. “What’s Draco taking, then?”

“Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. I believe the two of you will be sharing a class
for the latter.”
“Huh.” Harry wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. His knowledge of how Draco
behaved in lessons consisted of Draco in Potions, which had always been a particular brand
of horrible…

How would Draco be in lessons now, away from Snape’s sharp reprimands and surrounded
by a gaggle of vindictive Slytherins who were more than happy to support his every ill-
mannered remark? If they even did that, of course… Harry hadn’t entirely forgotten the angry
missive from Pansy Parkinson, as well as the apparent falling-out with Crabbe and Goyle that
had been revealed in it.

“If you’re at all concerned, I’d like to believe Draco will continue to behave himself at
Hogwarts,” Snape chimed in, tracing the route of Harry’s thoughts.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“He knows he’ll have me to answer to if he doesn’t,” Snape said smoothly. “Feel free to tell
me if he does anything untoward. I will happily, ah… mediate.”

As Harry wasn’t a snitch he certainly would not be taking Snape up on that, but he hoped
Draco did stay in line. As much fun as lighthearted bickering could be, the more unpleasant,
proper fights just weren’t enjoyable when Harry knew they had the capacity to be civil with
one another.

“Why don’t you go upstairs and see if he’d like to do something with you? It’s your last
evening together, after all.”

Snape phrased it as a suggestion, but Harry knew it was more of an order. He nodded and
headed out of the kitchen, pleased to be feeling a great deal less ill-tempered than he had
upon entry. While he was still a bit worried about how everything was going to turn out,
Harry at least felt a little more reassured that things weren’t going to go too horribly wrong.

He walked into the bedroom rather cheerfully, and saw Draco was sitting on his bed. Harry
smiled at him. “Fancy a game of chess?”

Draco didn’t respond immediately. Harry took a closer look at him and realised he was
holding a letter. Ron’s letter.

“What are you doing, reading my mail?” Harry demanded irritably.

“Oh, that’s the problem here?” Draco said in a shaky voice. He crumpled up the letter in his
fist and threw it to the ground. His face was stark and white, and Harry felt something in his
stomach lurch unpleasantly as the contents of Ron’s letter came flooding back to him.

“You know, I really thought you were different now, Potter,” Draco hissed. “Clearly I was
wrong. You just wanted to gossip about me with your stupid friends! This whole time, I
thought -” Draco cut himself off and glared at Harry. “I should have known better than to
trust a stupid Gryffindor like you!”

“Draco, I -”
 “Shut up!” Draco hissed. His eyes were narrowed and stormy. “I don’t want to hear any of
your fake excuses when you’ve just been having a right laugh about my problems with the
Weasel. I bet you thought it was dead funny that I lost my parents, and my home -”

“I don’t!” Harry said desperately. “Draco, I asked him ages ago, I promise -”

“And what in Merlin’s name is this stuff about the trapdoor?” he demanded. “How did either
of you hear about that?!”

All of Harry’s platitudes died on his tongue. He could not, under any circumstances, tell
Draco about the Polyjuice! What was he supposed to say?

He winced and stared at Draco for a long time before attempting a response, mouth dry.
“Look, it’s just a letter, don’t -”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Draco’s voice was cold with fury. “Have it your way, Potter. We
don’t have a truce, we’re not friends, and I will never, ever trust you again. Don’t speak to
me, don’t even look at me. You’re a right bellend, and I want nothing to do with you.”

He roughly shouldered past Harry and stormed out of the bedroom. Harry heard the bathroom
door slam shut. He stared into the gloomy hallway, feeling a little bit like he’d just had the
wind knocked out of him. Harry was all too familiar with the act of hiding how upset you
were behind an exterior of anger, and that was what Draco had clearly been doing. He was
hurt. There was no mistaking it, even if he was trying to seem highly aggrieved. Draco was
genuinely upset by what he’d read in that letter…

Even though it was none of his bloody business. Despite how wretched and guilty he was
feeling, Harry still thought he had the right to be a little irritated. That was his private mail,
and Draco shouldn’t have been reading through it if he didn’t want to potentially come across
things that could upset him.

But even as Harry tried to convince himself of that fact, he couldn’t stop the overwhelming
feeling of regret. As much as he’d wanted to know what on earth was going on with Draco's
family, he hadn’t wanted answers to come at the cost of their budding rapport. Harry didn’t
dare try and explain himself, though. Draco seemed far too angry to listen to reason at the
minute, and Harry was still slightly wary of the possibility of getting something lobbed at his
head when Draco's temper got the best of him.

But Harry wasn’t even sure if a calm Draco would be able to get over this, based on that
explosive reaction. He felt like he’d been holding something very precious but very fragile in
his hands, and one mistake had broken it beyond repair. Harry just thought it was a right
shame that he hadn’t realised the extent to which he cared about what he and Draco had until
it was forcefully ripped from him with no opportunity for its return...

Chapter End Notes

-cackles and rubs hands together - as if I could just let them be happy! Nope lol

As you may have noticed we will now be moving away from Spinner's End and to
Hogwarts, but don't worry! There will still be a ton of Snape, Harry and Draco
interactions. I have plans in store ;) Anyway, I hope you've all been enjoying this! If yes
please let me know, I always love a review!
 The First Goodbye

Breakfast hadn't been this stifled and awkward since Harry's first week at Spinner's End.
Harry remained quiet and withdrawn, feeling rather depressed about the fight from the
previous evening. Draco had spent most of last night locked in the bathroom, and had refused
to speak to Harry when he at last emerged. He was almost impressively good at the silent
treatment; Harry practically felt invisible.

Draco had a way of making his foul moods known to all, and his scowl was practically
beaconing out his misery and fury that following morning. He was glowering at both Harry
and Snape, which was thoroughly unpleasant. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't summon up the
familiar old irritation that Draco’s sullen mood would normally trigger, because he knew
Draco too well, now. He could see the hurt beneath the glare, and all he felt in response was
shame.

Harry assumed Snape was just used to Draco's various moods by now, since he just left the
other boy to his sulking and spent breakfast quizzing Harry on what he had and hadn't
packed, reminding him to pick up all of the correct books in Diagon Alley, and other
nonsense that felt far too parental for Harry's liking. He clearly hadn't realised that Draco's
sullenness wasn't one of his typical bad moods, but the result of a more significant conflict.

And as much as Harry tried to convince himself that Draco was being ridiculous, that he
hadn't even bothered to ask Harry about the letter before jumping to conclusions, he still felt
the overwhelming urge to apologise, to make things right. That was certainly strange, since
this was Draco Malfoy. Harry shouldn't value his company at all…

But he did.

And even more strangely, he was actually glad that Snape didn't know why Draco was upset
today. Harry was worried he'd be disappointed that Harry had sent that nosy letter, or with
him over Ron -

Since when did Harry care about disappointing Snape? The world really had gone mad…

But whether or not it had, Harry knew two things. One, he had to explain the truth to Draco,
because he cared enough about their fragile friendship to actually fight for it, and two, he
needed to have that conversation without Snape around, because Harry didn't think he could
bear the man's disappointment if what had really happened was revealed.

But at Spinner's End, at the very least, it seemed as though that private conversation was not
meant to be. Snape followed Harry and Draco upstairs while Harry threw a couple of last-
minute things into his trunk, and levitated his belongings downstairs. Harry picked up
Hedwig’s cage, gave her an Owl Treat, and turned to Snape. "Can owls go through the Floo?"

Draco let out a derisive snort, and Snape shook his head. "No. At any rate, Draco can't Floo.
We're taking the Knight Bus instead."
Draco can't Floo? That seemed rather odd, and judging by Draco's furious glare, he wasn't
too happy with Snape for mentioning it. Harry frowned, and saved it to contemplate later.

Snape shrank their trunks and placed them in his pocket while Harry took one last look
around the house. It felt a lot less dark and intimidating than it had when he’d first arrived.
Harry still vividly remembered standing here on the doorstep with Snape threatening him into
behaving not one month ago. He'd known where he stood with Snape back then, at the very
least. Mutual hatred. Things had really changed in such a short stretch of time…

He caught sight of Draco's furious face and grimaced. Maybe they hadn't, and all had been
for naught.

They walked over the threshold and onto the pavement, where Snape extended his wand arm.
The Knight Bus appeared moments later, screeching to a halt next to them. Snape was
scowling at it fiercely, while Draco had his nose wrinkled.

Stan Shunpike leapt from the bus in his purple conductor’s uniform. “Welcome to the -”

He abruptly made a strangled squeaking noise and flinched back, eyes fixed on Snape. Stan
looked absolutely terrified, and he had gone a stark white under his pimples. His mouth was
opening and closing like a goldfish.

“Mr Shunpike.” Snape nodded, lips twisted into a sneer. “Passage for three, please.”

“Y-Yes, Professor,” Stan stammered, taking the coins from Snape with shaky hands. “Where
to?”

“The Leaky Cauldron.”

“Right…”

He quickly ushered them on board. In his state of absolute panic, Stan hadn’t even realised
Harry was there. He didn’t even glance at Harry or his scar once as they travelled to the
Leaky Cauldron. Instead, Stan spent the bumpy journey staring down Snape, looking like he
was ready to be sick. Snape, in return, sneered right back at him. The tension was thick in the
air, and Harry was rather relieved to alight from the bus.

As the triple decker screeched away, Snape shook his head. "Irritating little boy."

"What's your problem with Stan?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. He felt a little defensive
on Stan's behalf.

Snape's scowl deepened. "While he was at Hogwarts, a particularly enthusiastic explosion of

his burned all of my hair off. It took a week to find the correct antidote."

Harry immediately imagined a bald, slightly smoking Snape and had to struggle against a
snort as they walked into the Leaky Cauldron. He flattened his fringe over his scar, hoping to
avoid any unwanted attention.
"Let's drop your belongings in your room," Snape said in a low voice, inclining his head in
the direction of the staircase. Harry followed him up to a room a few doors down from the
one he'd stayed in after running away from the Dursleys. Snape resized his trunk while Harry
placed Hedwig's cage down.

"Everything has been paid for, so all you need to remember is to drop the key back with Tom
tomorrow morning," Snape explained.

"Thanks," Harry said. He was glad he didn’t have to figure all of this stuff out himself for
once.

"I believe I spotted the Weasleys downstairs as we came in. Shall we go and meet them?"

"Er - you don't have to hang around if you want to go on," Harry said, awkwardly scratching
the back of his head. "I don't want to be a bother -"

"I need a word with Molly and Arthur before we split off," Snape said in a tone that beggared
no argument. Harry simply nodded and followed Snape back out of his room, wondering
what he and the Weasleys would even have to talk about.

"I'll run on ahead, Severus," Draco said as they walked down the hallway, raising his nose
into the air haughtily. "I have business to attend to, and I'd rather not interact with the likes of
those awful Weasleys."

Harry glared at Draco, who glared right back before shouldering past Harry and through the
Leaky Cauldron, leaving Harry and Snape behind. Snape, somewhat surprisingly, didn't
reprimand Draco for his rudeness. Harry shot him an annoyed look which Snape completely
ignored.

Harry had barely made it down the stairs before he was hit headlong by a whirlwind of bushy
hair.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "It's so good to see you!"

"Hermione! I didn't know you were coming, too!" Harry beamed at Hermione as she pulled
back.

"Mum and Dad dropped me off with all my Hogwarts things this morning, so I’m going to
King’s Cross with you and the Weasleys.”

Hermione gestured to Ron, who looked far more freckly than usual after his travels in Egypt.
He tried to smile at Harry, but it came out rather strangled. "Er - hey, mate. Good to see you!"

"Hi?" Harry wondered what Ron's issue was. Moments later, he realised his friend wasn't
actually looking at him, but at a point slightly over Harry's shoulder. His eyes were wide and
concerned. Harry turned around to check what Ron was looking at, and realised Snape was
currently speaking to the elder Weasleys in low, muttered tones. The three of them
occasionally cast sidelong glances in Harry's direction, and all of them were frowning. Harry
grimaced. Was Snape telling them about the Dursleys or something? Snape had said they
were trying to keep his new custody arrangement quiet, but did the Weasleys fall under the
umbrella of people who needed to know? Harry hoped not - it would be embarrassing if they
found out about the Dursleys…

To be fair, Harry thought the Weasleys already had the general impression that all wasn't well
at Privet Drive. To Harry's immense relief, though, they never explicitly addressed it like
Snape did. He could reluctantly admit that there was a time and a place for confronting those
sorts of problems, which was where Snape came in, but the Weasleys always gave Harry that
little extra bit of normality that he desperately craved. He was still expected to get stuck in
with de-gnoming the garden, and always got involved with the friendly bantering between the
Weasley siblings.

And they did their best to fix the problems they knew about. Mrs Weasley always served
Harry extra servings at dinner, while Mr Weasley had assured him that he was always
welcome at the Burrow almost every day last summer. That truly meant something to him.

Yes, Harry greatly appreciated the Weasleys, although currently all of them except Mr and
Mrs Weasley were staring at Snape with expressions of utter horror. Ron still looked like he
was sucking on a lemon, while Fred, George and Ginny wore matching expressions of
repulsion. Even Percy, suck-up to all teachers including Snape, looked slightly uncomfortable
with the Potions Professor speaking to his parents.

Harry gave Ron a slightly sheepish look. "Yeah. That happened."

"How are you even alive?" Ron whispered, awe-struck. Harry couldn't help but snort a little,
amused by the look of shock on his friend's face.

"Was it alright?" Hermione asked worriedly. "You look alright. Are you?"

"I am, actually," Harry said with a small smile. "It wasn't all that bad."

Ron's eyebrows furrowed. "Snape’s Confunded you, hasn't she?"

"I’m not Confunded!" Harry laughed, shoving Ron.

"Imperiused then."

"I am actually fine, Ron!" he stressed, trying to think of a way to put everything that had
happened over the last few weeks in a way that wouldn't make him sound completely mental.
It was a bit difficult, since Harry himself couldn't quite puzzle out how he felt or where he
and Snape stood. He wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gone from hating each other to whatever
this current situation was, he just knew that they had.

"He's been quite decent to me, actually," Harry said finally. It was the truth, after all, and the
one word Harry couldn't think of that summed up how he felt.

Ron shook his head with an air of deep solemnity. "It's finally happened. You've well and
truly lost your marbles."
"Oh, stop it, Ron!" Hermione said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. "If Harry says he's fine,
then I'm sure he is."

"It's alright," he said with a shrug. "It's all been a bit mad, honestly…"

"Harry."

He spun around and realised that Snape had managed to appear behind him, Ron and
Hermione without making a sound. Harry always hated when he did that, since it was
incredibly creepy.

"I shall be going into Diagon Alley to complete some shopping of my own,” Snape said. “I
will stay in London until three, so feel free to find me if you require something.”

"Alright," Harry said with a nod.

"Stay close to the others and do not wander off on your own," Snape said sharply. "I'll know
if you do."

Harry nodded again, running a finger over the grooves of the runes on his tracker. Snape
would know, wouldn’t he?

"I'll see you at Hogwarts, then," Snape said briskly. "Goodbye."

"Bye." Just as Snape turned around to leave, Harry blurted out, "And thank you. For - er, for
everything."

As Snape's eyes connected with his, Harry tried to convey with his face how much he really
did appreciate everything Snape had done for him that last month. He'd made more of an
effort for Harry than any other adult had for his entire life, and that really meant something to
him.

Snape seemed to understand this. He nodded at Harry and pressed his lips together in an
expression that almost looked like a smile. "There is no need to thank me."

And with that, he was gone.

Harry turned around, trying to push down the uncomfortable sense of finality he'd gotten
from that conversation. Ron and Hermione were both staring at him with their mouths
hanging open. Harry could hear Snape's voice in the back of his mind: 'A re you trying to
catch flies?' His lips quirked.

"What was that?" Ron demanded.

"Did he just call you Harry?" Hermione added, visibly shocked.

"And did he smile? He can do that?!"

"Like I said. He's been weirdly decent."

"Pinch me, Fred," George said, coming up from behind and dramatically placing a hand on
his chest. "I think I must be dreaming."

"Me too, George, me too," Fred said solemnly. "Why else would Harry call the greasy git
decent?"

Hermione, Ron and Ginny all laughed. Harry tried to force a chuckle, but he felt strangely
uncomfortable. That was strange. Normally he'd be joking around about Snape right along
with them…

"Tell us everything!" George demanded.

"Did he test potions on you?" Fred asked.

"Did you ever see him eat garlic, by any chance?"

"Or step into direct sunlight?"

“Drink blood?”

"What do his quarters look like?"

"It must have been miserable spending a whole month in the dungeons!"

"Oh, he doesn't actually live there during the holidays," Harry said, relieved to finally have a
question he felt comfortable answering. "I was at his house."

Unfortunately, judging by the expressions on Fred and George's faces, this had just opened
him up to even more of an interrogation. Thankfully Mrs Weasley swooped in moments later,
saving Harry from further questioning. She patted his arm and smiled. "It's wonderful to see
you, dear."

"Nice to see you too, Mrs Weasley."

“Why don’t you three head out into Diagon Alley?” Mrs Weasley said, ushering Fred, George
and Ginny away. She pointed a finger at Ron’s pocket. "Ron, you need to go and get that rat
looked at."

"Should we head over to the Magical Menagerie, then?” Ron asked them.

“Oh, that would be good - I’ve been thinking about buying an owl,” Hermione said. “My
parents gave me some money for an early birthday present.”

“Now, you have to tell us absolutely everything, Harry!" Ron said as they headed out of the
Leaky Cauldron.

"Maybe in a minute," Harry muttered, glancing at Ron's siblings. They were all trailing
vaguely behind, while Mrs Weasley shot out instructions at each of them, clutching onto a
pile of book lists. Harry did want to tell his friends about everything that had happened with
the Dursleys but he didn't want Ron's siblings to overhear, especially since Snape had
specifically told him to keep his new living situation quiet with everyone except his closest
friends. They already knew he’d stayed with Snape for the summer, and that was all they
needed to know.

Luckily, Ron and Hermione seemed to sense this. They'd always been good about knowing
when to keep Harry's secrets. Instead of continuing on with the Snape questions, Hermione
deftly changed the subject and started talking about the history of witchcraft in France. Harry
smiled to himself and exchanged a knowing look with Ron.

As they left the Magical Menagerie, Harry reflected that it was almost impressive how
quickly his friends had found something to argue about.

"That thing tried to scalp me, Hermione!" Ron said indignantly. "Why the hell did you buy
that monster?"

"He's not a monster!" Hermione protested, stroking the purring ginger cat in her arms.
"Crookshanks is lovely!"

Harry had to side more with Ron there. Crookshanks was one extraordinarily ugly, angry cat.
He was currently glaring at Ron with his lamp-like yellow eyes.

"He tried to eat Scabbers!" Ron said irritably, holding the rat close to his chest.

"He's a cat! That's what cats do!"

Harry rolled his eyes and started to tune out the bickering. He wondered for a moment if this
was what he and Draco sounded like to Snape when they argued. All of a sudden he had a lot
more sympathy for the man.

He'd still not had a chance to talk to Malfoy, Harry had realised, but now he wasn't sure if he
particularly cared. He’d spent the last twelve hours on the receiving end of the silent
treatment, and that rude comment about the Weasleys had helped Harry feel a little less
ashamed. No, Harry was not going to feel guilty, especially when Malfoy was being such a
stroppy prat and wouldn’t even give Harry a chance to explain himself! If he wanted to feel
sorry for himself, fine, but he wasn’t going to make Harry’s life miserable, too.

“Harry?” Ron nudged him. “You alright there?”

“Yeah, fine.” He shook himself. “Wool gathering. Sorry. Should we go to Flourish and Blotts
now, then?”

“Dangerous plan, mate,” Ron said, shooting a sidelong glance at Hermione. “We’ll never
leave!”
“Oh, be quiet!” Hermione said, glaring at the snickering Ron. “That’s why I left the bookshop
for last, I’ll have you know.”

“Maybe we should go to Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlour after,” Harry said thoughtfully
as they strolled through Diagon Alley. “I want to try more of their flavours.”

“Impossible,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “There’s just too many! Charlie’s been
trying to taste them all for years - he used to spend all his pocket money on it - but he just
can’t manage it. They update too often.”

“Harry, look!” Hermione nudged his shoulder and pointed to the left. Harry glanced up and
saw Snape’s black-cloaked figure disappearing into the apothecary.

“He did say he was going to be here until three,” Harry reminded them, recalling the
conversation from earlier.

“Can you tell us a bit more about it, then?” Ron asked as they entered Flourish and Blotts. He
and Harry both trailed behind Hermione, who seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge
of the bookstore layout and easily started locating their textbooks for the upcoming year.

“You said it wasn’t too bad?” Hermione prompted from behind a gradually growing stack of
books.

“Er - yeah,” Harry said. “Well. The first week was awful, but then things got better. I… well,
I ran away at one point, actually, which is when things started improving.”

“You did what?” Ron’s jaw dropped. “How can you say Snape was decent if he made you
pull a runner?!”

“Well, he and I sort of came to an understanding after that,” Harry said, shrugging his
shoulders. “That was when it all got better, so…”

“But weren’t you in lots of trouble for leaving?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. “I can’t
imagine Professor Snape would have taken that very well!”

“Mum would kill me if I ran off one night without telling her where I was going, you know,”
Ron added. Harry did know, as he remembered the explosive way in which Mrs Weasley had
reacted when they walked into the Burrow after Ron and the twins had rescued Harry from
the Dursleys.

“To be honest, he let me off pretty lightly, all things considered,” Harry said, running a finger
along the silver bangle. He wondered if Snape would finally take the stupid thing off once
they were back at school… Harry doubted it, somehow.

“Are you sure he actually let you off lightly?” Ron asked, giving him a slightly worried look.
“You might have that thing kidnapper’s victims have - what is it? Stocky Syndrome or
something -”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” Hermione corrected. “And that’s not applicable here, it’s when
people fall in love with their captors.”
“Eugh!” Harry pulled a face. “I did not fall in love with Snape, you’ll be happy to know.
Bloody hell, Ron!”

Ron and Hermione started laughing, and Harry rolled his eyes. “And no, I didn’t get in
trouble at all, really. It was his and Malfoy’s fault I ran away to begin with, so…”

“I completely forgot about Malfoy!” Ron looked to Harry eagerly. “He was probably even
worse than Snape! How did you bear it?”

“Badly,” Harry grumbled. He was still smarting from last night’s fight. “We kept fighting and
arguing the whole summer. It is Malfoy, after all. He’s always been a poncey little git.”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “I don’t know how I’d have managed an entire
month with him. I’m sorry, Harry.”

“So am I,” he muttered.

“Did you hear all the stuff that happened with his parents, Hermione?” Ron asked. Harry
stiffened, and busied himself with getting the coins out of his pocket to pay as the queue to
the tills shuffled forwards.

Hermione nodded. “I’ve got a subscription to the Daily Prophet, and it was all detailed in
there.”

“One of you could have told me,” Harry grumbled. “I didn’t hear any of this!”

“I was saving it for when I saw you in person,” Ron said. “Dad knows loads about it, since he
was there doing the raid when it all went down.”

“Tell me more, then!” Hermione said eagerly. “The papers weren’t nearly as detailed as I’d
have liked!”

“So, it was Dad and this team of DMLE Hit Wizards,” Ron said in a low, dramatic voice.
“Lucius Malfoy knew about the raid, and he was standing to the side, looking all smug and
stuff. He thought they weren’t going to find anything - of course, Dad found that hidden
room. Apparently, it reeked of Dark magic. Like it was just rolling off it in waves, you didn’t
even have to look at the objects. That’s when Malfoy attacked.”

Hermione gasped. “Mr Malfoy attacked your father?!”

“He didn’t actually manage to get a curse in - the Hit Wizards got to him before then and
disarmed him,” Ron explained. “Dad was just about to start cataloguing all the stuff when
there was this massive explosion - someone cast Fiendfyre inside the house, and it wrecked
the place in seconds! He said he barely managed to get out of the Manor in time, same with
Malfoy and his mum!”

“Draco was inside?” Harry asked suddenly, feeling strangely alarmed.

“Yeah, he was upstairs with his mum,” Ron said. He frowned. “Since when do you call him
Draco?”
“Er - weird rule of Snape’s,” Harry said quickly. “How did he get out, then?”

Ron shrugged. “Who cares? I think his mum did something. They arrested her, too, straight
away. The Dark Artefacts were in her basement, after all. Malfoy didn’t get in any trouble,
which I think is a right shame. The Malfoys are all as rotten as each other, and you remember
how he told us about the trapdoor when we were Crabbe and Goyle, right? He obviously
knew about everything! I bet he was in on it somehow…”

Hermione nodded in agreement, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than
stare blankly at the two of them. The image of Draco, face tearstained as he shouted that he
wasn’t a criminal, felt branded into Harry’s mind. He shifted uncomfortably. Just one month
ago, Harry would have been nodding along with Ron and Hermione as they disparaged
Malfoy, taking vindictive pleasure in his circumstances, but he knew too much about Draco
now. It didn’t have any appeal. In fact, he almost wanted to tell Ron and Hermione to stop
it…

Harry ground his teeth and paid for his books quickly, feeling strangely annoyed at himself.
He didn’t want to feel sorry for Malfoy right now, he wanted to remain righteously irritated
about their fight!

“So what did Malfoy tell you about his parents and the fire, Harry?” Hermione asked after all
their books were taken care of. She was quite eagle-eyed, and had probably noticed his
reaction to Ron’s words.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Harry muttered. “Dra - Malfoy obviously wouldn’t talk to me about
anything.” Harry grimaced at the lie, but he couldn’t pass on the things Draco had told Harry
in the park on the day they’d been beaten up. That would be really wrong. “Snape won’t talk
to me about it, either.”

Which, now that Harry thought about it, was actually quite unfair. Draco knew a frankly
ridiculous amount about the Dursleys because Snape had gone on that rant at Dumbledore,
and Harry still barely knew anything about Draco’s life! Couldn’t Snape have evened up their
situations a bit? The anger Harry was feeling only grew, particularly towards Draco. He was
really bloody nosy, wasn’t he? Not only did he read Harry’s mail, which was what had caused
this whole nightmare in the first place, he’d also eavesdropped and found out everything
about Harry’s horrid family! He hadn’t given Draco the silent treatment for doing that, had
he? Draco should suck it up over that letter already! Harry ground his teeth, feeling
remarkably cross.

Ron groaned. “Missed opportunity, mate.”

“I know,” Harry grumbled, the anger towards Draco that had been growing all day reaching a
fever pitch. “It’s the only thing that would have made spending time with Malfoy worth it.
He’s a complete pillock, you know. I’m bloody glad to be shot of him now…”

Harry walked past a column of books as he and his friends made their way over to the exit of
Flourish and Blotts, and suddenly caught a glimpse of white blonde in his peripheral vision.
He jerked his head to the side just in time to see Draco storming around the corner, ducking
his head low. He’d almost certainly just overheard everything Harry had just said about
him…

Harry very suddenly wished he’d never spoken at all. The anger dropped out in an instant,
replaced with something more shameful.

Hermione noticed him watching Draco and winced. “I think he heard.”

“Yeah…”

“Malfoy’s going to be even worse than usual this year, I think,” Hermione said with a sigh.
“His parents being in Azkaban is bound to make him even more horrid…”

But it didn’t need to be that way, Harry realised with a surge of misery. After those Muggles
had beaten him and Draco up, it had felt like they were establishing a tentative sort of
camaraderie. Things could have been so different this year…

But of course, Harry had gone and screwed it all up. He felt oddly ashamed, and the guilt
seemed to strengthen further as his friends sat in the ice cream parlour, still gossiping about
Malfoy. Harry wanted to join in, since he just wanted things to be normal, but nothing could
go back to the way it was. Harry knew Snape was never going to go back to the horrid
bullying git he’d once been, and Malfoy similarly wasn’t going to revert back to being the
one-dimensional arse Harry had once known. Every time Harry tried to conjure up the
familiar old hatred, all he could think about was Draco slumped in Snape’s arms and crying
after he’d thrown that ornament, or Draco curled in on himself at the edge of the fair, chest
heaving, or he and Draco holding each other up as they walked back after getting beaten to a
pulp by those Muggles…

Harry poked at his ice cream sundae, stirring it into a tasteless soup. He’d been so excited
about it earlier, but the general misery he was experiencing had robbed him of his appetite.
He could hear Snape growling in the back of his head - emotional upset should not be an
excuse to starve yourself ! - but that only served to make Harry feel worse.

Hermione nudged him, her eyes crinkled with concern. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, staring into his lap.

“Harry…” Her voice was hesitant, and she was wringing her hands in her lap. “If Snape did
anything bad to you while you were living with him, you can tell us, you know.”

Harry’s head shot up abruptly. “Sorry, what?”

Ron grimaced. “He is Snape, mate. I know you’re saying he was decent, but if you’re just
saying that -”

“I wouldn’t just say that,” Harry interrupted. “He actually was alright with me.”

“Well, Harry…” Hermione said timidly. “I just… well, your perspective of what’s bad might
be a bit skewed since… you know.”
Harry barely managed to hold back a hysterical little laugh. He was fairly certain Snape had
also said that the Dursleys had given Harry a skewed perspective at some point or another! If
only Hermione knew…

“If he did anything to you, we can go to McGonagall, or Dumbledore, or even my parents!”

Ron said rather fiercely. “He shouldn’t get away with mistreating you -”

“Anymore than he already did last year?” Harry snorted. The teachers at Hogwarts certainly
hadn’t bothered themselves about Snape before he’d changed. Harry couldn’t believe
Dumbledore would suddenly give a damn, even if Snape had been beating him nightly.

“Look, I get you’re worried,” Harry said, “but he didn’t do anything to me. He didn’t hurt me
or anything, and he wasn’t even all critical and vicious like he is in Potions! When I say he
was alright, I mean it, as baffling as that is.”

And he helped me. He played chess with me, and helped me with my accidental magic, and
got me away from the Dursleys.

Harry shook himself. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to tell his friends about
what Snape had done in regard to the Dursleys just yet. If they were reacting like this already,
Harry could only imagine how they’d react to finding out Harry was living with the man
indefinitely. Besides, he needed a bit more time to mull things over himself before he told
anyone.

“Harry…” Hermione said slowly, “what about the things Snape didn’t do? If he was standing
by and letting Malfoy bully you -”

“He didn’t let Malfoy bully me,” Harry said irritably. Well - after the first week, at least.
“He’s really strict with Malfoy, actually. He didn’t let anything slide.”

“Well…” Hermione still looked doubtful. “If you insist it was fine -”

“It was,” Harry assured her. “Look, if there was a problem, I’d tell you, okay? Besides, none
of it matters now. We’re going back to Hogwarts!”

“That’s true,” Hermione said, cheering up a little. “Oh, I’m so excited for the new courses!”

“How many are you taking again?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Divination and Care of Magical Creatures, like the two of you, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy,
of course, Muggle Studies -”

Ron snorted. “Muggle studies? Your parents are Muggles!”

Hermione examined him rather haughtily and tossed her head. “I thought it might be
interesting to see them from a wizarding perspective!”

“So when are you actually planning to eat or sleep this year, then?” Harry asked. Hermione
sighed exasperatedly, while Harry and Ron both smiled at each other knowingly.
Harry had forgotten how enjoyable it was to spend time with the Weasleys. Swept up in the
crowd of loud, chattering redheads, it was easy to forget his troubles with Snape and Draco
and just enjoy himself as Fred and George poked fun at Percy, or as Ron and Hermione
caught him up on their summers. Mr and Mrs Weasley didn’t seem quite themselves, though,
and were rather preoccupied for the whole of dinner by a copy of the Prophet detailing the
latest on Sirius Black, who still hadn’t been caught.

Ron followed Harry’s gaze as he stared at the newspaper and eyed his father thoughtfully.
“Say, would the person who caught Black get any kind of reward? It’d be nice to get a little
extra money -”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr Weasley said in a grave voice. “A thirteen-year-old wizard

wouldn’t be able to catch Black. None of us will. It’ll be the Azkaban guards, I’m sure of
it…”

“Have you all finished packing?” Mrs Weasley asked abruptly.

“Ron hasn’t put all his new things in his trunk yet,” Percy said, heaving a long-suffering sigh.
“He’s dumped them on my bed.”

“You’d better go and pack properly, Ron, because we won’t have much time in the morning!”
Mrs Weasley said, waving a hand in the direction of the staircase. Ron scowled at Percy and
started stomping away. Harry slipped away after him, since he had a few things of his own to
put away after all the shopping he’d been doing today. As Harry placed his new textbooks
into his trunk, he wondered if Snape had made Draco finish packing yet. Knowing him, it had
been the first thing he’d made Malfoy do when they got home -

Back to Spinner’s End, Harry corrected himself. He sighed and stared into his trunk at the
properly fitting clothes Snape had bought for him. Despite the man’s assurances that
everything wouldn’t revert to the way it had been the moment they all returned to Hogwarts,
Harry still felt a little insecure. Everything that had happened with Malfoy in the last twenty-
four hours had simply compounded that.

Harry’s door swung open without a knock. Ron stormed in and immediately started to kick
the skirting board.

“Um,” Harry said. “Hi?”

“Percy,” Ron said through gritted teeth, “is a massive prat.”

“You can stay in here if you like,” Harry offered.

Ron gave him a thin smile. “Thanks, mate. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m gonna put up
with a whole year of this! He’s going to be the most insufferable Head Boy…”
Harry gave him a sympathetic look and continued packing his things while Ron wandered
around his room and prodded at a strangely-shaped lamp on Harry’s nightstand. They carried
on in companionable silence for a while until Harry turned around and realised Ron was
frowning at him.

Harry put down his new copy of Unfogging the Future and gave Ron a quizzical look.
“What’s wrong?”

Ron chewed nervously on his lip for a moment before speaking. “Er - sorry we weren’t
around this summer, for you to come to ours. If you ran away and all… was it really bad this
year?”

Harry, of course, knew what it had to be and tensed slightly. This was a conversation about
the Dursleys. It was only because this was Ron, who so rarely asked about Harry’s family
life, that he answered honestly. He knew if Ron was outright asking, he was really quite
worried. Ron normally didn’t press.

“It wasn't as bad as last year,” he admitted quietly. “I left before anything like that
happened.”

That being the bars on the window and the starvation, which Ron and the twins knew about
exclusively. Well, alongside Snape, now. Actually, now that Harry thought about it, Ron was
second only to Snape when it came to people who knew the intimate details about Harry’s
childhood and life in Little Whinging. He was also up there with Malfoy, Harry realised with
no small amount of horror. His life really was mad…

Ron didn’t seem to notice Harry’s internal recoil as he thought things over. The expression on
his face had grown more miserable. “If that wasn’t all bad enough, you got stuck with Snape
instead of us!”

“Ron, please don’t feel bad,” Harry said earnestly, squeezing his friend’s shoulder. “I don’t
expect you guys to always be at the Burrow, you know? You’ve already all done enough for
me. Besides, the Dursleys aren’t your problem.”

“They shouldn’t be yours either,” Ron muttered irritably.

Harry hesitated. He hadn’t wanted to bring this up just yet, but Ron just looked so dejected,
and maybe it would help ease his friend’s worries…

“Look, can you keep something secret from me?” Harry said. “From everyone, even
Hermione.”

Ron raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly, waiting.

“Erm… I don't have to go back anymore.”

Ron’s eyes lit up. “Harry, that’s amazing news! How did that happen?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Harry said, scratching the back of his head nervously. “Snape… er,
he found out about the Dursleys. How they are.”
Ron’s happy expression vanished in an instant, to be replaced by a look of deep concern.
“No! Are you okay? Was he completely awful?”

“No, actually,” Harry said. “He’s been really good about it. He was the one to organise
everything so I never have to go back there now, if you can believe it.”

“Snape,” Ron said slowly. “Professor Snape. The Hogwarts Potions Professor.”

“Yep.”

“That’s mental,” Ron declared.

“I can barely get my head around it myself,” Harry said sheepishly. “But he has really helped
me. He stopped being such an arse, too. That’s why I said he was decent - because he’s been
so good about the Dursleys. I wouldn’t have expected it, but yeah…”

Well, Harry had a general idea where Snape had learned to be so understanding about
difficult families. My father was a very unpleasant man. Harry definitely wasn’t ever going to
tell Ron about that comment, though.

“At least someone’s finally done something,” Ron said. He looked incredibly relieved, like a
weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I’d never think Snape would be the one to do it,
though.”

“Neither.”

“Do you know who you’re living with now, then?” Ron asked.

“No,” Harry lied. Ron had taken the news he'd received so far very well, but Harry had no
idea how he’d react to the prospect of him living full-time with Snape yet. He barely felt
comfortable with it, after all…

“You could definitely come and stay with us, you know,” Ron declared. “I know my parents
would have you. They think you’re great.”

Harry smiled, feeling something warm spread throughout his chest. Even though Snape had
already explained that he couldn’t live with the Weasleys, it was still nice to have that
offered. “Thanks, mate. Remember not to mention it though, please?”

“I won’t,” Ron promised. “You are going to tell Hermione, right? She’d be good about it, I
know she would.”

“Yeah, I just wanted a couple more days to get my head around everything.”

As much as Harry loved Hermione, she had the tendency to ask a lot of questions about
things, and Harry wasn’t quite ready for the interrogation yet. He was still trying to process
things himself. Ron was a little better at letting things drop, which was the only reason he’d
brought it up now.
“Ron!” Percy shouted, storming up the corridor and sticking his head around the doorway.
“My Head Boy badge is missing!”

Ron scowled. “How’s that my problem?”

“It was here,” Percy said indignantly, storming into Harry’s room and grabbing Ron’s arm. “I
left it on the bedside table, I took it off for polishing -”

“I haven’t touched it!” Ron shouted as Percy started dragging him down the hallway. “Leave
me alone, I’m busy with Harry -”

“You’re not going anywhere till you’ve found my badge!” Percy yelled.

“You probably left it in the bar, you twit!”

“I’ll check downstairs,” Harry said, unheard by both boys. This brotherly bickering reminded
him a lot of him and Draco -

Harry shook himself, as he was not going to think of Draco in any sort of context that could
be deemed as brotherly, no matter how weirdly guilty he was feeling. He was going to stop
thinking about Draco entirely, as a matter of fact. Harry didn’t know why he was thinking of
the other boy so much. He supposed it was an uncomfortable symptom of living in such close
quarters…

Harry was so distracted by his thoughts that it took him a minute to register the raised voices
coming from the parlour as he headed to the bar. It was Mr and Mrs Weasley. Harry went to
continue onwards, not wanting to listen in on them fighting, but then he caught his own name
in the fray and froze.

“…makes no sense not to tell him!” Mr Weasley hissed. “Harry’s got a right to know. He’s
thirteen years old and -”

“Arthur, the truth would terrify him!” Mrs Weasley said shrilly. “Do you really want to send
Harry back to school with that hanging over him? For heaven’s sake, he’s happy not
knowing!”

“I don’t want to make him miserable, I want to put him on his guard!” Mr Weasley said. “You
know what Harry and Ron are like, wandering off by themselves - they’ve ended up in the
Forbidden Forest twice! Harry mustn’t do that this year! When I think what could have
happened to him that night he ran away from home! If the Knight Bus hadn’t picked him up,
I’m prepared to bet he would have been dead before the Ministry found him.”

“But he’s not dead, he’s fine, so what’s the point -”

“Molly they say Sirius Black’s mad, and maybe he is, but he was clever enough to escape
from Azkaban, and that’s supposed to be impossible,” Mr Weasley said grimly. “It’s been
three weeks, and no one’s seen hide nor hair of him, and I don’t care what Fudge keeps
telling the Daily Prophet, we’re no nearer catching Black than inventing self-spelling wands.
The only thing we know for sure is what Black’s after -”
“But Harry will be perfectly safe at Hogwarts!”

“We thought Azkaban was perfectly safe! If Black can break out of Azkaban, he can break
into Hogwarts.”

“But no one’s really sure that Black’s after Harry -”

There was a loud thudding noise. “Molly, how many times do I have to tell you? They didn’t
report it in the press because Fudge wanted it kept quiet, but Fudge went out to Azkaban the
night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black’s been talking in his sleep for a while
now. Always the same words: ‘He’s at Hogwarts …he’s at Hogwarts.’ Black is deranged,
Molly, and he wants Harry dead. If you ask me, he thinks murdering Harry will bring You-
Know-Who back to power. Black lost everything the night Harry stopped You-Know-Who,
and he’s had twelve years alone in Azkaban to brood on that…”

Harry felt his heart speed up, and he leaned closer to the parlour door.

“It’s not your decision to make, Arthur!” Mrs Weasley said fiercely. “You can’t tell him,
especially after Severus said not to -”

“Severus doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” Mr Weasley snapped. “You know perfectly
well that he has a history with Black. He’s letting his own problems get in the way of what
ought to be done!”

“But that doesn’t matter!” Mrs Weasley said angrily. “He’s Harry’s guardian now, so we
don’t get to make these decisions, and you know it!”

“Well, remember that if Severus does something you disagree with,” Mr Weasley muttered.

“You’re not to tell him, Arthur,” Mrs Weasley said firmly. “We can’t, and you know it.”

Mr Weasley sighed. “I know… fine. I’ll keep my mouth shut. I'd never have taken Severus
for a fool -”

"Watch yourself," Mrs Weasley said sharply. "He's trying to protect Harry, and it's about time
someone did that."

Mr Weasley sighed and didn't respond. Harry heard the scraping of chairs, and hurried out
into the bar so they didn’t know he’d been listening. His heart was thudding uncomfortably
as he scooped up a bottle of rat tonic belonging to Scabbers. No sign of the Head Boy badge,
but that felt inconceivably irrelevant to Harry by now, considering what he knew.

So Sirius Black was after him. That explained everything, didn’t it? Fudge had been lenient
with him because he was so relieved to find Harry alive. Snape had reacted so explosively
every time Harry had left Spinner’s End because he’d wrongly assumed that Harry had been
abducted by Black. It explained why he was so paranoid about Black in general, too…

Harry wasn’t particularly worried about imminent murder, as he was of the opinion that he
would be rather safe at Hogwarts - Dumbledore was the only wizard who scared Voldemort,
and as his right-hand man, Black probably ought to be just as worried about him, too.
No, the thing that bothered Harry about all of this was that Snape had hidden it from him.
Harry had asked him outright multiple times why he was so paranoid about Sirius Black, but
Snape had either changed the subject or given him that strange answer about Black maybe
wanting to come after Harry because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. Meanwhile, they had
explicit evidence that Black was after Harry!

But much like Mrs Weasley, Snape apparently thought that Harry would be a panic-stricken
basket case if he knew the whole truth about Black.

It’s because you’ve been acting like a needy, emotional wreck all summer, a nasty voice in the
back of his head whispered. This is what happens when you keep crying and freaking out
over nothing with him, you pathetic idiot. He treats you like a needy child. You’re useless. He
thinks you can’t handle it.

This is what happens when people find out about the Dursleys.

Harry took a shuddering breath. He drew his resentment tightly around him like a cloak and
locked himself in his room for the night, feeling oddly hurt by the discovery that Snape didn’t
think he was strong enough to handle this.

And what was that about Snape having a history with Black? Had something happened
between the two men? Was that another reason why Snape was so paranoid?

Harry didn’t know. All he did know was that Snape was keeping secrets from him, and there
was nothing Harry hated as much as being lied to.
 Growing Pains
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“Harry, Harry! Are you alright?”

Someone was shaking him by the shoulders. Harry felt as if he was breaking through a rather
large body of water as he struggled to open his sticky eyes. Ron and Hermione’s anxious
faces swam above him. He’d somehow slid out of his seat and onto the floor, which he could
feel vibrating. The train was moving again, then. He felt clammy, cold and sick to his
stomach as Ron and Hermione helped him sit back on his seat.

“What was that thing?” Harry asked shakily. “What happened? Who screamed?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks with Neville and Ginny, who were staring at
him from across the compartment.

“No one screamed,” Ron said nervously.

“But - but I heard -”

A loud snap cut him off. Harry turned his head and saw Professor Lupin, the shabbily-dressed
man who had spent the majority of the journey sleeping in their compartment, breaking a
large bar of chocolate into small pieces.

“Here,” he said, handing Harry a particularly large chunk. “Eat this. It’ll help.”

Harry took the chocolate but didn’t eat it. ‘What was that thing?”

“A Dementor,” Lupin explained, handing out pieces of chocolate to the others. “One of the
Azkaban guards.”

Everyone stared at him anxiously as he got to his feet, brushing down his shabby robes.

“Eat,” Lupin repeated. “It’ll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me …”

He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.

“Are you sure you’re OK, Harry?” said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.

“I don’t get what happened,” he mumbled, wiping cold sweat off his face.

“It was that Dementor,” Ron said. Harry noticed he was trembling slightly. “It came in and
you went all rigid - fell out of your seat and started twitching…”

“Professor Lupin made it go away,” Neville said, his voice rather high-pitched. “He told it
none of us were hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks, and shot some silver thing at it when it
wouldn’t move. It was horrible…”

“I felt like I’d never be cheerful again,” Ron said quietly. Ginny let out a loud sob, and
Hermione got up to go and put an arm around her. She had gone a stark shade of white.

“But - well, no one else fell out of their seats?” Harry asked in a small voice.

“No,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Ginny was shaking like mad, though…”

Harry stared at the chocolate, which had started melting onto his fingertips. He somehow felt
even more awful with that new piece of information - and since he currently felt like he was
recovering from a nasty bout of the flu, that was saying something. Why had that happened?
Why had he gone to pieces when nobody else had?

Why was he always so damn weak?

“I haven’t poisoned that chocolate, you know.” Harry turned his head and saw Professor
Lupin watching from the compartment door. He finally bit into the chocolate and felt a
strange surge of warmth flood through him, like a strong Heating Charm had been applied.
The majority of his shivering ceased, and he felt remarkably better in an instant.

“We’ll be at the station in ten minutes,” Lupin said. “Are you alright, Harry?”

“Fine,” he muttered, feeling his cheeks burn.

He stayed quiet for the rest of the journey, staring into his lap until the shudders of the
moving train gradually came to a halt. Ron and Hermione flanked him on either side, and
kept casting nervous, sidelong glances at him. Harry resisted the urge to snap at them that he
felt fine, since he didn’t want to outright lie. Harry still felt rather weak and shallow. That
feeling only worsened as the horseless carriage driving them to Hogwarts passed through the
gates, which were flanked by Dementors. A great wave of cold and despair washed over him,
and Harry pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and sank back into his seat until they
were at last through.

When the coaches arrived at the school, Harry dismounted and noticed Draco was staring at
him in the distance, his eyes crinkled with worry. He was generally a pale person, but was
currently a ghostly white, eyes red rimmed. There was something off about his appearance
that Harry couldn’t put his finger on, until he realised that for once Draco wasn’t flanked by
Crabbe and Goyle. It made him look smaller, somehow.

Draco opened his mouth, as if to say something, before his face hardened and he stormed off
into the castle.

Ron scowled in his direction. “Git. At least he left us alone for once…”

Harry was quite glad of that, too. He really didn’t feel up to a fight with Draco, since he still
felt a little unwell.

He was just about to press into the Great Hall when a voice called, “Potter! Granger! I want
to see you both!”
Harry turned around and saw Professor McGonagall, standing tall amongst the crowd of
students and beckoning a finger towards them. Harry fought through the others with a sense
of foreboding.

“You’re not in any trouble, I just want a word,” she said. Professor McGonagall shot a sharp
look at Ron, who was trailing behind. “Move along, Weasley.”

Harry and Hermione were ushered through a series of corridors and up a staircase until they
found themselves in Professor McGonagall’s office, a rather large and warm room with a
roaring fire. She settled herself behind her desk and examined them closely. “I heard you took
ill on the train, Potter?”

Before there was time for Harry to respond, there was a soft knock at the door. Madam
Pomfrey hurried in, and Harry felt his face heat up.

“I’m fine,” he tried. Harry hated people making a fuss. “Really, I -”

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” Madam Pomfrey said, completely ignoring his protests and bending
down to stare closely at him. “I suppose you’ve been doing something dangerous again?”

“It was a Dementor, Poppy,” Professor McGonagall said. They exchanged a dark look and
Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly.

“For heaven's sake!” a voice snapped from behind Harry’s head. He jerked his head around
and realised that Snape had managed to materialise in the doorway in his customary silent
manner. He was staring at Harry with a mixture of exasperation and concern clear on his face.
“I hear you collapsed?”

Harry scowled at him and didn’t respond. Snape’s worried expression was just reminding him
that he thought Harry was too weak to know about Black, which he was still rather cross
about.

“Setting Dementors around a school was always a ridiculous idea,” Madam Pomfrey
muttered, feeling Harry’s forehead with her hand. “He won’t be the first one who collapses.
Yes, he’s all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are
already delicate -”

“I’m not delicate!” Harry snapped. He was certain he had to be bright red by now with
embarrassment.

“Of course you’re not, dear…” Madam Pomfrey said absently, checking his pulse.

“So, what does he need?” Professor McGonagall asked. “Bed rest, perhaps? A night in the
Hospital Wing may be apt -”

“I am fine!” Harry hissed, jumping to his feet. “See?”

“Sit back down,” Snape ordered sharply, taking a step forward. Harry remained obstinately
on his feet and shot him a look of pure loathing. “Mind your manners, Potter. You will do as
Madam Pomfrey orders.”
Harry was confused by the switch to surnames for a moment, until he remembered Snape’s
talk from a couple of days ago. They were supposed to use formalities in front of other
people at Hogwarts.

“He should have some chocolate, at the very least,” Madam Pomfrey said. Moments later,
Snape somehow had a bar of chocolate in his hand, which he shoved at Harry.

“I’ve already had some,” Harry said, trying to hand it back. “Professor Lupin gave me some.
He gave it to all of us.”

This somehow only managed to worsen Snape’s obvious annoyance. “I do not care what
Lupin did,” he growled, voice dripping with venom. “Eat it.”

Harry rolled his eyes, unwrapped the chocolate bar and bit into it.

“At least we’ve finally got a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his
remedies.” Madam Pomfrey said approvingly.

This somehow only served to make Snape even angrier. He made a strange, furious sort of
noise in the back of his throat, and glowered into the distance. Madam Pomfrey jabbed a
finger at him, eyes narrowed. “Do not start, Severus.”

Shockingly, Snape pressed his lips together and looked away, chastened. Harry didn’t think
he’d ever seen Snape cowed by someone, but he supposed Madam Pomfrey held that kind of
power with everyone, even adults. Perhaps she remembered Snape from his time at school or
something…

Still, Snape managed to regain his wits rather quickly, and asked, “What is to be done with
Potter? Don’t let him talk you out of bed rest if he needs it, Poppy.”

“I’ve already told you I’m fine! Stop fretting!” Harry said loudly. “I’m not delicate, I’m not
fragile, so can you just leave it?”

“No, I will not leave it!” Snape hissed, folding his arms. “You need to start valuing your
health appropriately.”

“Oh my God -”

“Gentlemen?” Professor McGonagall interrupted. Harry suddenly remembered there were

three other people in the room and felt the burning in his cheeks reach an unbearable heat. He
wished he could sink into the floor. Snape was staring at Harry in a way that suggested they’d
be having words about this later, he realised with annoyance. Harry noticed Hermione was
also watching him closely, with a mixture of fascination and shock clear on her face.
Probably because he’d just gotten into a vocal argument with Snape and hadn’t gotten fifty
points taken from Gryffindor…

Well, there was still time for that, Harry reflected glumly.

“He should be able to go to the feast,” Madam Pomfrey said, completely ignoring the tension
between Harry and Snape. “If you start feeling faint at all, report straight to the Hospital
Wing.”

“I will,” Harry said, although he had no intention of doing any such thing.

“Will you?” Snape asked pointedly. Harry exhaled very loudly out of his nose and didn’t
respond.

“Minerva, shall I leave you to finish your discussion with Miss Granger?” Snape asked. “I
need a word with Potter and Poppy outside.”

“Very well,” she said. “Wait outside when you’re done, Potter, and I’ll walk you and Granger
to the feast.”

Harry slunk outside after Snape and Madam Pomfrey. As soon as the door closed, Snape
turned to the matron. “I’ve been meaning to inquire - are you available soon? This business
has reminded me that Mr Potter requires a general health checkup.”

Madam Pomfrey tutted and gave Harry a sympathetic look that made the burning in his
cheeks reignite with renewed vigour. “Of course. After everything I was informed of… come
to the Hospital Wing before dinner tomorrow, Mr Potter.”

“Er - I’m alright, thanks.”

“I missed the part where that was a request,” Snape said sharply, putting his hands on his hips
and looming over Harry.

“I don’t need a check-up!” he protested. “I’m fine!”

“Remind me when your last doctor’s appointment was?” Snape inquired icily.

“Um…” Harry racked his brains. Surely he’d had one, right? He’d been to the Hospital Wing
a fair amount at Hogwarts of course, but he somehow doubted Snape counted that. He meant
Muggle doctors. That was a little trickier to put his finger on…

“And herein lies the issue,” Snape said when his silence had dragged on for too long. “You’re
going.”

“I don’t want to!”

“And I don’t care,” Snape finished, eyebrows knitting together. “You’re going. That’s final.”

Harry groaned loudly and crossed his arms.

“It’s nothing to fuss over, Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said briskly. Harry jolted, having
forgotten she was even there. “Just a few questions and spells. Nothing to worry about. I’ll
see you before dinner, then?”

“I’ll also be with you, Poppy,” Snape said rather menacingly. “To make sure Potter behaves.”
Harry winced slightly. Snape was starting to look highly irritated, which was further proven
as he rounded on Harry once the sound of Madam Pomfrey’s clicking shoes had faded into
the distance.

“Can you make an effort to pull yourself together?” Snape said, voice low and harsh. “Why
are you throwing a fit about this?”

“Because I don’t want any sort of stupid check-ups! Bloody hell!”

“Five points from Gryffindor for inappropriate language,” Snape said, eyes flashing.

Harry glowered at him. “Gryffindor doesn’t even have points yet! It’s the start of the term!”

“Then congratulations,” Snape said snidely, “you have somehow managed to get your house
into the negatives already. A new record.”

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” Harry shouted, feeling remarkably angry. “Using
all this as an excuse to take points from Gryffindor! It’s always all about Slytherin, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I went through all of this hassle for the pure sake of trivial, juvenile concerns like the
House Cup!” The cutting edge of sarcasm in Snape’s voice was particularly biting. “No,
Potter, as a matter of fact I don’t care all that much about house points! I simply hoped that
maybe, just maybe, they would be the motivator that finally got through to you!”

It was only because of his continual concern over house points that Harry didn’t continue that
line of argument. Five points could easily turn into fifty, after all. Snape was far from done,
however.

“Now, if you will, explain what exactly is your problem with a routine medical procedure,”
he said, pressing his lips together into a thin, white line.

“Because I don’t need all of this fussing!” Harry said furiously. “Especially over something
as stupid as fainting, it’s embarrassing! I’m not fragile, or delicate, and you all treat me like
I’m going to fall apart at a moment’s notice and I’m sick of it!”

“Merlin save me from adolescent boys!” Snape hissed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I
don’t understand why this has bruised your apparently fragile ego, Potter, but there is nothing
shameful about a bad reaction to a Dementor.”

“There is when I was the only one that fell like that!” Harry said, clenching his hands into
fists. “It’s really embarrassing, actually, and you know it!”

“Fine!” Snape threw his hands in the air. “I can see I’m not going to make any headway into
your obstinance tonight, so believe whatever ridiculous notions have taken your fancy. I have
other matters to attend to that don’t include your foul-temperedness. I will see you in the
Hospital Wing as soon as your lessons conclude tomorrow.”

He stormed away down the corridor moments before Professor McGonagall’s office door
swung open, revealing her and Hermione. She gave Harry a slightly worried look while
Professor McGonagall simply arched an eyebrow, expression disapproving. She led the two
of them down the marble staircase and into the Great Hall just as Dumbledore clapped his
hands, causing the four house tables to groan with the weight of dozens of golden plates of
food. Harry took advantage of the distraction to slip through to the Gryffindor table with
Hermione unnoticed. They sourced Ron quickly, who waved at them cheerily. He looked far
happier than he had on the train.

“Hi, you two!” he said, patting the bench next to him. “You’ll never guess who’s our new
Care of Magical Creatures teacher!”

“Who?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“Hagrid!”

Harry suddenly understood the cause for Ron’s good mood. “That’s brilliant!” he said
happily, looking up to the staff table where Hagrid sat. His beetle-black eyes were glowing,
and he was beaming beneath his thick beard.

“We’ve got to congratulate him after the feast!” Hermione said.

“Definitely,” Harry agreed, piling his plate with food. Even though Snape had forcibly
stuffed him with chocolate in Professor McGonagall’s office, he was still pretty hungry. The
Welcome Feast always tended to have that effect.

As the meal continued, however, Harry’s hunger dimmed with his mood. Several people were
glancing down the table at him, and he caught the words ‘Potter’ and ‘fainted’ several times
in the din of chatter. His heart sank. Had word of the incident on the train spread that
quickly?

Ron noticed Harry staring moodily at his plate and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t
worry about it, mate. Anyway, you’re not the only one who had a bad reaction. I heard
Malfoy sicked up.”

“Wait, really?” Harry asked.

“Fred and George told me,” Ron said, nodding in the direction of his brothers. “He came
running into their compartment, apparently.”

Harry craned his neck and scanned for Draco’s hair along the Slytherin table. He spotted him
quite quickly, since Draco was sitting at the very end, completely alone. Despite the fact that
the tables in the Great Hall were typically packed shoulder to shoulder during feasts, there
was a sizeable gap between Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins. He was hunched over his
plate, eating quite quickly without looking at anyone. Harry hoped he was alright…

“I wonder why he reacted like that?” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“Who cares?” Ron shrugged nonchalantly. “The Dementors seem to mess everybody up at
least a little bit, though. I saw loads of people crying and shaking as I came into the Great
Hall! I don’t get why everyone’s making such a fuss over you, Harry.”

“Neither do I,” he grumbled, viciously slicing into his chicken.

Hermione frowned at him. “Speaking of - Harry, what was going on between you and Snape
in Professor McGonagall’s office?”

Harry scowled at the table. “He’s a git. That’s what’s going on."

“Thought you said he was decent this time yesterday!” Ron snorted.

“Things change,” Harry said shortly. “He’s being all weird with me, and I don’t like it.”

“Still, I can’t believe you shouted at him, Harry!” Hermione said, her eyes wide. “He’s a
professor!”

“He riles me up,” Harry grumbled. “And I rile him up. He’s vaguely threatening me into
going to Madam Pomfrey now for some sort of check-up! Can you believe it?”

Harry looked around to his friends for support in his indignation, but both of them looked
slightly confused.

“Well…what’s so bad about that?” Hermione asked haltingly.

“Because I don’t like a fuss!” Harry said irritably. “I just want to be left alone!”

“Maybe it’s good that someone’s finally bothering about you, though,” Ron suggested
hesitantly. “Look, I get it can be annoying. My mum hovers sometimes and it drives me
barmy, but you just sort of have to get on with it, you know? It’s just one of those things.”

“Ron, do you realise you’re defending Snape right now?” Harry asked, hoping that would
snap his friend back to reality.

Ron blanched. “I am, aren’t I? Weird. Maybe I’ve caught Stockholm Syndrome from you.”

“You can’t catch Stockholm Syndrome, Ronald!” Hermione said irritably. “It’s not even
communicable!”

They let the matter of Snape and the medical appointment that Harry was so annoyed about
drop for the time being and didn’t discuss it any further, even through dessert and while they
congratulated Hagrid for his new job role. It was only when they’d entered the Gryffindor
common room and had taken their usual seats by the roaring fire, trying to put off going to
bed just yet, that Hermione turned to Harry with a thoughtful frown on her face.

“Harry…” she said hesitantly. “Why was Snape so concerned about you earlier? And don’t
just say he’s a git again. I can tell there’s something going on here. What actually happened
between you two this summer?”

Harry pushed aside some of his irritation over the whole checkup debacle and sighed.
“Things changed.”

“But why?” Hermione pressed. “What’s made his behaviour change?”

“Erm…” Harry fidgeted with his hands in his lap and sighed. Well, he supposed there was
nothing else for it. “He found out some stuff about the Dursleys.”

Hermione gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh, no!"

"But it's not bad!" Harry said quickly. "He was good about it all. He stopped me from ever
having to go back there after he found out."

Hermione still didn't look too impressed. "When you say he's being alright about it, are you
really sure?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "He stopped being so horrible to me after me once he found out, and
he's tried to - er, help me through it I guess."

"I still find it weird that Snape of all people would be good about something like that," Ron
said, stroking his chin with a finger.

My father was a very unpleasant man.

"Er - well, he just is."

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. "So who are you staying with now, then?"

Harry opened his mouth to tell them, but quickly stopped himself. Ron and Hermione in
particular were both so concerned about how Snape had treated him during the holidays… he
could only imagine how horrified they'd be when they found out Snape was his guardian.
Their potential for a bad reaction concerned him. Besides, Harry didn’t want to fess up about
Snape being his guardian when he was still so irritated with the man because of their
argument.

"They're still working it out," Harry lied. "But I'm at Hogwarts all year anyway, so it doesn't
matter where I go now, right?"

"I suppose," Hermione said, although she still looked a little worried. "It's good you don't
have to stay with your aunt and uncle anymore, though! Are you pleased?"

Harry smiled to himself. "Yeah, I think I am."

I'll tell them soon, Harry promised himself as they made their way up to their dormitories.
Soon.

Harry wondered why that thought of actually following through on that filled him with dread.

“Woo, Potter!” Pansy Parkinson jeered from the Slytherin table. “A big, scary Dementor’s
coming! Watch out!”
“Ignore them,” Hermione muttered as the Slytherins all started laughing cruelly. Harry
squared his shoulders and buttered his toast with unnecessary vigour. He nibbled at it
unenthusiastically, trying to push the incident with the Dementor to the furthest corners of his
mind as everyone started eagerly examining their timetables, which Professor McGonagall
had just handed out. Ron and Hermione had gotten into some kind of bickering match about
how Hermione was supposed to fit in all her lessons which Harry was ignoring. Well, at least
he had Care of Magical Creatures that afternoon. It would be nice to see Hagrid teaching for
the first time.

Of course, there was Divination to get through first.

Harry, Ron and Hermione spent a rather long time struggling to make their way to the top of
North Tower, where they’d never been before, and were all huffing and panting by the time
they entered Professor Trelawney’s classroom. Harry immediately decided that Professor
Trelawney was a rather odd woman, between her strange, misty voice and her round glasses
that magnified her eyes to an unnaturally large size. His impression of the Divination
professor only worsened when she declared that Harry had the Grim in the bottom of his
teacup, an omen for his imminent death. The Grim, according to her, took the form of a large,
black dog…

And Harry had seen a black dog hanging around recently, hadn’t he? In the background of
Magnolia Crescent on the night he'd run away from home, and, of course, the dog which had
chased off the gang of Muggle boys who had beaten him and Draco up…

Harry frowned to himself. Why would a spectre of death help him escape a beating, though?
Wasn’t that a bit odd?

Whatever the reason was, it still really unsettled Harry.

Having one’s death predicted was never a particularly pleasant activity, and it left Harry
feeling rather miserable for the majority of Transfiguration, especially when everyone kept
turning around to give him anxious looks. The only thing that helped a little was when
Professor McGonagall told them all about how inaccurate Divination was, although even that
didn’t seem to satisfy Ron. He expounded at length about his great-uncle’s encounter with a
Grim until he and Hermione got into a shouting match over the validity of Divination and
started giving each other the silent treatment. They both refused to exchange a word for the
entirety of lunch and for their entire walk through the grounds to Care of Magical Creatures.

Having quickly grown bored of Ron and Hermione’s spat and subsequent silence, Harry
sidled over to Draco, who was currently scuffing the dirt with his shoe and looking generally
miserable. “Er - hey. Can we have a word?”

Draco’s features settled into his familiar sneer. “And why would I want to speak to you,
Potter?”

Harry winced at his iciness. “Look, I’m really sorry about what you saw in that letter, but it
wasn’t recent, okay? I wasn’t gossiping about you with him, I promise. I’d sent a letter to
Ron ages and ages ago asking what was going on with you because no one was telling me
anything, but that was before we started getting on! I’d not do that now -”
“Oh? Wouldn’t you?” Draco inquired coolly. “What about all that chatter in Flourish and
Blotts? Aren’t you glad to be shot of a stupid pillock like me?”

Harry flushed. “Draco, I -”

“No!” Draco said sharply. “Don’t call me that. And for your information, we don’t ‘get on’. I
thought for a second that perhaps we could be somewhat friendly, but you’ve once again
proven that you’ll always go and choose Weasley over me!”

He stormed away, hands clenched into fists. Harry was about to go after him, but Hagrid
emerged from his hut to begin the lesson, ending any opportunities for further conversation.

Harry couldn’t quite understand why Draco was apparently angry with him for being friendly
to Ron. Even if they had or hadn’t started getting on that summer, Harry would obviously
have more loyalty to Ron, right? After all, Ron hadn’t spent the last few years being a
complete and utter arse when it came to Harry…

But part of Harry desperately wished he didn’t have to make a choice here. He just wished he
could figure out a way to make things right with Draco, but every time they came in contact
with each other, he just seemed angrier and angrier. Harry didn’t know what to do to fix
things.

Between his general feelings of misery, it was very hard to pay attention, although being
forced to bow to Buckbeak and ride around the paddock did help lift Harry’s mood ever so
slightly. The adrenaline rush of encountering a potentially deadly magical creature did
provide a nice distraction from his worries.

As the rest of the class all broke away to go and nervously bow to their own Hippogriffs,
Harry found he couldn’t stop staring at Draco while Ron and Hermione dealt with the
chestnut Hippogriff. While the rest of the Slytherins had broken off into groups of two or
three, Draco was alone. He was sharing Buckbeak with Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom
were pointedly ignoring Draco and turning around to talk to a Slytherin boy whose name
Harry didn’t know. After Buckbeak had bowed in return to Draco, he glanced over to them
expectantly while he patted the Hippogriff’s beak, then scowled when he realised they were
still ignoring him.

“What, are you nervous?” Draco jeered. “Is that why you’re hiding over there? Don’t be
babies! I’d bet even you two simpletons could tame a great, ugly brute like this -”

Harry barely had time for a gasp to escape his lips before Buckbeak shot forward with a deep
growl, and with a flash of glinting talons, Draco was on the ground. He screamed loudly, and
blood began blossoming through his slashed robes.

“I’m dying!” he shouted, clutching at his arm while Buckbeak strained at his collar to get to
him, making a furious keening noise. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”

Harry started to try and rush over to him, but someone grabbed his arm in a vice grip -
Hermione. Her eyes were wide and anxious.
"Don't!" she shouted. "Buckbeak might hurt you, too!"

Harry was about to break free of her grip to get to Draco, but Hagrid beat him to it. He
scooped Draco up in his large arms. “Yer not dyin’!” he yelled, looking rather panicked.
“Someone help me get ‘im out…”

As Hagrid turned around, more blood splattered onto the ground. Harry grabbed onto Ron’s
arm quite suddenly, finding himself not entirely able to breathe through all the blood, and the
screaming class, and Draco face, twisted in pain…

Seamus shoved open the paddock gate, and Hagrid began to run up the grassy slope towards
the castle. Blood droplets beaded in the grass like glittering rubies in his wake.

“Harry, are you alright?” Ron muttered, staring at him worriedly. Harry suddenly realised
how tightly he was gripping his friend and released Ron.

“Fine,” he said breathlessly. Harry had to consciously remind himself to take a few gasping
breaths when he started growing lightheaded, like Snape had taught him to do. Ron still
seemed concerned but luckily, the rest of the class was too panic-stricken to notice his
moment of weakness.

Panic-stricken might be the wrong word, Harry reflected, upon closer inspection of the
Slytherins. In fact, Pansy Parkinson was laughing rather viciously.

“What a little coward!” she cackled. “Did you see the way he was crying?”

Harry glowered at her and loudly let out a disapproving huff. Several Gryffindors sharply
turned to look at him, obviously shocked by his reaction. Ron and Hermione exchanged a
meaningful look.

Most of the Slytherins were too busy laughing with Pansy to notice, excluding a blonde girl
and a stringy boy who were exchanging dark looks and watching Hagrid's retreating form.

“I think Hagrid ought to be sacked!” the blonde girl muttered.

“No! It was Malfoy’s fault!” Dean protested indignantly.

As worried as he was about Draco’s health, Harry couldn’t help but agree with Dean there.
Hagrid had explicitly told them not to insult the Hippogriffs, after all. Draco should have
listened properly!

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Hermione asked nervously.

“I hope so,” Harry said, biting on his lip. Madam Pomfrey had healed far worse injuries of
his, but that didn’t stop him from feeling concerned about Draco. There had been a whole lot
of blood…

“Well, you’ll be able to see him soon, Harry,” Hermione reminded him. “You’re going to the
Hospital Wing before dinner, aren’t you? Do you want to head up after him now?”
Harry came to a halt on the stone steps and hesitantly looked in the direction of the Hospital
Wing. He did really want to check that Draco was alright, but the other boy was so angry
with him, and Harry didn’t want to make things worse by hanging around…

And if Harry were to head up there now, Madam Pomfrey would probably insist on that
stupid checkup, which Harry really didn’t want to participate in. That finally swayed Harry
into making a decision. He turned back to Hermione and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll wait.
Madam Pomfrey’s going to be busy patching him up, and most of the lessons are still going
on. I’ll wait until later. Why don’t we head back up to the tower?”

They rejoined the crowd of their classmates, all of whom were still loudly discussing the
incident and Draco’s degree of fault in it, and headed up to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione
quickly became distracted by a surprisingly large pile of homework for their first day back,
while Harry and Ron set up camp at the window, trying to look across the grounds for
Hagrid. As they were so high up, it was impossible to make out specific figures, though.

“I hope Hagrid's alright,” Ron said eventually. “What a terrible thing to happen - during his
first class, too! Trust Malfoy to screw everything up for him…”

Harry, who was still too worried about Draco and the wound on his arm to be properly angry
at him for screwing up Hagrid’s lesson, fidgeted with his hands and said nothing. He was
perfectly aware that what had just happened was entirely Draco’s fault, but that didn’t make
him any less anxious.

Ron noticed his silence and frowned. “Mate, what is going on with you when it comes to
Malfoy? You’re being properly weird.”

“He and I got into an argument before we left,” Harry admitted. “It’s just been on my mind.”

“I thought you said you were getting into arguments all the time at Snape’s, though?”

“I mean - we were, but this was different.”

“But why do you even care?” Ron asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I just do, Ron, okay?” Harry snapped. “It’s really bothering me!”

Ron held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright! I just don’t think you should
lose sleep over it, you know?”

Harry shook himself. “Right…”

“Er - want to talk about it?” Ron asked hesitantly.

“No,” Harry said shortly.

“Okay, then," Ron said with a shrug. "I'll leave Malfoy to you."

Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who was so alone, who had no friends, no parents, his entire home
and all his possessions destroyed in a fire, who Harry had seen cry, who had come back to
help Harry when those Muggles had caught him in the fight…

Harry couldn’t connect Malfoy with Draco in his mind, and it was making things horribly
difficult. He’d still sort of expected things at Hogwarts to slip back into the way they usually
were - Snape would go back to being a distant, horrid git, and Malfoy would take up the
usual mantle of the nasty bully. Instead, Snape had remained weirdly and annoyingly
involved, completely shocking Harry, and Draco had lost his place as the king of Slytherin.
Everything was topsy-turvy.

“So, when are you heading up to see Madam Pomfrey?” Ron asked.

Harry made a face. “I’m not.”

“But I thought Snape said -”

“I don’t give a damn what Snape says,” Harry snapped. He was still furious with the man for
a number of reasons and didn’t feel any particular urge to do as he said.

“Don’t bite my head off!” Ron said. “I was just asking…”

Harry shifted in place and glanced over at Ron rather guiltily. “Sorry. Long day.”

“I can imagine.” Ron clapped him on the back. “C’mon, let’s drag Hermione away from her
homework and get some early dinner. Maybe Hagrid’ll be at the staff table.”

“Good idea,” Harry said, getting to his feet.

But much to their dismay, there was no sign of Hagrid in the Great Hall. For once, Harry
wasn’t the only person who’d lost his appetite through the sheer weight of his misery - Ron
and Hermione were also merely picking at their food, looking anxious.

“You don’t think they’ve sacked him, do you?” Hermione whispered, casting worried glances
up at the staff table.

“They’d better not have,” Ron said, staring into his plate and looking thoroughly depressed.

“There was a light on in his hut, wasn’t there?” Harry realised. “Maybe we still have time to
visit him before curfew?”

“Let’s go, then,” Hermione said, shoving her plate away.

The three of them rose from the Gryffindor benches and headed out of the Great Hall,
heading in the direction of the grounds. Harry had barely made it past the Entrance Hall when
a hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder. Harry jumped violently as he was yanked
around to face an incredibly angry-looking Snape. His lips were curled into a snarl.

“Tell me, Potter,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Do you truly think I have nothing better
to do with my time than spend my evenings hunting down people who are suddenly
incapable of keeping an appointment? Did I or did I not say that you were to report to the
Hospital Wing as soon as your afternoon lessons concluded?”
Harry ground his back teeth and didn’t respond, furious that he’d been caught. Ron and
Hermione were watching him rather nervously from the sidelines.

“A verbal answer, Potter,” Snape said, his grip tightening. “Do I also need Madam Pomfrey
to check you over for a memory deficiency? Perhaps brain damage?”

“No,” Harry ground out.

“Then why were you not where you had been specifically instructed to go?”

“Because I didn’t want to go!” Harry hissed.

“Detention for disobeying me,” Snape growled. “My office, six o’clock, Thursday. Now, we
are going to go to the Hospital Wing, where you should have been two hours ago!”

Harry cast a longing look at Ron and Hermione, who were edging towards the large double
doors of the Entrance Hall, ready to see Hagrid. Both of them looked very uncomfortable.
“But sir -”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Snape interrupted. He began to march Harry towards the staircases
without giving him so much as a chance for him to wave goodbye to Ron and Hermione,
which was rather annoying. If that wasn’t bad enough, Snape was in an utterly foul mood,
and it had put him into Harry’s least favourite state: lecture mode.

“Has it occurred to you, Potter, that I actually have a job?” Snape said angrily, still half-
dragging Harry along. “That I have duties to attend to, which are increased tenfold with the
pressures of term beginning? Maybe, considering the fact that you share your Care of
Magical Creatures lessons with the Slytherins and witnessed the incident earlier, you could
have thought for a moment about someone other than yourself and realised that perhaps I
would rather not have to take time away from Draco while he convalesces to hunt you down
during this ridiculous tantrum you’ve decided to throw?”

“I never asked you to,” Harry spat.

“I don’t care!” Snape said, his voice growing rather loud. “When I tell you to do something,
you do it! You don’t get to make these decisions!”

“I don’t need this stupid check-up anyway!” Harry shouted. “So why don’t you go and deal
with Draco like you so clearly want to, and just stop bothering with me already if I’m such a
nightmare to deal with?”

Snape stopped his march onwards for a moment, and some of the anger faded from his face.
Instead, realisation flashed across his features. He’d extracted the meaning behind Harry’s
words, he realised with a grimace.

“I am not going to stop bothering with you. I am in this for the long haul, as I believe I
informed you.”

I wish you weren’t. Harry barely bit back the words because as angry as he was, they weren’t
true. They walked in silence for a while, Harry fuming.
“Potter, why do you think I’m insisting on this meeting?” Snape asked abruptly.

“Because of the Dementors,” Harry muttered. “Because I’m the only one who fainted, and
now everyone thinks I’m all delicate.”

Snape looked vaguely affronted at those words. “Have you ever known me to treat anyone as
delicate, of all things? Merlin’s beard…”

Harry frowned. “Is it not because of the Dementors, then?”

“No,” Snape said with a scowl. “It’s a check-up, Potter. It’s to make sure you aren’t suffering
from any underlying health problems no one knows about. Madam Pomfrey may try and
further investigate why you fainted yesterday, but I actually had been planning to schedule
this for several weeks.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t do these things for the fun of it,” Snape said acidly. “I have reasoning behind my
actions, even if I do not always explain what that reasoning is, which is why you need to start
actually doing as you’re told!”

“Er - right.”

Harry couldn’t quite bring himself to apologise, even though he was a bit sorry. He hoped
Snape knew, though. He was always rather perceptive.

Still, even with the embarrassment of the Dementor incident removed from the appointment,
Harry still felt on edge. Harry’s sparse memories of doctor visits in the Muggle world
consisted of a couple of very tense trips to A&E for broken limbs, as well as the horrible
memory of when he’d had an ear infection and had been held down and forced to take
antibiotics by his aunt. That incident still made Harry’s stomach contract nastily upon
recollection.

Even previous trips to Madam Pomfrey hadn’t exactly been pleasant. There had been the
Quirrell incident, which had involved a nasty amount of bed rest and fussing, as well as the
time he’d had to regrow all of the bones in his arm, which had been extremely painful. It had
also resulted in Colin Creevey getting petrified trying to visit him. All in all, Harry would
rather steer clear of all things medical. Since he had no choice about this particular trip, his
heart was thudding rather uncomfortably.

Snape pushed the doors to the Hospital Wing open, still refusing to let go of Harry's shoulder
until they were standing next to a bed. Harry was relieved to notice that the place was largely
deserted, excluding one occupied bed. A blonde head was sticking out of the covers.

“Is he alright?” Harry whispered to Snape, concern for Draco overriding his general irritation
with the man before him.

“He’ll be fine - he’s just sleeping,” Snape said. His lip curled into a sneer. “Hippogriffs for
third-years! Of all the ridiculous, dangerous, and downright foolish endeavours…”
“It wasn’t Hagrid’s fault!” Harry said indignantly. “Everything would have been fine if Draco
hadn’t insulted Buckbeak!”

“Hippogriffs are incredibly volatile creatures, Harry!” Snape hissed. “You shouldn’t have
been anywhere near them at your age!”

“But he -”

“Ah, you’re both here!” Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office cheerfully. “I could tell by
the bickering alone…”

“I apologise for Potter’s shocking lack of punctuality,” Snape said. He glared at Harry, who
scowled right back. “He will be punished for wasting your time, I assure you.”

“No worries. Sit on the bed, Potter,” Madam Pomfrey ordered. Harry sighed a little and
perched on the side of the hospital bed, swinging his legs back and forth.

“I’ll just be doing some diagnostic spells,” Madam Pomfrey said, getting out her wand and
pointing it at Harry. “Hold your breath for a moment, dear…”

Harry obeyed, and felt the icy trickle of a Diagnostic Charm settle over his skin. A piece of
parchment appeared in the air next to Madam Pomfrey, which she and Snape began to read.
Harry fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable about being stuck out of the loop.

Madam Pomfrey clucked her tongue. “He’s rather underweight.”

“We’ve been working on it,” Snape said, pulling a piece of parchment out of the pocket of his
robes. “This is the diagnostic scan I did two and a half weeks ago.”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “Better, but I’d like a bit more progress than this. Ensure
you eat properly at meals, Potter, understood?”

“Oh. Um, okay.”

“If that doesn’t work, we may need to incorporate some sort of nutritional supplement,”
Madam Pomfrey said to Snape. “This is rather concerning.”

He nodded. “I’ll happily brew it.”

“And I want to keep monitoring this,” Madam Pomfrey announced. “I want to check in with
you fortnightly for the foreseeable future until this is sorted.”

Harry groaned and slumped backwards. Constant Hospital Wing visits? This was exactly the
sort of thing he’d been worried about!

Snape shot him a sharp look. “You are on very thin ice, Harry. Behave yourself or you will
find your evenings being increasingly overtaken by detentions!”

Harry bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and glowered at the floor.
Madam Pomfrey ignored this whole exchange. She was busy conjuring up a series of floating
letters a certain distance away from Harry. “Read those aloud for me, Potter?”

Harry obeyed, although he found himself struggling with the last couple of lines. Even with
his glasses, he’d never been the best at seeing things that were particularly far away from
him.

Madam Pomfrey frowned at him. “When was the last time you had your prescription
checked?”

“Um…” Harry picked at a loose thread on his sleeve and didn’t meet either Madam Pomfrey
or Snape’s eyes. After all, his relatives wouldn’t have wasted their valuable time on taking
Harry to an optician…

“Well, you’re in sore need of updated lenses,” Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head.
“Honestly, it’s a miracle you can even see the blackboard with the state of those glasses!”

Harry coughed awkwardly. As a matter of fact, when it came to his teachers with particularly
tiny handwriting like Snape or McGonagall, Harry couldn’t make out half of the instructions
on the blackboard. He didn’t verbalise this, but judging by Snape’s flaring nostrils and
annoyed expression, he’d guessed.

“I’ll order new ones immediately,” Snape said. “While they’re prepared, ensure you sit at the
front of your classes.”

Harry nodded, even though he absolutely was not going to be doing that.

Madam Pomfrey cast some other spell that made Harry’s eyes go strangely blurry, and
handed a new piece of parchment to Snape. While he pocketed it, she turned back to Harry.
“Are there any other health concerns that either of you wish to mention?”

“Nope, I’m fine,” Harry said, sensing an end to the appointment and making to get up.

“Not so fast,” Snape said, holding out an arm and barring Harry from jumping down off the
bed. “There are a few things I’ve been waiting to discuss. Harry has had multiple panic
attacks of varying degrees of severity over the last few weeks.”

Harry closed his eyes and consciously took a deep breath. Not because of a panic attack -
because if he didn’t calm the surging rage, he’d surely hop to his feet and punch Snape right
in his beaky nose. What was he playing at?!

Madam Pomfrey tutted. “How many?”

“I’ve witnessed about three, but I’m certain there are more he hasn’t mentioned.” Someone
prodded Harry’s arm, and his eyes shot open. Snape cocked his head to one side. “Care to
inform us?”

“No,” he growled.
Snape seemed to have anticipated that answer; he carried on without missing a beat. “I’m
dealing with them privately, but I thought it was best to alert you that there’s a history in case
he’s sent up here during lessons.”

“Of course, of course…”

Harry was beginning to wish he could sink into the floor at this point. Did Snape really think
he was about to start hyperventilating in lessons at random? It was ridiculous!

“Did you have one yesterday when you saw the Dementor, dear?” Madam Pomfrey asked,
face horribly sympathetic. “Is that why you fainted?”

“No,” Harry ground out, struggling to manage his annoyance. “I don’t even know what did
happen, I just blacked out.”

“Because of what you heard or saw?” Snape asked, looking a little alarmed.

“I didn’t hear or see anything!” Harry said angrily. “It just floated in, and I got all cold, and
suddenly I heard screaming and then I woke up on the floor. That was it.”

“Screaming?” Madam Pomfrey queried, eyeing him with considerable concern.

“Yeah. But that was it. No panic stuff.”

“If you have any more panic attacks, feel free to come here,” Madam Pomfrey said briskly.
Harry obviously wasn’t going to do this in a million years, and hoped the haughty look of
derision on his face conveyed that. “Now, Severus, since you’ve got authority over Potter
now, do you want him to have the dragonpox vaccine?”

Snape looked between Harry and Madam Pomfrey with growing alarm. “He’s not had it?”

“His relatives never signed the permission forms when I sent them out last September,”
Madam Pomfrey explained. “At the time, I simply presumed his relatives were just opposed
to such things - some parents are, as you know…”

Snape’s face was the picture of annoyance for a few moments until he noticeably Occluded it
away. “Yes. He’ll be having that. Are there any others he’s missed?”

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “His records indicate he received most of the ones we have
to update the Muggleborns on as a baby.”

“Good,” Snape said.

That was odd to think about. Harry supposed he had spent a year with parents who actually
cared about his medical needs before Lily and James Potter had died, even if he couldn’t
remember it. His chest clenched a little at the thought. How different could Harry’s life
potentially have been?

“Shall we get it over with now?” Snape asked.

“I’ll fetch what I need.”

As Madam Pomfrey headed towards her office, Harry turned to Snape and frowned. “Um…
what’s going on? What’s dragonpox?“

Dragonpox is a nasty wizarding disease which we vaccinate students against at the start of
second year,” Snape explained.

“Oh, yeah. I kind of remember that happening.”

Seamus and Dean had spent the entire day punching everyone in their aching upper arms, to
the general outrage of most of the second years. Harry hadn’t paid much attention, since he’d
been too busy dreading an upcoming detention with Lockhart for the Ford Anglia incident.

“Wait, so it’s like an injection?” he asked.

“Yes.” Snape’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you afraid of needles?”

“What? No!” Harry said indignantly. “I’m not a baby!”

“A simple question, no need to get so offended,” Snape drawled, folding his arms.

“I’m not scared, I just didn’t know wizards did vaccines like that,” Harry said. “I thought you
drank most Potions.”

Snape stared at Harry for several moments, wearing what he’d come to term as Snape’s ‘you
complete dunderhead’ look. “That is simply not the case. Most potions are taken orally, but
they can also be received intravenously, topically, or even rectally.”

“What? Eugh!”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “You asked…”

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey returned from the office, holding a small box. She clicked it
open, revealing a needle, vial and a small container full of a black liquid.

“Robe off,” she ordered. Harry shed his outer robe, leaving him in his uniform shirt, which
Madam Pomfrey rolled up past his shoulder. “Sharp scratch in just a moment…”

Harry barely winced as the needle slid in and out of his arm. “And done. You’ll need to sit
here for observation for half an hour, Potter.”

“Why?” he complained. Harry had really been hoping to sneak off to see Hagrid after this!

“Standard protocol for Muggleborn or Muggle-raised students,” she explained. “You’re at a

higher risk of unknown allergies, which are far easier to treat if you’re in a medical facility,
not Gryffindor Tower.”

As annoyed as he was, Harry supposed that did make sense… it didn’t mean he had to be
happy about it, though.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Snape said.

Harry grimaced. “You don’t have to -”

“I’m already sitting with Draco. I have no reason not to stay with you, given that you’re
actually conscious and capable of conversation - and especially since you have an irritating
propensity to wander off or otherwise end up in places that you aren’t supposed to be in.”
Snape turned to Madam Pomfrey. “Will that be all?”

“Yes. I’ll see you in two weeks, Potter,” she said briskly.

“Yes, you will,” Snape said pointedly. “Thank you for your time, Poppy.”

Harry, for his part, did not thank Madam Pomfrey, because he was still rather angry about
getting stuck here in the first place. He rolled his shoulder, arm already beginning to ache.

“Do I have to get any more of those?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Fourth year, but you drink it,” Snape explained. “The dragonpox one is too toxic to be
ingested.”

Harry thought that if it was toxic to drink then they shouldn’t be injecting it into him, either,
but he supposed there was some complicated Potions answer that Snape would sneer at him
for not knowing, so he didn’t mention that.

Did dragonpox turn you into a dragon? Harry thought that would be pretty cool, but he
doubted that was what it actually was. When Dudley had gotten chickenpox when they were
eight, Harry had been excited for his cousin to turn into an actual chicken, but he’d just been
covered head to foot in nasty red blisters. Knowing magic, though, Harry wasn’t going to rule
out the possibility of turning humans into dragons…

Harry gradually realised that Snape was watching him with the piercing look that meant he
was wondering something.

“Yeah?” he prompted.

“You can tell me what you heard with the Dementors privately, if you’d like,” Snape said in a
low voice. “If you didn’t want to mention it in front of outside parties…”

“I really can’t remember,” Harry said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I’m not lying.”

Snape frowned. Harry assumed that he was using his irritating propensity to distinguish lies
from truth and had realised that Harry was actually being honest.

“Strange,” he said eventually.

Harry simply shrugged and kept swinging his legs. This half an hour was going to drag…

“How was your day?” Snape asked eventually.

Harry snapped his head around. “Huh?”

“A simple question, and one I believe you have the capacity to answer.” Snape rolled his
eyes.

“Oh. It was… eh.”

Harry had only just bitten back the instinctive answer of ‘shit’, but Snape still didn’t seem
particularly impressed with his brief response. “Why? What happened?”

Harry gestured in the direction of Draco. “Well… that.”

“Ah.”

“And half of my Divination class are convinced I’m gonna drop dead at any minute,” Harry
added, thinking back to Professor Trelawney’s ominous predictions about his tea leaves. “I’ve
got the Grim, apparently.”

Snape’s nostrils flared, and his lips thinned. “Of course you’re the annual student she picks
with a price on your head. Of course. Pay no mind to that prediction. As a matter of fact, I am
fairly certain that anybody who Sybill predicts an untimely death for goes on to live an
usually long life. I’ll have to suffer your irritating habits a while longer, unfortunately.”

Harry smiled, despite himself. “That's pretty much what Professor McGonagall said.”

“A wise woman.”

“She turned into a cat today,” Harry added. “That was cool. How do you learn how to do
that?”

Snape’s face shifted in an instant from mild interest to immediate anger.

“You are not becoming an Animagus!” he hissed. “If I hear so much as an inkling that you’ve
tried that -”

“Okay, okay!” Harry held his hands up. “I wasn’t going to, jeez!”

“You’ll be scrubbing cauldrons until you graduate if you even think about trying it,” Snape
said, jabbing a finger at Harry.

“Okay, fine.”

“And tell Miss Granger that the same applies to her,” Snape added after a moment.

Harry frowned. “Er… okay?”

“Don’t give me that look,” Snape said sharply. “I know she was up to something last year
when she was in here with a tail and fur, and if that wasn’t a botched Animagus
transformation I don’t know what is!”
“You know about that?” Harry asked faintly, his mouth growing dry. Images of fireworks in
Goyle’s cauldron, stolen boomslang skin and a trip into the Slytherin common room began
flashing through his mind. Harry intentionally stared at the floor to hide his guilty face, a
move that only seemed to confirm Snape’s suspicions that he was in on it.

“Tell me what you know!” he ordered.

“I - I don’t know anything,” Harry said evasively. “Um… Hermione likes to research stuff.
Yeah. I don’t pay much attention. Most of it goes over my head, anyway.”

Snape regarded him for several moments. “You are an absolutely terrible liar.”

Harry coughed awkwardly and ducked his head.

“I’ll get it out of you someday,” Snape muttered.

Dream on, Harry thought. He was fairly certain Snape would murder him if he found out he’d
illegally brewed Polyjuice in a girls lavatory to spy on Draco, so that was never going to
come out. Good God, the lecturing it would entail! Harry shivered at the mere prospect…

“How much longer?” he asked, eager to get away from this interrogation.

“Twenty minutes.”

Harry groaned loudly.

“Right,” Snape said, getting to his feet and standing in front of Harry. “You are going to
properly explain what your issue is immediately. Why are you still in such a state over a
check-up?”

“I’m not in a state -”

“I don’t understand why you would go out of your way to avoid this in the manner that you
have unless there’s some type of underlying problem,” Snape continued, his gaze piercing. “I
am aware that nobody enjoys spending time in the infirmary, but this is frankly excessive.
What’s your issue?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Bad associations.”

Snape frowned. “I thought you didn’t have extensive contact with medical professionals as a
child.”

“I didn’t, but when I was taken…”

Nails digging into his cheek. Sickly medicine coating the back of his throat.

“Bad memories,” he said simply.

“I see.” Snape’s lips tugged downward slightly. “I would have handled this with a bit more
understanding if I’d known.”
“Eh, I probably should have mentioned it,” Harry admitted reluctantly.

“I will keep this in mind when this is repeated in two weeks' time.”

Harry bit down on his cheek again to suppress a groan.

“You have to rewrite bad associations at some point,” Snape said briskly. “The only way is
forward.”

“I guess,” Harry muttered, staring at the floor again.

He and Snape both fell into a relatively peaceful silence, until Harry eventually remembered
why he’d been so angry in the first place. He’d been distracted for a minute by Snape’s
questions, but his annoyance over the omission towards Black quickly came flooding back.
Harry absolutely couldn’t stand when people kept information from him, something which
Snape decided to do far too frequently for Harry’s liking. Not mentioning his friendship with
Lily - a complicated matter, Harry could admit, but still - coupled with his silence about
Legilimising Draco? He was utterly determined to keep secrets, and it was driving Harry up
the wall!

He gritted his teeth and glowered at the flagstones. Luckily for him, Snape didn’t notice. He
got to his feet and swept over to where Draco was sleeping. He sat by the boy’s side, and
reached out to brush away some hair that had flopped over his eyes.

Harry normally would have reflected upon the oddness of this tender gesture on a man like
Snape, but his musings were interrupted by a strange, strangled feeling in the back of Harry’s
throat. He was abruptly filled with bitterness, mind flooded with a dozen memories of Aunt
Petunia hugging Dudley, reading him stories, talking to him, tucking him in at night. Even
Uncle Vernon, who was not particularly affectionate by any means, frequently clapped
Dudley on the back, or smiled at him past his bristly moustache and said how proud he was
of his son.

They never, ever did that with Harry.

Jealousy was a green-eyed monster, they said, and Harry thought that phrase was particularly
fitting when it came to him. He had spent so much of his childhood feeling terribly envious
of Dudley; not just the physical, like his toys and two bedrooms, but the emotional, like the
relationship he had with his parents. The relationship Harry would never have with any sort
of parental figure…

Why were these feelings rearing their ugly head now? He had no reason to be jealous of
Draco, if that was what this even was. Not when it came to Snape. Harry was perfectly aware
that Snape was only involved in this arrangement out of necessity; because there was no one
else who could take care of Harry. While they had overcome the old hatred and had built a
new, decent rapport, that didn’t automatically mean there would be any sort of affection
between them or anything. He was still Harry Potter, after all. Harry was aware of that. He
didn’t expect any extras from Snape, especially since Harry had long ago resigned himself to
never receiving the kind of emotional support his cousin got…
 Things were different with Draco. Of course they were. He and Snape had a far longer and
less fraught history. They were closer, Snape actually wanted Draco around, and they had
more in common, with Potions, and being Slytherins… He would therefore enjoy spending
time with Draco a lot more. It made sense. Harry wasn’t jealous. He ought to be used to being
the unwanted addition onto a family by now.

Harry looked away from them, his chest aching. He gave Snape a series of one word answers
until he finally stopped bothering him, and released Harry at the end of the observation
period.

“Remember to eat well,” Snape said. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you at mealtimes.”

Harry nodded, and didn’t meet his eyes. He felt oddly empty and numb.

“And don’t forget about your detention. I do not want a repeat of today’s events on Thursday,
do you understand?”

Harry mechanically moved his head up and down and made to leave.

Snape cleared his throat. “A verbal answer, please?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled before making a beeline for the Hospital Wing doors.

That was all that things ever were with him and Snape. Harry being in trouble for something.
Especially now they were back at Hogwarts; who cared what Snape had said the other day?
He was obviously busy, too busy for Harry. No more chess, just him giving out endless
detentions and being angry. None of the things he had with Draco.

He pressed his lips together, ignoring the burning behind his eyes.

Chapter End Notes

Ron and Hermione in this chapter are brought to you by that time you went to your
friend's house as a child only to get caught in the middle of a massive argument between
your friend and their parent, all while they both try to drag you into it xD They have my
utmost sympathies for bearing the awkwardness lol. Harry and the others will start to
resolve this angst soon, though! <3
 A Pedagogical Disagreement

Harry remained rather melancholy over the course of the next few days. He went about
everything in a sort of glum haze, not really finding anything too interesting, and simply
picked at his food at most meals. Nothing seemed particularly fun anymore, not even the first
Quidditch practice of the season, and he just couldn’t work out why.

Ron and Hermione noticed how down Harry was, but they seemed to just assume it was a
symptom of the situation with Hagrid. Harry had met back up with them in the common
room after his evening in the Hospital Wing, where they’d informed him that Hagrid had
been practically inconsolable in his hut, worried about the situation with Draco and his job.
Harry had given them a brief outline of his time in the Hospital Wing, and had carefully
deflected any further questioning about Snape. Ron had been angry and sympathetic on
Harry’s behalf about the detention, while Hermione had a slightly reproachful look in her
eyes that let Harry know she thought he deserved it. None of it penetrated the fog
surrounding him.

Things only worsened on Thursday morning as he headed down into the dungeons for their
first Potions lesson of the year. Harry went to take his usual seat in the back of the dungeons,
only to be stopped by Snape blocking his way, eyes narrowed.

“Not so fast, Potter,” he said softly. “Front.”

Harry grimaced - he’d forgotten Snape knew he couldn’t see the blackboard now. He
reluctantly shuffled to the front of the classroom. Ron, in a show of loyalty that Harry deeply
appreciated, followed along with a commiserating grimace. Hermione, who usually sat there
anyway, beamed at the both of them.

As the Potions lesson continued, Harry found he still couldn’t concentrate. Like he’d
promised, Snape wasn’t being outwardly horrible to Harry whenever he could seize the
opportunity as he’d done in previous years, but that wasn’t helping him focus. Harry found
Potions horribly tricky, and the atmosphere of the classroom tended to unnerve him at the
best of times. Furthermore, while Snape had promised to leave Harry alone, that promise
clearly did not extend to his classmates. Snape maintained his usual icy persona as he
circulated the classroom and glared at the Gryffindors while they dropped things into their
cauldrons, frequently barking angry reprimands.

“Three caterpillars, Finnigan! Five points from Gryffindor for your inability to follow
directions!”

“No whispering, Patil. Five points from Gryffindor for disrupting the class.”

“Orange, Longbottom,” Snape hissed, gesturing to Neville’s cauldron, which was supposed
to be a bright acid green. “Orange! Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of
yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I
state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you
understand, Longbottom?”
Neville was staring at the floor, obviously on the verge of tears.

“Please, sir,” Hermione interjected quickly, “please, I could help Neville put it right -”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” Snape hissed, and Hermione
flushed a deep pink. “Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this
potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Neville was shaking by the time Snape moved away. He turned to Hermione and whispered,
“Please, help me!”

Harry glared down at his chopping board and accidentally decapitated a caterpillar. He was
also shaking, but it was with anger, the first emotion to burst through the numb cloud he’d
been continuing in for the past few days. After the events of the summer, where Snape had
proven that he was capable of being a far more considerate and calm person, his usual
callousness when it came to Neville seemed even more heartless. In fact, Harry had started to
forget how horrible Snape had it in him to be. Seeing him revert to the behaviour of before
had him seething. It was only a sharp elbow to the ribs and a hissed admonishment from Ron
to be careful that stopped Harry from exploding right then and there, but it was a close thing.

Surprisingly enough, the only part of Potions that went against the status quo was Draco’s
behaviour. He usually would have taken vindictive pleasure in Neville’s misery, but he didn’t
pay the other boy any attention for once. He was too busy staring longingly at the other
Slytherins from his desk at the far edge of the classroom, where Harry couldn’t help but note
that nobody had joined him at. He was pointedly avoiding looking in Harry’s direction,
though.

The lesson quickly drew to a close, and Snape gathered the whole class around Neville’s
cauldron. He glowered at the shaking boy.

“Everyone, watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad,” he said, spooning up some of

Neville’s potion, which was finally the correct colour. “If he has managed to produce a
Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his
toad is likely to be poisoned.”

To Harry’s immense relief, there was a small pop, and a wiggling tadpole appeared on
Snape’s palm. The Gryffindors burst into applause, but he didn’t seem particularly impressed
as he returned Trevor to his correct size.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said in a toneless voice. He folded his arms and shot a
sharp look at Hermione. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

“Points off for a perfectly good potion?” Harry hissed, his anger finally boiling over. “What
is wrong with you?”

There were noticeable gasps at Harry’s words from both the Slytherins and the Gryffindors.
Harry, who had been so angry just moments before, felt rather like the bottom of his stomach
had just dropped out. He remained frozen with anticipation along with the rest of the class as
Snape walked up to him very slowly. He only stopped when he was inches from Harry,
looming over him, eyes narrowed and jaw tense.

“Detention, and twenty points from Gryffindor.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper,
but perfectly audible in the silent classroom. Snape’s head snapped around to glare at the rest
of the students. “Did you not hear me? Dismissed!”

There was practically a scrimmage at the door to try and get out of the classroom as quickly
as possible. Harry pressed his way out into the corridor to find Ron staring at him, mouth
agape.

“Mate…” he said in an awed voice. “I don’t know what it was like living with him, but
you’ve grown some massive balls.”

“Not so loud,” Harry muttered. The rest of the class were still gathered around, occasionally
glancing at him and whispering behind their hands about the incident that had just unfolded.
Harry really didn’t want them to overhear about his living arrangements. “Anyway, he was
being unfair. I got angry. Simple as.”

“We all get angry at Snape, but you never explode like that!” Ron said. “You’re being so
weird with him, like when you didn’t go to the Hospital Wing after he told you to the other
day!”

“And you got into that argument with him in Professor McGonagall’s office on the first
night,” Hermione chimed in, appearing from behind them while tucking something into the
neck of her robes. “What’s going on with you two, Harry?”

“Yeah, why hasn’t he killed you yet?” Ron asked.

“He’s still got time to do that,” Harry said with a sigh. “He’s going to make me regret this,
trust me…”

Hermione gave him an anxious look. “Oh, I do wish you’d be careful, Harry. You really
shouldn’t make him angry.”

“And he shouldn’t treat people the way he does!” Harry said irritably. “He’s horrid to Neville,
and I don’t like it.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged befuddled looks but otherwise didn’t respond as they entered
the Great Hall for lunch.

Harry’s bad mood continued for the rest of the day, only slightly relenting during their
Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Professor Lupin really was quite a brilliant teacher,
and the battle against the boggart was really quite enjoyable, particularly when Neville
changed Snape’s usual black robes into the lacy dress and vulture hat of his fierce
grandmother. Seeing him in such an outfit was rather ridiculous.

Still, something about the whole situation really didn’t sit right with Harry. Even though
Neville was so scared of such a large range of things, his greatest fear was Snape? That was
awful! It wasn’t like Neville was just scared for no reason, either - after the incident earlier,
he had every right to be deathly afraid of Snape…

But that didn’t make Harry feel any better about the situation. In fact, the more he thought
about it, the more bitterly angry he felt. He’d really come to respect Snape, so seeing the way
he treated people like Neville was a real kick in the teeth.

If that wasn’t all bad enough, Professor Lupin stepped in front of Harry before he could take
on the boggart himself. That only worsened Harry’s foul mood. Why had he chosen to do
that? Was it because of the train, and the incident with the Dementor? Did Professor Lupin
think Harry was too weak to handle it or something?

Harry once again found himself picking at his dinner moodily as everyone laughed and
chattered about the lesson. He was once again put in the uncomfortable position of feeling
simultaneously outraged and miserable, which Harry hadn’t known was possible. Sometimes,
Harry worried he might actually explode from all of the feelings swirling around inside of
him like a whirlwind…

Far quicker than he would have liked, Harry found himself trudging down to the dungeons
for his detention at six. Harry took a deep breath and raised his fist to knock on the door, but
it swung open before his hand could land. Snape stared down at him, and gestured to the
office interior. “In.”

Harry shuffled inside, trying very hard not to look at the jars of floating things on Snape’s
shelves. A rickety desk that reminded Harry of the one in the laboratory at Spinner’s End had
been set up on the side of the room. Snape pointed at it without saying a word, and Harry sat
down. Parchment and a quill appeared before him.

“I will not disrespect or undermine the authority of my professors during lessons, and I will
follow instructions and arrive promptly to appointments that are allotted to me by Hogwarts
staff. Write it until I tell you to stop.”

Harry sighed and got started. The office was silent, save for the sound of Harry’s quill
scratching alongside Snape’s. Harry assumed Snape was verbally tearing some first-year’s
essay to shreds at his desk while Harry wrote his lines. Snape probably took pleasure in
making little Hufflepuffs cry, Harry thought viciously. He was like a… a tear vampire. He
lived by drinking the tears of crying children or something, because he was so evil. Harry
ground his teeth and started writing his lines a bit more violently than necessary, almost
ripping the parchment beneath the nib of the quill.

Unfortunately for Harry, the silent detention he’d been relieved to find himself in did not
continue in that manner for much longer. He should have known better than to think he could
get away with this all without a quintessential Snape lecture. About an hour in, Snape cleared
his throat, but Harry didn’t look up from his desk. He was too angry to make eye contact
without glaring, which would probably just get him in more trouble…

“Harry.”
That jolted him for a moment. He’d forgotten about the ‘first names in private’ rule, and it
made him feel like he was back at Spinner’s End again. Still, Harry refused to meet Snape’s
gaze.

“I am speaking to you,” Snape said in a quiet, dangerous voice. “I will keep you here until
you remember your manners, so if you want to have any of your evening to yourself I’d
advise you to be respectful.”

Harry at last dragged his head away from the lines, hoping his narrowed eyes thoroughly
conveyed his anger. Snape levelly met his gaze, expression blank.

“I am aware that you know how to behave, Harry,” he said in a strangely placid voice. “So
could you possibly explain to me why you no longer find yourself able to? What on earth has
gotten into you this week? Two detentions?”

Harry clenched his hands into fists and didn’t reply.

“That number can easily increase if you maintain this sullen silence,” Snape said coolly.

“I don’t know how to answer because I don’t know what you want from me!” Harry said
through gritted teeth. He prayed his anger would calm before it manifested into accidental
magic, because Snape’s office seemed to be composed of entirely breakable objects.

“I am not asking a lot!” Snape said, his voice rising. “I am simply asking you to be
respectful! Is that honestly so difficult?”

“Yes, actually!” Harry said loudly “Because I don’t think you deserve all that much respect!”

Snape’s eyes flashed. He got to his feet and leaned his hands on his desk. “I beg your
pardon?”

Well, in for a penny in for a pound, Harry supposed. He folded his arms and glared up at
Snape. “Yeah, actually, because you don’t seem to be able to respect anyone in Potions apart
from the stupid Slytherins! You’re absolutely horrid to Neville, you know that?”

“Longbottom is a scatterbrained child with no capacity for the delicacy and attentiveness
required in Potions,” Snape growled. “He doesn’t even bother to try!”

“He does!” Harry shouted. “I see him trying! He reads up on Potions all the time in the
common room, did you know that? But he completely goes to pieces in your lessons because
he’s terrified of you, since you spend the whole class bullying him!”

“I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but questioning my teaching methods is not
and has never been acceptable behaviour!” Snape shouted back. “Detention.”

Harry bit down on his cheek so hard he drew blood and glowered at Snape. His heart was
pounding rapidly in his ears, and his chest was heaving. He heard a cracking noise, and saw
Snape’s dark eyes dart to something behind his shoulder. Harry twisted his neck and saw that
one of Snape’s jars had cracked, and green liquid was seeping through the break, creating a
puddle on the floor. A jet of white light hit the glass, vanishing it and the leaking liquid.
Harry turned back around to find that Snape had soundlessly moved from his desk to Harry’s,
and jumped. A Calming Draught was held out to him.

“I -”

“Don’t,” Snape growled, and the fury in his voice was what made Harry reluctantly swallow
the potion. It washed over his irritation like sticky treacle, dampening it down to less
dramatic, loud levels. It didn’t vanish entirely like it occasionally did under the influence of
the potion, a testament to how righteously outraged Harry was. Still, without the blinders of
fury on, Harry could fully realise how stupid that little rant had been. He cringed.

Snape stared at him silently for almost a full minute, the scowl on his face gradually
loosening into the blankness of Occlumency.

“When I was at Hogwarts,” Snape said, “three people died in Potions. That was in my time
there alone - the death toll overall is far higher. It was considered a side effect of the class; a
risk that had to be accepted. Brewing is an extraordinarily dangerous art, after all.”

He took a step closer to Harry. “I have been teaching Potions for twelve years now, and I
have never had a student die, because I teach my classes with the sternness and due care and
attention that such a dangerous subject necessitates. If I was not strict in my lessons, students
would be far more likely to misbehave and throw together horrific amalgamations of volatile
ingredients that could kill an entire classroom of students in an instant. Therefore, risks to the
safety of themselves and others such as Longbottom need to be browbeaten into
understanding how dangerous what they’re doing is! Longbottom, and the rest of the
dunderheads I teach, must be compelled to exhibit caution under threat of my ire because
otherwise they could lose their lives!”

Snape’s nostrils were flaring. “That is why I am very angry with you, Harry. I require there to
be a certain level of respect between myself and my students, and you publicly going against
me and shouting at me erodes that. I understand your temper and the issues in your personal
life, as we have discussed them at length, and there is a certain amount of your bad attitude
that I am willing to tolerate in private in light of that. When you bring things into the public
sphere, and into my classroom, that crosses the boundary into blatant disrespect, and that I
will never tolerate. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said quietly, feeling slightly ashamed. He knew he had a right to be angry
with Snape… but maybe he could have had a conversation about the Neville stuff that wasn’t
in front of everyone. Maybe Snape would have listened more that way.

“You can leave,” he said, vanishing the parchment sitting in front of Harry. “I’ll see you
tomorrow, same time, but in my classroom.”

Harry nodded and pulled his bag from the floor. He headed over to the door but stopped just
short of the handle. He didn’t know if he was being stupidly stubborn and needed the last
word or if this was something he really ought to get out in the open, but either way, the words
were tumbling out before he could stop them.
“So you say that you have to be strict so people don’t blow a limb off,” Harry said. He
paused for a moment, expecting Snape to start having a go at him, but the man remained
silent. Expectant, even. “Okay, then. If you think that's the only thing that would work, fine.
But we’re on the other side of it, and that’s not how it’s coming across for Neville. He’s so
scared of you and of messing up in your lessons that he can’t even concentrate, and that’s
causing him to make more mistakes! Shouting at him is just making it worse. He can’t learn
like that.”

Snape’s lips thinned. “I do not appreciate you taking it upon yourself to critique my teaching
methods, considering you are a thirteen year old boy with no experience managing a
classroom. Just go, Harry.”

He began to walk out of the office, despair and frustration washing through him. Harry
simply shook his head at Snape. “We had Defence Against the Dark Arts today. We did
boggarts, and do you know what Neville’s was? You. And Neville’s scared of an awful lot of
things, but out of all that, you're still what he's most afraid of! I get that you're a strict teacher,
but personally I think that when you start being your students' worst fears, you've crossed a
line somewhere, sir."

Harry practically spat the honorific before hurrying from the classroom. Snape was clearly
making an effort to hide his emotions, but Harry was becoming annoyingly acquainted with
the subtleties of the man's body language. There was a slight slump to his shoulders Harry
registered that suggested Snape was somewhat abashed.

He didn't come after Harry to yell at him, thankfully. He realised glumly upon further
reflection that Snape was probably saving it up for tomorrow.

One day later, a reluctant Harry dragged himself away from the usual common room
festivities of a Friday evening and made his way down to Snape's classroom. Once again, in
typical Snape fashion, the door swung open before Harry could touch it. Snape was sitting
behind his usual desk, fingers laced together in front of him.

Harry entered the classroom, but couldn't spot any specific unpleasant task that had been left
out for him to attend to at a workstation. Lost for where to go, he simply stood in front of the
main desk. He and Snape stared at each other for several long moments, neither of them
speaking. Harry broke first.

"What do you want me to do?"

Snape flicked his wrist, and a chair flew over to the front of the desk. "Sit."

Harry did so, not taking his eyes off Snape the entire time. He was very obviously Occluding,
so Harry’s hackles automatically rose. He once again tried to wait in silence until Snape
explained what he wanted, but the man continued to stare at him, gaze piercing, until Harry
could bear the quiet no longer.

“This is a detention, so what am I doing?” Harry just wanted to get it all over with so he
could go back to Gryffindor Tower and forget all this.

Snape began to tap a finger against his desk. “We are going to talk.”

“Doesn’t seem very detention-y,” Harry muttered, glaring at his shoes. He’d almost prefer to
scrub cauldrons than get lectured for hours on end…

“Well, it’s what we’re doing.” Snape watched him, and Harry scowled. Eventually, Snape
sighed. “I don’t like this.”

Harry pushed away the pang of hurt. “Yeah, I’m fully aware you don’t like me -”

“Not you!” he snapped. “I meant this new dynamic that has sprung up between us, you
ridiculous boy.”

“Oh.” Harry coughed awkwardly.

“Something’s changed,” Snape announced. “You’ve been angry at me all week. Why?”

“Because Neville’s -”

“This predates the incident with Longbottom,” Snape interrupted, holding up a hand. “You’ve
been upset about something since the first day back, and I know it has something to do with
me.”

“Not everything is about you,” Harry muttered.

“This is. I can tell.” Snape and his infuriating ability to read Harry was really not wanted
here. “Tell me what your issue is.”

“No.”

“This is your detention, so I have the authority to hold you here until you complete your
punishment. In this current case, your punishment is talking to me. So talk.”

“Okay, fine!” Harry said roughly. “I am annoyed with you. I don’t like when you keep stuff
from me, and you keep doing it!”

Snape’s brows knitted together. “What have I kept from you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that Sirius Black is after me?” Harry spat, crossing his arms and
glowering at Snape. He looked absolutely nonplussed.

“I believe I spent a month trying to convince you that Black was after you, as a matter of fact.
While you spent the entire time implying I was a paranoiac.”
“But you didn’t tell me all the information!” Harry said loudly. “You didn’t tell me about how
he was sitting in Azkaban and muttering ‘he’s at Hogwarts’, did you?!”

Snape’s face grew rather weary. “The Weasleys told you.”

“I overheard,” Harry muttered. “And before you start having a go at me again, no, I wasn’t
eavesdropping. They were arguing, it was pretty hard not to overhear.”

Harry made the wise choice not to mention the fact he’d remained situated at the parlour door
when he’d realised they were discussing him. Snape was watching him closely again. He
folded his arms. “I told you the information you required to keep yourself safe.”

“But it was about me!” he said crossly. “I deserved to know!”

“To what end?” Snape asked, exhaling loudly. “I told you Black could possibly be targeting
you. I did not mention that he was specifically doing it because I thought that knowing the
intimate details surrounding an escaped mass-murderer who is out for your blood could be
very distressing!”

“I still should have been told!” Harry said indignantly. “What if I needed to protect myself?
What if he wants to fight me or something?”

“He blew up thirteen people, Harry!” Snape roared, suddenly looking quite angry. “There is
no fair fight against a man like that, which is why the adults surrounding you are the ones in
charge of your defence! What would telling you have achieved? All you needed to know was
to be more cautious than usual, and we would take care of the rest. I didn’t want to terrify
you, for Merlin’s sake!”

“I’m not terrified, though,” Harry pointed out. “I’m perfectly safe at Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s
here.”

Snape’s shoulders slumped slightly. “A pragmatic stance to take, I will give you that.”

“Exactly!” Harry grumbled. “I can be pragmatic. I don’t freak out about everything, I can
handle myself.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Snape stressed. “I simply wished to spare you the burden of the
information.”

“Oh.” Harry shuffled his feet against the floor, not meeting his eyes. Something strange
twisted in his chest.

“I do have your best interests at heart, Harry,” Snape sighed. “I wish you’d believe that.”

Sorry, Harry thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

There was an elongated silence. If Harry strained his ears, he thought he could hear a
cauldron bubbling in the background.
“So, I’m curious,” Snape said, examining Harry thoughtfully. “The points you brought up
about Mr Longbottom. What would you propose I do instead?”

“Oh. Just don’t yell at him all the time,” Harry said, feeling like the answer was rather
obvious.

“Sometimes yelling is the only way you can get across the danger of a situation quickly,”
Snape said. “If I didn’t shout, a student might add lacewing flies instead of leeches into a
cauldron and blow the whole classroom sky-high. The volume is part of the shock to stop the
potentially dangerous behaviour in its tracks.”

“But there is a line!” Harry insisted. “Like poisoning his toad? I know you’re annoyed
Hermione did it for him, but what choice did he have if he thought you were going to kill
Trevor?”

“The toad was never in any real danger!” Snape said irritably. “It is a potions laboratory,
Potter. Longbottom may be incompetent, but I certainly had the cure to whatever poison he
was going to cook up stored on my shelves, you do realise?”

“No! I didn’t realise, actually!” Harry said indignantly. “And neither did Neville! If you think
you need to yell at people to make them pay attention then fine, but when you go over into
just insulting them and poisoning their pets, then people like Neville can’t keep their heads
because they’re too busy being scared of you. It makes Neville go to pieces and then he
screws up more. Don’t you think that could be even more dangerous? Maybe if you weren’t
as mean, he’d find it easier to concentrate.”

Snape scowled. “Longbottom needs to learn to keep his nerve.”

“But he can’t,” Harry said, shaking his head. “It’s not as simple as that, and you know it.
Being mean to him is only making things worse, I know it. Surely you can see that?"

Snape didn’t respond immediately. Harry scanned his expression for signs of anger, but
instead his expression turned thoughtful.

“We clearly have fundamental disagreements in terms of pedagogy, but I am willing to

contemplate your point,” Snape said eventually. “Perhaps I occasionally allow some of the,
ah… frustrations of teaching to get the best of me.”

Harry looked up at him, surprised. He’d not expected any sort of acknowledgement of
wrongdoing!

“You must understand that teaching Potions is incredibly stressful,” Snape added. “My
intimate knowledge of brewing means that I can fully realise the catastrophic potential of a
misplaced ingredient in every incident. Being so close to disaster at any given time does not
do wonders for my temper.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I can understand that,” Harry said. He could imagine that being
responsible for the potential deaths of a classroom full of children would be pretty trying…
“Good.”

Harry continued to stare at Snape, a frown forming on his face. “I’m confused.”

“About?”

“About why we’re even having this conversation,” Harry said slowly. “I tried to tell you all
this stuff yesterday and you just yelled at me. Why are you willing to listen to me now?”

Snape sighed loudly. “I’m sure you have noticed that I don’t take criticism particularly well,
and I was not in the best of moods during your detention due to your earlier misbehaviour.”

“Ah.” Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “Er - right.”

“I do, however, value your opinion,” Snape said quietly. “I found myself… disliking the way
you were looking at me when you left yesterday, which is why I proposed this conversation.
To clear the air, I suppose…”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Wait, are you serious? What do you mean you value my opinion?”

Snape’s face abruptly twisted into a scowl. “Exactly what I just said. I do care what you
think, you know.”

“But why?" Harry asked, baffled.

“Because I care about you, Harry!” he snapped. “And part of that, I have annoyingly
discovered, includes caring what you think of me!”

The strength of emotion behind Snape's words sent Harry reeling. He stared at the man,
disbelief written all over his face, mouth agape. "You - what?"

“For heaven’s sake, what else do I have to do to persuade you of that, Harry?” Snape
demanded, waving a hand through the air. He looked intensely frustrated and slightly hurt. “I
cannot possibly understand why you continue to believe that I was forced at wandpoint to
become your guardian! Has it ever occurred to you that I enjoyed spending time with you
over the summer? That speaking with you about Lily helped me with grief I thought I would
never be able to fully reconcile? I would never have done any of this if I did not have a very
large degree of regard for you as a person, so yes, I do actually care about you!”

Snape’s chest was heaving in the moments following his rant. In the ringing silence that
followed, he seemed to realise what words had just left his mouth, and his eyes widened
slightly. An almost imperceptible flush coloured his sallow face.

Harry took in a ragged breath, his eyes stinging, throat tight, finally understanding. “You -
you really do mean it.”

A pained look crossed Snape’s features. “Of course I do!”

Harry stared at the floor and pressed a hand over his mouth, willing himself not to cry. That
would be completely humiliating. He was not going to burst into tears because someone had
told Harry they cared for him, even if he could count on one hand the amount of times he’d
heard those words.

Snape had never actually said that he cared before. He’d vaguely alluded to it in that
conversation with Dumbledore, sure, but he’d never come close to actually saying the words.
Harry supposed that he had shown it, though, in little ways. The chess games, the new
clothes, the blanket and hovering when he’d been sick with magical exhaustion… someone
wouldn’t do that if they didn’t like you. Harry supposed Snape just had a hard time actually
saying those sorts of things.

Hearing it now meant more to Harry than he could have ever imagined it would.

“Do you believe me now?” Snape asked quietly.

“I do,” Harry whispered with a tight nod.

“Good. You can finally start to fully contemplate the unfortunate implications of getting stuck
with me as a guardian,” Snape said dryly.

The attempt at a joke helped Harry shake off the utter shock, and he let out a choked laugh.
Snape wordlessly conjured up a glass of water and slid it across the table to Harry. He
gratefully drank it down, watching the Potions professor all the while. There was an almost
anxious quality to Snape as he watched Harry right back, and a sudden thought occurred to
Harry.

Perhaps Snape was feeling just as lost as Harry was right now.

As soon as Harry realised it, he also realised how much sense that made. Snape had said as
much to him a few weeks ago, when he was struggling to get Harry to talk about the
Dursleys. He was very new to this, and he was probably very new to expressing emotions in
the manner in which he just had. Harry still wouldn’t say he knew Snape particularly well,
but he had gotten well enough acquainted with the man by now to know that he didn’t really
do feelings. Putting them out in the open like that had to be difficult for him…

The self-deprecating quality of the joke he’d just made and the slight anxious crinkle to his
eyes suddenly made far more sense. Harry also wasn’t an expert in talking about how he felt,
but he knew deep down that a declaration like the one Snape had just made was important to
properly respond to.

“Thanks for saying all of that,” he eventually managed.

Snape’s eyebrows furrowed. “You deserve to hear it.”

“And - I don’t know if it actually means anything to you, and it probably doesn’t, but still,
just to let you know, er - I do like that you’re my guardian,” Harry said very awkwardly.
“And - well, all the stuff you’ve done for me really means a lot, and I liked the time we spent
together and stuff this summer too. It was fun, actually. Talking about my mum was great,
too. Really great.” Harry smiled to himself, took a deep breath, and ploughed on. “And -
well, I’m not, like, irreparably outraged by how you were in Potions or anything. I’ve always
known you were like that in lessons. It hasn’t completely changed my opinion of you or me,
er… trusting you or anything. I just - well, you said you care about my opinion, so. Just
wanted to let you know.”

Oddly enough, Snape smiled. It was a thin, slightly strangled sort of smile, but it was there
nonetheless. There was also a strange softness in his eyes that looked odd in comparison to
Snape’s usual scowls, but made him look at least ten years younger. “I appreciate you saying
that. I will still take your criticisms on, I’d like to add.”

“Oh. Er - good.” Harry scratched his neck. “Don’t worry, I’m not expecting you to turn into
Professor Sprout or anything.”

“If I begin to resemble anything close to that level of fluffiness, report to the Headmaster and
instruct him to examine me for signs of the Imperius Curse.” Snape spat the word ‘fluffiness’
like it was the rankest of slurs, and Harry snorted.

“I will.”

Snape gave him a thoughtful look. “And just to let you know, I did mean it when I said you
can seek me out while at school. You don’t have to only chat to me in the context of a
disciplinary meeting.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry scratched the back of his head, feeling slightly awkward. “You said on
Monday you’re really busy with the start of term, though…”

“Do keep in mind I had just been forced to trek across this entire castle trying to hunt you
down,” Snape drawled, arching an eyebrow. “Cardiovascular exercise does not render me
particularly pleasant company.”

Harry winced. “Er - yeah. Sorry.”

“But do feel free to come to my study if you wish,” Snape said, inclining his head slightly. “I
promise you won’t be disturbing me. At any rate, a chess game with you would be a welcome
change of pace from dealing with homesick first-years…”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Wait - you comfort homesick first-years? You?”

“They don’t yet know well enough to go to the Prefects with their woes,” Snape said with a
wry smile. “Even a heartless old bat like me isn’t going to throw a crying eleven-year-old out
into the corridors and tell them to suck it up.”

Harry was suddenly struck by the vivid memory of Snape staring at him like he was a bomb
about to go off when he’d caught Harry crying the night he’d discovered the bruises, and had
to struggle not to snort. Snape certainly did not know how to manage tears, that much was
certain. He could easily picture a look of pure terror on the man’s face when met with an
upset first-year.

“I do not particularly enjoy staring into the cavernous pit of your mouth, Harry.”
He shut his hanging jaw with a click. “Sorry. Just struggling to imagine you comforting a
crying firstie over here. Bit of a shock to the system.”

“It is unfortunately in my job description. I do try, but they tend to learn quickly that I am not
particularly, ah… skilled at consoling people.”

Well, Harry supposed Snape wasn’t entirely awful with emotional people. Harry and Draco
had both had their fair share of outbursts, but Snape never yelled at them or said he’d give
them something to cry about like Uncle Vernon used to do when Harry got upset as a child.
He tended to seem rather uncomfortable, of course, but he tried his best.

Snape was by no means an expert, though - that much was certain.

“Before I forget - these are for you.” Snape leaned to one side and opened the drawer of his
desk. He slid a small package over to Harry, wrapped in brown paper. “Your new glasses
were delivered today.”

Harry beamed and took the package. “I completely forgot about that!”

Snape scoffed. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Can I open them now?”

“Obviously - they’re your glasses!”

Harry eagerly ripped through the paper, revealing a deep burgundy glasses case. He clicked it
open and held up the new eyewear to examine. Snape had bought him similar frames to the
ones he currently had, but the wire surrounding the round lenses was gold, not silver.

“There are a few enchantments on the frames,” Snape explained as Harry removed his old
glasses. “An Impervius Charm to repel rainwater, general sturdiness enchantments that
should make the lenses and frames a lot sturdier, and a nifty charm that helps them to stick to
your face, in a manner of speaking, so they don’t fall off if you trip.”

“Cool! I didn’t know wizards could do that sort of stuff with glasses, too.” Marvelling at the
usefulness of magic once again, Harry slid the new glasses onto his face. As the world came
into focus, he couldn’t help his small gasp. “Everything’s so much clearer!”

With the new clarity of his updated lenses, Harry could easily make out every feature of the
sad look on Snape’s face before he quickly banished it from view. “That is the general
purpose of glasses, if my understanding is correct.”

“I really am blind,” Harry muttered, looking around and taking in every new detail of the
classroom. “Thanks, sir.”

“There is no need to thank me,” Snape said. “If you wish, you’re now free to go. I’m sure
you have a thrilling evening of studying awaiting you.”

It took Harry a moment to realise that Snape was being sarcastic. He nodded seriously. “Yes.
Great way to spend a Friday night.”
He got to his feet and picked up his bag, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Snape said. “And do start eating more? I am still paying attention to your
food intake at mealtimes, even if I’m no longer sitting directly across from you to nag you.
We both know your eating has been subpar.”

Harry winced, suddenly recalling how he’d spent the week picking at his food and feeling
sorry for himself. “Right.”

“I doubt you want more medical intervention from Madam Pomfrey when you next see her,”
Snape warned. “Heed me.”

“I will,” Harry promised. “Bye, sir. See you soon.”

Despite the slight admonishment he’d received at the end, Harry still had a slight spring to
his step as he trotted out of the dungeons. For someone who was supposed to have just had a
detention, he was in a remarkably good mood. Harry hadn’t realised how much the rift with
Snape was bothering him until it had been resolved, and he felt a great deal lighter than he
had earlier. He wasn’t even dreading the third detention all that much now that they’d cleared
the air.

Of course, that good mood was quickly ruined when someone shoved roughly past him,
sending Harry spinning into the wall. He spun around, ready to shout at the person, but all of
Harry’s retorts died on his lips when he saw who it was.

“Potter,” Draco growled. He shot Harry a truly hateful look, then stormed off down the
corridor.

Harry sighed, feeling very sad all of a sudden. Part of him almost wanted to go straight back
into Snape’s classroom to ask him for help with his rift with Draco, but Harry stopped
himself at the last minute. He knew most of this was his fault, and Snape was annoyed
enough with him as it was. Besides, Harry wasn’t a grass…

He could deal with this alone.

But despite his urge to keep things between him and Draco, Harry promised himself that if
the rift with Draco didn’t resolve soon, he’d just suck it up and deal with Snape’s
disappointment.

Harry sighed. He wondered if he’d ever be able to have an easy life where he wasn’t
constantly fighting with either Snape or Draco…
 Distance, Timing, Breakdown, Fighting
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The following week, when Harry next had occasion to come across Draco, it seemed that the
other boy’s mood had only worsened. Harry had been hoping that the incident in the corridor
after his detention was just a symptom of a particularly bad day, but Draco was still in a truly
foul mood come Monday. As Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way down to the area by
Hagrid’s Hut for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson, he found himself watching Draco
out of the corner of his eye. He was stalking down the grassy hill at a noticeable distance
from the other Slytherins, staring pointedly at the ground with a scowl affixed to his face.
Draco’s cheeks were also rather pink and flushed, which Harry knew as a surefire sign he was
particularly angry or upset about something.

As the hill began to level out, Ron tripped and stumbled forward, cursing under his breath.
Harry jumped out and caught his arm before he fell flat on his face.

“Steady on!”

“It’s these bloody robes,” Ron muttered angrily, his ears reddening. “My old ones are too
short, but Bill was way taller than me at this age, so…”

“Can’t afford a decent tailor, Weasley?” Draco laughed scornfully. “I can’t say I’m surprised.
I'd be hard-pressed to call those rags 'robes', though…”

“Don’t,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Hermione added angrily.

Ron didn’t respond for a moment, but when he did, his words were spat like thumbtacks.
“You’re one to talk, Malfoy! I may be poor, but compared to you I’m up to my ears in
Galleons!”

“You’re worthless, Weasel,” Draco growled, taking a step forward. “You and that wretched,
dimwit father of yours -”

“At least my father doesn’t have a badly-hidden basement full of Dark Magic!” Ron said
scornfully. “Why don’t you hurry up and join darling daddy in Azkaban already?”

Malfoy had his wand out in a flash. “Flipendo!”

Ron was thrown backwards across the grass, and landed about ten feet away with an audible
thump. Ron started scrambling to his feet, but before he could react, Hermione pounced.
“Petrificus totalus!”

Malfoy’s arms snapped to his sides and he fell backwards, stiff as a board, sneer still vivid
upon his face. Hermione examined him haughtily as she tucked her wand away and brushed
down her robes. “You’re pathetic, Malfoy.”

Harry said nothing. He had never felt so lost.

Hermione began to walk away from his frozen form, and Harry found himself able to act
again. He scrambled up the hill and quickly helped up the red-faced Ron.

“He,” Ron panted, “is a git.”

Harry gave a vague grunt in response as he handed Ron his schoolbag. After all, nothing Ron
had just said was false, because Draco was being a complete git. Insulting Ron and picking a
fight for no reason was just downright mean. He should have the right to defend himself…

So why did Harry feel weirdly conflicted?

As they quickened their pace to rejoin the class, Harry could hear a few Slytherins laughing
as they gathered around Draco’s frozen form. He assumed they’d release the spell on their
classmate but, to his surprise, none of them made a move to do so. The closer he got, the
more audible their voices became.

“Did you really just get bested by Granger, Draco?” Parkinson said with a giggle. “How
sad!”

“Leave him here,” Goyle grunted. “It’ll be a right laugh.”

Several more Slytherins snickered and began to move away, excluding the one boy who
hadn’t laughed at Draco last week when he’d been attacked by Buckbeak. Even he didn’t
look particularly impressed.

“You shouldn’t start fights you know you won’t win, Draco,” he said, so quietly that Harry
could only make it out because he was just passing by the two of them. “Being sloppy
doesn’t suit you.”

He, too, stalked away. Harry couldn’t help but glance back at Draco on his way past.

Ron did, too, but only smirked. “Never thought I’d be agreeing with Slytherins, but I think
we ought to let him sit there for a minute, too.”

“Er - alrigh’, everyone!” Hagrid called uncertainly. Harry cast one final glance towards Draco
before heading over to where Hagrid was standing, looking incredibly unsure of himself. At
least Hagrid would notice and sort this all out…

But Hagrid was incredibly distracted during their lesson. He kept losing his train of thought
mid sentence and circled them anxiously as they tended to the flobberworms. He even forgot
to take the register, so Draco’s absence wasn’t noted. When Ron and Hermione weren’t
looking, Harry repeatedly cast glances over his shoulder to the obscured spot where Draco
was still lying. No one had found him…

And when the lesson concluded, all of the Slytherins rushed past him without a second
glance. Since Harry, Ron and Hermione had lingered back for a minute to check in on
Hagrid, who was still rather teary and scared he’d be sacked at any moment, they were the
last ones to go past him. Would anyone else go past and see Draco’s frozen, supine form?
How long could he be stuck out here if someone didn’t do something?

Harry, after a moment of intense conflict, bit his lip, pointed his wand at Draco and
whispered, “Finite incantatem.”

He began to hurry up the hill quickly. Ron gave him an indignant look. “What did you do that
for?”

“It’s been an hour, we can’t just leave him there!” Harry said. “What if something in the
forest came out and ate him? Besides, you don't want Hermione getting in trouble for hexing
him, do you?"

“If you were in his shoes he’d leave you there, Harry,” Ron said shortly.

“Yeah, but we aren’t like Malfoy,” Harry pointed out. “That’s the whole point. We shouldn’t
do things he’d do - don’t be an arse, Ron.”

“I still don’t know how you put up with him this summer, Harry,” Hermione said
sympathetically. "Especially with Professor Snape added to the mix. He must have favoured
Malfoy terribly!"

Harry let out a vague grunt and didn’t respond. She was right to a degree, since Snape had
spent the first week favouring Malfoy to a ridiculous extent, but he had stopped eventually, at
the very least…

Harry sighed. He wished he could go to Snape about all this, now - Harry was having the
growing realisation that he really needed some help here.

As he thought more about the incident before lessons, though, Harry had an abrupt
realisation. Even though Draco was clearly angry with him, why hadn’t any of his insults
been directed at Harry? The last two years, the nasty comments towards Ron and Hermione
had generally been directed to them in their capacity as extensions of Harry, since Harry and
Draco were the main ones with the rivalry.

Today was different, though. He’d pointedly and directly come after Ron, and he’d largely
ignored Harry’s presence. What could that possibly mean?

And why, even after Draco had attacked Ron, had Harry remained frozen in place with his
wand in his pocket, when normally he’d be straight into the fray to defend his friend?

“D’you reckon Snape heard about Neville’s boggart, and the dress?” Ron whispered as they
descended into the dungeons on Thursday.
“Oh, I hope not,” Hermione said with a visible wince. “He’s horrid enough to Neville as it
is…”

Harry, who had told Snape about the boggart himself, wisely said nothing. He wasn’t in much
of a mood to talk, at any rate. This was his first Potions lesson since his discussion with
Snape during detention, and he was on pins and needles waiting to see if the man would
behave differently. They were set to brew a Confusing Concoction, and Snape barked out
their instructions with the usual stern tones he used. Well, Harry had said he wasn’t expecting
the man to turn into Professor Sprout…

About half an hour in, though, Snape whipped around to Neville’s desk. “Longbottom!”

Neville violently jumped back, dropping the yarrow leaves he was holding onto the floor.
Snape pointed at them. “You are supposed to use borage leaves first, boy, not yarrow! Fix it!”

Neville remained frozen in place, tense, clearly anticipating the usual stream of vitriol that
would accompany a failure in Potions, but Snape simply swept away without another word.
Neville stared after him, mouth slightly agape, like he couldn’t believe that was it. Only a
hurried nudge from Hermione startled him into action, and he began hurriedly chopping his
borage leaves.

So Snape really was taking on what Harry said. He smiled to himself, a facial expression he
was fairly certain he’d never made in a Potions lesson before. That smile did fade slightly
when Snape reminded Harry that he still had a detention that evening but granted, he was still
rather happy. Progress was progress.

Ron frowned at Harry as they walked out of the classroom. “I thought you only had two
detentions with him?”

Harry grimaced. “I got another one during detention.”

“That’s completely unfair!” Ron said indignantly. “He shouldn’t just be layering them on like
that!”

“No, I kind of had it coming,” Harry said. “I yelled at him and told him he wasn’t worthy of
respect, so -”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded. “You didn’t!”

Harry pulled a face and didn’t reply.

“You need to start reigning it in!” Hermione said severely. “You keep shouting at him, Harry,
and you’re just going to get yourself in more trouble!”

With a disapproving look at Harry, she flounced on ahead.

“I think you should listen to her, mate,” Ron said in a low voice. “You don’t want to be on
Snape’s bad side…”

“Well, he’s definitely going to make me regret it all this evening,” he said with a sigh.
Harry, of course, was correct. Snape decided to make Harry scrub the floor beneath one of the
workbenches for his punishment. A Hufflepuff had spilled flobberworm guts there earlier that
morning, a fact which Snape took great pleasure in informing him. Over the course of the
day, it had hardened and was nearly impossible to scrub off. By the time he was done,
Harry’s shoulders were tense and aching. Well, his last detention had just entirely been
talking. Harry had gotten off rather lightly so far, all things considered.

He worked in silence, since Snape pointedly ignored any of the conversational questions that
Harry posed. It was only when he went to leave the classroom at the conclusion of the
detention that Snape spoke.

“I meant it when I said I wouldn’t mind seeing you outside of a disciplinary meeting, Harry.”

He cast a look over his shoulder and smiled. “I wouldn’t mind, either. Bye, sir.”

In a far better mood than was warranted post-detention, Harry walked out of the classroom,
rolling his aching shoulders. He winced, realising that he still had to write his Herbology
essay that was due tomorrow morning in this state. That was not going to be very fun… but
maybe Hermione would take pity on him and let him copy some of hers? No, Harry doubted
she would. Hermione had spent most of dinner lecturing him about the idiocy of goading
Snape, and certainly wouldn’t be feeling all that sympathetic about him facing the
repercussions of losing his evening to a well-deserved detention.

Harry was just beginning to debate the merits of lying and saying he’d forgotten his essay in
Gryffindor Tower, since Professor Sprout was more sympathetic than most and likely to just
take points instead of assigning detention, when he heard raised voices coming from nearby.

“Take that, Malfoy!”

“Look, Pucey, I just -”

There was a thudding noise, a loud groan, and raucous laughter, bouncing off the stone walls.
Recognising Draco’s voice, an alarmed Harry hurried forward and peered a head around the
corner. He spotted it at once - two Slytherin boys had Draco pinned against the dungeon
walls.

“Is your father going to hear about this, Draco?” Pucey jeered, a sneer on his face. “Oh, wait
- you can’t tell him much anymore, can you?”

Draco, strangely enough, didn’t respond. His face was flushed, and there was a bruise
blooming under his eye. He looked defeated and utterly miserable.

Harry stepped forwards and shouted, “Petrificus totalus!”

The other boy with Pucey fell forwards instantly, but before Harry could hit Pucey himself
with the spell, he had his wand out. A dark orange jet of light that looked rather nasty flew
over Harry’s shoulder, forcing him to duck. Harry shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
To the immense shock of both Harry and Pucey, the spell landed. Pucey’s wand flew out of
his hand and down the dark dungeon corridor. He swore under his breath and hurried after it.
Draco also started running, but in the opposite direction. Harry followed, not particularly
feeling up to a duel with an older and more experienced wizard. Besides, he really wanted to
talk to Draco…

It took him a while to catch up, in the darkest and most twisted portion of the dungeon.
“Draco, please stop!”

He whirled around, lips pressed into a thin white line.

“I’m really sorry, okay?” Harry said, holding his hands out. “I know that letter wasn’t nice,
and the stuff I said about you in Flourish and Blotts really wasn’t, but can’t we try and move
on? We’ve both done nasty stuff to each other before, way worse stuff, so can’t we please get
past this?”

“No. We can’t.” Draco whipped out his wand and pointed it at Harry. “You’re the one who
ruined my life!”

“I did not -”

“Don’t lie!” Draco’s wand was levelled directly at Harry’s throat. There was something dark
and wild in his eyes. “Are you forgetting about the trapdoor to my basement Weasley
mentioned? The one from the letter?!”

Harry’s mouth went dry.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Draco’s voice was cold. “That my father stored his Dark artefacts
down there. Admit it!”

The last two words were shouted and with them, Draco drove the wand hard into Harry’s
throat. There was no point denying it, so he simply nodded, feeling bitterly ashamed.

“How?!” Draco bellowed. “No one knew except for the family, how the hell did you find
out?”

“Because you told me yourself!” Harry shouted. “I - I heard you talking about it! So you can
stop blaming me for all of this when it’s your own bloody fault it got out!”

Something seemed to die in Draco’s face. The anger was overshadowed by a dark and pained
expression that reminded Harry of the look on Snape’s face whenever he brought up Lily.

The hand pointing a wand into Harry’s throat went slack, releasing some of the pressure on
his breathing. He went to step forward, but Draco roughly pushed Harry back up against the
wall so hard that his head smacked roughly into the cobblestone and spun stars into his
vision.

“I hate you,” Draco growled, every syllable dripping with venom. He practically sprinted
down the corridor while Harry rubbed the goose egg that was rapidly forming on the back of
his head with a wince. He didn’t bother following - Draco’s words had punctured him.
Harry wondered when the simple fact of Draco Malfoy hating him had become so painful to
hear. He wondered why the other boy’s vehement words, which he so obviously meant, made
Harry’s throat grow tight and scratchy.

Despite himself, Draco’s behaviour continued to get Harry down. His friends instantly picked
up on his foul mood - Hermione stopped with her silent condemnation and allowed Harry to
copy bits of her homework, while Ron loudly told Harry not to let the greasy git get him
down. Even though Snape was not the one Harry was annoyed with, he at least appreciated
the sentiment.

He didn’t tell them about the confrontation with Draco in the dungeons, though. There was
something so painfully personal about it all, and he knew that Ron and Hermione would get
very angry on Harry’s behalf. He didn’t deserve their sympathy, though. Harry was the reason
Draco’s parents were locked up in Azkaban. It was no wonder Draco hated Harry, even if the
Malfoys deserved to be in prison…

He wished things were different. As time went on, he missed Draco’s company more and
more.

Even though Harry was determined not to talk about Draco to his friends, to his shock
Hermione ended up raising the topic two days after his confrontation in the dungeons.

“Something’s rather odd about Malfoy at the minute,” she remarked, struggling to stuff a
stack of textbooks into her backpack.

Harry jerked his head up sharply. “Oh?”

“He’s constantly in the library nowadays,” she said. “He never reads any books, though. I
was going to do some further reading for Muggle Studies and found him holed up in the
archive section, reading through all of these old copies of the Daily Prophet. I see him there
almost every day, now.”

Harry frowned. “Weird.”

What on earth could Draco want with a bunch of dusty old newspapers? He’d never shown
any sort of specific interest in history - in fact, he lamented his History of Magic homework
over the summer with as much frequency as Harry did - so what would he be going through
an archive of old newspapers for?

“I’m heading there now - I’ll let you know if I see him again,” Hermione said, slinging her
bag over her shoulder. Harry thought it was a wonder she didn’t topple over from the weight
of it.

Ron frowned. “Malfoy doesn’t give you any trouble, does he?”
“No - I doubt he even realises I’m there,” Hermione explained, heading towards the portrait
hole. “He’s too focused.”

“I wonder what he’s up to,” Ron said.

“Same,” Harry said thoughtfully.

The two of them headed out of Gryffindor Tower moments later, in pursuit of an early lunch
that could delay the start to their homework. Moments before Harry could enter the Entrance
Hall, though, he heard someone make a derisive, irritated sound from behind him. Harry
stopped talking, turned around and felt his heart sink. Draco was staring at him and Ron, eyes
glittering with hatred.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Potty and the Weasel.”

Ron scowled. “Clear off, Malfoy!”

Draco raised his eyebrows into an expression of mock horror. “Oh, of course! I shan’t get in
the way of the great Harry Potter and his little minion! Apparently, having a nasty great slash
on your head makes you special nowadays…”

“Shut up,” Harry growled through gritted teeth. Draco knew how much he hated his fame
now, and his choice to go back to the old insults really rankled.

“You think you’re such a hero, don’t you, Potter?” Draco spat, taking a step forward. “You
just think you’re so perfect, and so important, always swooping in where you’re not wanted,
famous little git -”

“Hey, just leave off!” Ron said angrily. Harry was too angry to speak, and he didn’t
understand why. Draco normally wasn’t able to rile him up this easily.

“But you’re not really special at all, are you, Potter?” Draco said softly, his face inches from
Harry’s and filled with an almost manic focus. “I know you’re not the brave little hero
everybody thinks you are! Not anymore. No, I know every single one of your pathetic little
secrets…”

Hot, boiling fury coursed through Harry like poison. Draco’s remark about Harry’s ‘pathetic
little secrets’ could be in reference to any number of things that Draco had found out about,
and every single possibility sickened him. He was throwing the Dursleys back in Harry’s
face! He couldn’t believe Draco would even dare -

And before Harry could think twice, his wand was out. Malfoy needed to learn when to shut
the hell up. “Veruccus!”

Draco shrieked as Harry’s spell hit him in a blast of yellow light. Oozing green pustules
popped up all over his face and hands. Enraged, Draco’s wand was levelled at Harry, a spell
on his lips. “Flipendo!”

Harry’s legs flew out from under him and he hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of
him. Draco’s face was alight with fury, and his wand was pointed at Harry, prepared for
another curse before he got to his feet -

But Ron jumped in front of Harry and bellowed, “Rictusempra!”

While Harry found his feet, the two of them shot countless hexes and jinxes, half of which
didn’t hit. Still, by the time Harry rejoined the fray, Ron had leeks growing out of his ears,
and Draco had grown horns. Harry stood next to Ron and began to carry on the onslaught of
spells.

Draco seemed to realise he was outnumbered, and quickly threw up a Shield Charm moments
after Harry and Ron sent twin hexes. When they bounced, the jet of green light that Ron had
shot at Draco hit Harry, the force knocking him from his feet once again. Icy sweat instantly
layered over Harry’s skin, and his stomach gave an uncomfortable, twisting lurch. An awful
nauseous feeling churned in his gut. It felt like the time Harry had eaten rotten food out of the
Dursleys’ bin, and hadn’t been able to keep any of it down…

Harry was feeling so awful that he didn’t realise right away that the fighting between Draco
and Ron had stopped. Before he could even glance up and work out why that was, a hand
seized Harry’s collar in an iron grip and yanked him to his feet. It was Snape, Harry realised,
struggling to hold back a groan of displeasure. His face was livid and white, dark eyes
popping with fury.

“What on earth do you all think you’re doing?!” he shouted, eyes flitting between Draco,
Harry and Ron. He shook Harry slightly. “Well?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t get a word out. The nausea he’d been
experiencing had been significantly worsened by Snape shaking him around like that, and he
really felt quite sick now. Harry opened his mouth again to attempt an explanation, but
proceeded to vomit slugs onto Snape's shoes.

If Harry had thought that Snape was angry before, it was nothing compared to the look on his
face when he shakily raised his head again. This was new levels of fury even he had not
touched, judging by the vein bulging in Snape’s forehead and the snarling curl of his lips.

He jabbed a finger at Draco, who also looked rather worse for wear. “You. My office. Now.”

As Draco fearfully scurried away, Snape’s apoplectic face turned back to Harry. He begged
the slugs to remain in his stomach. “You. Hospital Wing. I’ll deal with you later.” He
conjured up a bucket and shoved it at Ron so hard he stumbled backwards. “Weasley, take
him.”

Snape spun on his heel and stalked into the dungeons after Draco. Harry quickly snatched the
bucket from Ron as more slugs came up.

Ron put an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, mate. Let’s go.”
There were several things about vomiting up slugs that Ron had not deigned to mention the
year before.

Number one: the taste. There had once been a time where Dudley had forcefed Harry a
worm, and it had been so thoroughly disgusting that Harry’s accidental magic had turned him
oily and slippery, so he was able to wriggle away from his cousin’s clutches to spit the worm
out and escape. This, however, was not something Harry could fix with accidental magic
when the slugs had already made their way into his stomach. Every time he threw up, a layer
of slime lingered in his mouth. Harry was going to brush his teeth for hours after this.

Number two: it was not particularly easy to vomit up some of the slugs, given their size.
Harry occasionally felt them getting stuck in the back of his throat, which was thoroughly
awful.

But none of this could compare to number three, the worst part: the slugs were alive. Harry
could not understand why his stomach acid hadn’t killed the slugs yet, but he was cursed with
the sensation of the creatures slithering around inside his gut, sending awful shivers through
him and only worsening the nausea. It was such an awful feeling that it almost made the
unpleasant process of repeatedly sicking up worth it, since at least that meant the slugs were
getting out.

Unfortunately for Harry, there was nothing Madam Pomfrey could do for him just yet.
Apparently, the best course of action was to wait for the worst of the vomiting to subside so
that potions could be properly absorbed by Harry’s body. At least, that was what he thought
she’d said. Harry was too busy vomiting slugs to want to listen to potion explanations, or the
chiding lecture from Madam Pomfrey that accompanied it about fighting.

“Ron?” Harry muttered. “That bloody spell never goes right for you, so maybe pick
something else next time?”

Ron, whose own afflictions had been fixed with two minutes of spellwork, grimaced. “I’m
really sorry, mate.”

Harry just groaned and leaned his head against the rim of the bucket, closing his eyes so he
didn’t have to look at the slugs within.

“Malfoy really ought to get it for what he did,” Ron growled. “And that stuff he was saying
to you, Harry! What the hell is his problem?!”

“Good bloody question,” Harry grumbled. He was still furious at Draco, not least because he
was partially responsible for Harry’s slug situation, but also because of those horrid
comments he’d made. Any regret about what he’d done to start this whole mess was rather
limited after that.

He heard something being set down on the table next to him. Harry looked up and saw
Madam Pomfrey with three potions.
“Do you think you can stomach these yet?” she asked briskly. “They’ll kill the slugs and stop
the vomiting.”

Harry, who was so desperate to stop the slugs moving, enthusiastically gulped down the
potions with no mind to their foul taste. The one that supposedly killed the slugs burned like
lava, but Harry was undeterred. He would do anything to make this stop.

He’d just finished drinking the last one when the doors to the Hospital Wing flew open.
Snape stalked over in a flurry of black robes, face grim. His eyes landed on Ron, and he
pointed a finger at the doors. “Out, Weasley.”

Ron looked like he was going to protest, but a second quelling look from Snape sent him on
his way. Madam Pomfrey tutted at Harry and bustled away to her office. Snape folded his
arms and looked down his nose at Harry, who was still feeling thoroughly miserable.

“These are well-deserved consequences, you know,” Snape announced. “Maybe this
experience will at last put you off fighting, although I don’t hold out much hope…”

Harry glared at Snape, propping his head up on his hands. "How many detentions am I
getting?"

"A question for Professor McGonagall. Your Head of House deals with matters of this
nature."

Harry wasn't sure if that was better or worse than Snape punishing him. The man could be
rather strict. Still, it surprised him Snape hadn't wanted to take things into his own hands -

"But as your guardian, I still want to have a conversation about what just happened."

Ah, a lecture. Of course…

"This ends now," Snape growled, looking remarkably angry. "I thought that at your age you
finally had the capacity to navigate your own relationships, so I was trying to leave you and
Draco to resolve this obvious rift alone. Once again, however, I find myself forced to
micromanage you like children! What have you fallen out about this time?"

Harry didn't respond. He stared at his shoes and bit down on his lip. He couldn't tell Snape
about the letter, Flourish and Blotts, and everything that had happened as a consequence.
He'd be unbearably disappointed…

"Harry." Snape's hand clamped onto Harry's shoulder. He glanced up, startled, and saw
Snape's eyes were narrowed and stormy. "Tell me what is wrong now. I want this to be fixed
and behind us.”

"There's no point," Harry said miserably, wrapping his arms around his middle. His stomach
ached from the slugs and the potions and the horrible, gnawing sadness in his core. "It can’t
be fixed! I ruined everything."

"I highly doubt it," Snape remarked. "Explain yourself instead of talking in riddles, please."
"Fine." Harry took a shuddering breath and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. "You guys
wouldn't explain what was going on with Draco and his parents so… er, I sort of sent a letter
to Ron and asked. It was in the first week, though, before everything changed, but the letter
didn't come until our last day at yours. Draco found it and read it, and got really angry at me
because he thought I'd been gossiping about him with Ron, especially because I said some
rude stuff about him to Ron and Hermione in Flourish and Blotts that he overheard. And…
well, he found out I'd passed on the information about that trapdoor in the Malfoys' basement
where all the artefacts were."

"You knew about that?" Snape asked sharply. “How?”

“Er - he told me,” Harry said, refusing to meet Snape’s eyes.

“You’re lying,” Snape said sharply. “Don’t. How exactly did you find out?”

“I can’t say,” Harry said. He really couldn’t - it wouldn’t just be him getting in trouble, but
Ron and Hermione, too!

“If you don’t tell me immediately, I will Legilimise you and find out myself,” Snape said in a
low voice.

Indignance surged through Harry. He scowled. “You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will,” Snape said, glaring right back at him. “You’ve clearly done something
dangerous or stupid, so you will tell me how you came across that information.”

“That’s completely unfair!”

“I don’t care. You have five seconds.”

Harry ground his back teeth and sighed loudly, knowing he wouldn’t get out of this. “Look -
it was the previous school year. You aren’t allowed to punish students for things they did ages
ago, right?”

“I will agree to a statute of limitations if you will stop talking in circles and tell me what
happened already,” Snape said. “Make up your mind.”

“Okay, okay…”

Harry swallowed hard, and stared at the ground. If he could explain it himself, perhaps it
wouldn’t sound as bad. Actually watching Harry, Ron and Hermione secretly brew Polyjuice
in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom would probably be far worse than just hearing about it
secondhand. Either way, Harry wasn’t getting out of this all without telling Snape what he
knew. He sighed and started reluctantly explaining.

“Er - Draco did tell us about the trapdoor himself, like I said. But not us, see… we kind of
thought Draco maybe was the Heir of Slytherin, so we, er - we may have sort of, um…
Polyjuiced as Crabbe and Goyle. We asked him what he knew, and Draco mentioned the
trapdoor during that. Um. Sir.”
Snape did not respond immediately. Harry dared to look up, and immediately regretted it.
Snape’s jaw was practically convulsing, and his lips were pressed into a thin, white line.

“And where,” he said, in a dangerously soft voice, “did you acquire Polyjuice Potion?”

Somehow, a quiet Snape was far scarier than a shouting, furious one. Harry’s mouth was as
dry as sandpaper. “We brewed it.”

“You brewed it?!”

“Er…”

Snape opened his mouth, shut it with an audible click, spun on his heel and stormed out of
the Hospital Wing. Harry rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. He was completely and
utterly screwed.

Where had Snape gone? Was he off to drag Ron and Hermione in here, too? Harry had tried
not to incriminate them, but he and Snape obviously both knew who ‘we’ referred to…

Moments before Harry made up his mind about whether or not he should run out of the
Hospital Wing to hide, Snape returned. He was holding a heavy-looking textbook, which he
slammed down onto the table next to Harry with an audible thud. He then flipped through the
pages until he landed on what he’d been looking for. On the page before him was a gruesome
illustration of a legless wizard sitting in a pool of his own blood, face contorted with agony.

“This wizard,” Snape said in a tightly controlled voice, “brewed Polyjuice and forgot the
lacewing flies. He no longer has legs.”

Harry cringed, but Snape was not done. He continued to flip through the pages, captioning
every gory illustration and photograph with a detailed explanation.

“This wizard accidentally used goat hair instead of the hair of the person he intended to
transform into and ended up like this - but you would be familiar with that particular botched
Polyjuice side effect, wouldn’t you? Miss Granger coughing up furballs in the Hospital Wing
for two months finally has an explanation, I see!” Snape’s eyes were dark and stormy with
fury. “This witch died in agony as the flesh melted off her bones. She used half a gram more
of boomslang skin than she was supposed to. This wizard picked his fluxweed at the wrong
time of the month. After the potion wore off, he returned to his usual form missing a body
part of a rather - ah - sensitive nature.”

“Okay, okay!” Harry said, covering his eyes to avoid looking at the particularly horrifying
final illustration. “I get it!”

“Do you?” Snape hissed, slamming the book shut. “Considering your appalling Potions
performances, I doubt you can even begin to understand how much danger you put yourself
in by doing something this monumentally stupid! Most fully trained wizards struggle to brew
Polyjuice Potion, let alone an unsupervised twelve-year-old with minimal Potions knowledge
or skill!”
“Hermione knew what she was doing!” Harry said defensively.

“Did she?” Snape challenged. “Her cat-like state earlier this year doesn’t exactly fill me with
confidence!”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you!” Harry said angrily. “I knew you were going to flip
out -”

“Obviously!” Snape shouted, towering over Harry. “I am a Potions Master, Potter! You
breaking about fifty school rules and the law to brew your own Polyjuice Potion and go on a
wild goose chase over an absolutely stupid theory about the Heir of Slytherin was never
going to please me! Are you truly so foolish as to think I would simply let this slide?”

“But you already promised you weren’t going to punish me!” Harry said quickly, shuffling
away from Snape. He had gone an alarming shade of red.

Snape curled his hands into fists and glared at Harry, seething. “Eight feet on the dangers of
Polyjuice from you and both of your hare-brained friends, to be submitted by Thursday
morning.”

“That’s literally a punishment!” Harry complained. “You can’t, sir, you promised!”

“I have been struck by the sudden urge to assign extra homework, as a matter of fact,” Snape
said coolly, folding his arms. “Consider yourself very lucky you haven’t just received a
month of detention! Polyjuice Potion! You absolute fool -”

Snape cut himself off and took a very long, very loud breath in. He turned away, and Harry
realised that he’d started to cower away from Snape slightly and did his best to shake his
limbs out. When Snape turned back around, his fury had been buried beneath Occlumency
shields, leaving his face blank.

“So, you found out about the trapdoor through blatant identity theft, then,” he said bluntly.

Harry winced. “I’m really sorry -”

"We will discuss this more later," Snape said rather ominously. He looked at Harry closely.
“Let us return to the matter at hand. You do know this trapdoor was not the sole deciding
factor that finally allowed the Malfoys’ crimes to catch up to them?”

Harry forgot his Polyjuice-related woes for a moment and stared at Snape. “Wait, what? Ron
said -”

“Mr Weasley was confused,” Snape said. “The Malfoys are not stupid people - they would
not have told their loose-lipped twelve-year-old son the intimate details of their Dark artefact
stash. Nothing within that part of the basement would have netted Narcissa and Lucius
anything worse than a hefty fine, Harry. There was actually a separate room within the
basement that Arthur Weasley stumbled across containing the truly bad items which resulted
in their arrest.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “So it’s not mine and Ron’s fault the Malfoys are in prison?”
Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is Lucius and Narcissa’s fault that they
are in prison, no matter the circumstances. I see Draco has confused certain facts in his mind.
I will do my best to dispel these notions of your guilt in the matter.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He hadn’t realised he’d been feeling so bad about the trapdoor until the
weight of the guilt was lifted from his shoulders. Not because he was upset the Malfoys were
in prison or anything - he simply wished he hadn’t had a role in making Draco’s life so
difficult.

“And this letter - you’d sent it earlier in the summer?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t get Ron’s reply until ages after I sent it asking,” Harry explained. “I tried
to explain, but he won’t listen to me!”

“I will discuss things with him in a moment, then,” Snape said. “I still fail to see how hexing
him would in any way endear you to him following a misstep on your part, though. You
really should have had better control of yourself -”

“He deserved that,” Harry muttered, scowling at the memory.

“How so?”

“He - he said things!” Harry said angrily.

“Ah, yes,” Snape said in a monotone voice. “Things. I always appreciate the specifics with
you…”

“He was saying how I wasn’t the brave little hero everyone thinks I am, and how he knew all
of my pathetic little secrets!” Harry shouted. “I just needed to shut him up, because I thought
he was going to tell everyone! He brought up them!”

A very angry look settled across Snape’s face. He glared into the distance, nostrils flaring.

“What was I supposed to do?” Harry hissed, hunching his shoulders. “If he’s going to tell
everyone I should have the right to defend myself, so don’t get mad at me -"

“You are not the one I am deeply unimpressed with,” Snape interrupted. He drew himself up
to his full height. “I promised you Draco would not reveal what he overheard. He and I shall
be having a little discussion presently, I believe. Good day, Harry. Head straight down to
Professor McGonagall’s office please, she’s expecting you.”

A very annoyed Snape swept out of the Hospital Wing without another word. Harry winced,
but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel all that bad for Draco. He hadn’t actually said
anything, but even threatening or hinting to made Harry’s stomach turn. He didn’t know if
Draco would have actually gone through with it, but Harry didn’t trust Draco all that much
right now to be sure either way.

With a sigh, he started shuffling out of the Hospital Wing, downstairs to Professor
McGonagall’s office. Well, at least one thing was out of the way - Snape didn’t think he was
a deeply awful person for his part in the rift with Draco. The Polyjuice was another matter, of
course, but Harry had always known that would get him in a ton of trouble if it ever came to
light. He had a bad feeling that this was going to feature in Snape rants for the foreseeable
future…

Speaking of rants, Harry was now approaching his Head of House’s office. He sighed loudly.
The last thing Harry wanted to do while still ailed by a nasty stomach ache and a mouth full
of slug slime was to head to Professor McGonagall's office for his second bollocking of the
day, but he seemed destined to have the worst time possible right now. Harry sighed and
prepared to knock on the door, feeling thoroughly disgruntled.

"This behaviour is getting out of hand, Potter!" Professor McGonagall said furiously. Harry
would not have been surprised to see sparks explode from her flaring nostrils. "Three
detentions from Professor Snape in scarcely a fortnight is bad enough, but duelling in the
corridors is yet another offence on a growing list of broken rules!”

Harry shuffled awkwardly on the spot and did his best to look contrite.

"While I do understand that you and Mr Malfoy are now, I suppose, stepbrothers -"

Harry spluttered indignantly. "We are not!"

"Do cease with the dramatics, Potter!" Professor McGonagall snapped, her eyebrows
contracting sharply. "You are perfectly aware that yourself and Malfoy now possess a closer
relationship than simple classmates, so if there's a better word you'd prefer to describe the
situation, do enlighten me!"

To Harry's immense irritation, there apparently was not a better word, although 'stepbrothers'
still made him baulk.

"I do believe that families should be allowed to settle matters amongst themselves - what I do
not approve of is when those very families decide to hash things out with dangerous duels in
the middle of the Entrance Hall!" Professor McGonagall snapped. "So I must deal with this
as a school matter! Detention, and thirty points from Gryffindor!"

Harry felt his shoulders slump. That was certainly not going to endear him to his house,
especially considering all of the points he’d been losing in Potions last week…

"I do not want to see you in this position again anytime soon, Potter!" she added sternly. "I'd
advise you to sort your behaviour out and figure out a way to resolve your quarrel with
Malfoy before myself and Professor Snape find ourselves forced to intervene in a manner
which the two of you will dislike deeply! Dismissed. I'll send a note with the details of your
detention soon."
"Yes, Professor," Harry ground out before stalking from the office. He furiously hoped that
whatever action Snape was taking against Draco would be just as annoying as getting thirty
points removed and even more detention. He missed having free time in the evenings!

When Harry got into the common room, he found a doleful-looking Ron sitting in the corner.
He grimaced at Harry commiseratingly. “Back from McGonagall?”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, throwing himself down in the adjoining armchair.

“Bloody Malfoy,” Ron said angrily.

“Agreed.” Harry scowled. His eyes did a scan of the common room for Hermione, but found
her missing. She was still in the library, he assumed. What he did find were two fifth-years
completing a Potions essay. Harry cringed, and realised he still had to pass on the details of
Snape’s punishment to Ron and Hermione…

“What’s your problem?” Ron asked, noticing his reaction.

Harry sighed. “You, me and Hermione need to do eight feet on the dangers of Polyjuice
Potion.”

Ron gave him a baffled look. “Why?”

“Snape found out about us impersonating Crabbe and Goyle.”

Ron groaned and slumped back in his chair. “Harry!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, sighing loudly. “It’s my fault he found out, so you can just copy mine
when I do it or something…”

“Nah,” Ron said with a shake of his head. “I did help brew it, didn’t I? Besides, you’re not
going to manage that on your own. Eight feet? He’s sadistic!”

“Got that right,” Harry muttered.

Ron snorted. “Knowing Hermione, she’ll do ten, though.”

Harry managed a thin smile. “Maybe she’ll let us copy.”

“After we lost so many house points? I doubt it…”

Harry didn’t see either Draco or Snape for the remainder of the weekend. He had been
assuming that Snape would hunt him down somewhere to carry on shouting at Harry, but
he’d been conspicuously absent, even from meals. Draco was also missing from the Great
Hall. Harry didn’t run into him again until Monday afternoon, during their shared Care of
Magical Creatures class. He stared at Harry with wide eyes, pulled a face and stumbled
slightly, then avoided looking at him again for the entire lesson. Draco practically sprinted
back to the castle when the class concluded, ran straight past Snape, who was standing in the
Entrance Hall, and vanished into the dungeons.

Snape himself subtly nodded his head towards a marble staircase, and Harry followed,
wondering what he could want. After they’d walked far enough away from the main crowd of
students, he decided it was safe to talk to Snape privately.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Hospital Wing,” Snape explained. “After last time, I wanted to ensure you actually attended
your appointment.”

Harry, who had completely forgotten about the fortnightly meetings amid the chaos of his
feud with Draco, didn’t complain about being micromanaged.

“Er - I thought you said you were going to talk to Draco,” Harry said quietly.

“I did.”

“But… well, he ignored me that whole lesson still,” Harry said, hunching his shoulders.

Snape slowed his pace and turned to look at Harry. “Give him time.”

“But what if things never get better?” Harry whispered.

“They will,” Snape said simply. “Both of you want to resolve this rift, you know.”

“We do?” Harry said, surprised.

“Draco and I spoke at length this weekend,” Snape said cryptically. “He is just as unhappy
with the way of things as you are. As I said - you simply must give it time.”

Harry, who hated waiting, sighed and put his head down for the rest of the journey to the
Hospital Wing.

The discussion with Madam Pomfrey was far quicker than it had been two weeks ago. After a
quick spell to record Harry’s weight, she and Snape had a brief discussion where they
weighed up the benefits and downsides of some sort of Nutrient Potion, and Harry was sent
on his way and made it back to Gryffindor Tower just as Ron and Hermione were going
down to dinner. They took their regular seats at the Gryffindor table, and Harry was about to
start tucking into a steak and kidney pie when the Great Hall was flooded with at least a
hundred post owls. They all descended onto the student tables with various hoots and
squawks.
“What’s going on?” Ron asked, looking rather alarmed.

“There must be an evening edition of the Prophet out,” Hermione said with a frown as an owl
landed in front of her. “That’s odd. They don’t normally do that unless there’s urgent
news…”

“Is it about Black?” Harry asked, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Hermione’s
newspaper. She was the only one of them with a subscription to the Daily Prophet. “Have
they finally caught him?”

Hermione gasped and pressed a hand over her mouth.

“Hermione, what?” Harry demanded, getting to his feet for a better look. At last, he caught
sight of the newspaper headline, and felt his heart drop into his stomach.

LUCIUS MALFOY FACES LIFE IN AZKABAN IN LIGHT OF NEW CHARGES!

“I knew it was coming!” Ron declared.

Harry didn’t respond. He snatched the newspaper from Hermione’s grip, ignoring her
protests, and began to read the main part of the article.

This evening, Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour announced that Lucius Malfoy, 39, would be
facing a retrial for crimes committed during the last wizarding war. Malfoy was sentenced to
twenty years in Azkaban in July of this year for possession of Dark artefacts, assault of a
Ministry employee, and perverting of the course of justice following the discovery of
numerous Dark artefacts in the basement of his Wiltshire home during a Ministry raid.

Malfoy, previously esteemed philanthropist and close companion of the Minister for Magic
Cornelius Fudge, was acquitted of numerous crimes following the downfall of He-Who-Must-
Not-Be-Named in early 1982 by reason of diminished responsibility. He claimed to have
committed these crimes under the influence of the Imperius Curse, but recent developments
have cast aspersions on this argument. The so-called ‘house of horrors’ discovered in the
basement of Malfoy Manor contained numerous enchanted torture devices used on Aurors
during the wizarding war, books of dangerous curses that Malfoy was renowned for during
his service as a Death Eater, and a collection of cursed and deformed skulls belonging to a
series of Muggles and Muggleborn who went missing during the war. It fails to paint the
picture of an innocent man acting under duress.

Malfoy has now been charged with a slew of crimes, including terrorism, service of He-Who-
Must-Not-Be-Named, murder through an Unforgivable Curse, torture through an
Unforgivable Curse, mind manipulation, espionage…

“Bloody hell, this list is long!” Harry said. The charges laid out were so numerous that
Harry’s eyes were actually starting to go a bit funny.

“I can’t believe he managed to wriggle his way out of this before!” Hermione exclaimed.
“All he had to do was say he was under the influence of the Imperius Curse?”
 “It happened a lot more than you’d think in the trials, you know,” Ron informed them. “It
makes my dad furious. He always says if you have enough friends in the right places and
money in your Gringotts vault, you can do however you please…”

…Malfoy was thought to be a trusted member of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s inner circle.

Some of the most heinous crimes he was allegedly responsible for include the torture and
murder of at least a dozen Muggle children residing in a London orphanage, the murder of
Auror Edgar Bones during the Battle of Suffolk, and the use of Fiendfyre on a residence
containing three Muggleborn Hogwarts students.

Minister Fudge, pictured below in attendance at a New Year gala held in Malfoy Manor
earlier this year, has come under fire for his close connections to such a prolific criminal…

Harry stopped reading and looked up at the sound of loud commotion at the Slytherin table.
He noticed that a pink-faced Draco was currently storming out of the Great Hall. Every single
student seemed to be either pointing at him or discussing him loudly.

Harry glanced up to the staff table and realised Snape was absent. Before he could stop
himself, Harry jumped to his feet.

“Harry, what are you -”

“I’ll meet you in a bit,” Harry said quickly, sprinting through the Great Hall to try and catch
up to Draco. He didn’t quite know why he was following the other boy - after all, Draco had
made it more than clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Harry - but nonetheless,
Harry’s feet carried him onward. It was the same sort of feeling that had brought him to
Draco’s aid when those older Slytherins had been attacking him: a sense of duty.

Harry couldn’t just leave Draco in a time like this - that would be unforgivable. There was no
one else in the world to help him right now, and Harry owed him that support.

He squared his shoulders and began the descent into the dungeons.

Chapter End Notes

2,000 kudos, thank you all so much! I'm having a very stressful week so that was a
lovely thing to see <3 Thanks for reading!
 Reconciliation

Draco was surprisingly fast. Harry was beginning to develop a rather painful stitch in his
right side as he continued to follow Draco into the depths of the dungeons, just barely
managing to keep pace. Only the occasional flash of blonde as he rounded a corner informed
Harry that he was headed in the correct direction.

At last, Draco turned into a place with a dead end - a boys’ lavatory. After sprinting the
length of the corridor, Harry hesitated outside for a moment before hurrying inside, not caring
about the possible consequences. Harry immediately caught sight of Draco’s face as he stood
hunched over the sink, reflected in a broken mirror. The tears on his cheeks glistened in the
dim light. If that wasn’t a clear enough sign that he was crying, the sobs echoing off the walls
certainly were. Harry felt something clench uncomfortably in his chest.

Draco’s sobs abruptly cut off. He had to have noticed the sound of a door opening. Draco
turned around, saw Harry, and his face quickly twisted into a scowl. Draco raised his wand,
which Harry hadn’t even realised he was holding.

“GET - OUT!” he screeched, so loudly it hurt Harry’s ears. His words bounced and
reverberated off the stone walls, so deafening that Harry couldn’t quite make out the words of
the curse that ripped its way from Draco’s wand before the jet of purple light hit him. It
smacked into Harry with the force of a car, throwing him backwards and into the wall with a
resounding crash. Harry crumpled to the floor with a soundless gasp, the wind knocked out of
him. It took him almost a minute to catch his breath and to do a quick scan of his body, where
he realised that apart from a throbbing pain in the back of his head and a slight ache in his
shoulder from the impact against the wall, Draco hadn’t actually tried to hurt him with that
spell. He really was just trying to get Harry out.

Harry was about to make good on Draco’s screams and leave him be when he saw that Draco
had started weeping again. Harry had seen people cry before, but never like this. Deep,
ragged sobs tore out of him, punctuated by shallow gasps. It was almost like he was choking
on his own pain. Harry had never seen someone this devastated…

And all of a sudden, several puzzle pieces in Harry’s mind seemed to click into place. Draco
was trying to push him away, and he was testing to see if Harry would let himself be pushed
away.

The cold, furious bully wasn't Draco Malfoy anymore - that was merely a mask. The
heartbroken person in front of him who Harry had grown to understand in ways he'd never
expected during August was the real person, and he was in pain. The silence, the anger, the
hexing - Draco was hurt and upset, because he thought he couldn’t trust Harry. He was doing
the same thing Harry had spent the last month doing with Snape and avoiding vulnerability to
stop himself from getting hurt again. Draco was furious about what had happened to him, and
he didn’t know what to do with all of that anger except push it outwards, to hurt other people,
since that was all he’d been taught to do.
And because of that, Draco had alienated himself in the world.

Pity began to stir in Harry’s chest. This all really was quite horrible for Draco, wasn’t it? No
parents, no friends, his entire former life stripped away in one fell swoop… no wonder he
was angry. No wonder he wasn’t handling it well.

A small voice - Snape’s voice - whispered in Harry’s head, reminding him of a long-ago
conversation. Maybe it would be best to offer something of an olive branch. For both your
sakes.

Harry had rejected Snape’s suggestion originally, but now he knew the man was right.
Someone had to make an effort to bridge the divide, and this time it ought to be him. Harry
had spent his early years believing that there wasn't a person in the world who cared about
him, and it had broken something in him in ways he couldn't quite explain. No matter what,
Harry couldn’t participate in that being done to another person. Even if what Draco had done
last week had hurt Harry, even if they were fighting, he clearly needed someone to forgive
him and be there for him in his time of need.

So, before he could talk himself out of what was surely a foolish idea, Harry marched
forwards and hugged Draco.

Harry’s entire experience with hugs consisted of occasional ones initiated by friends over the
course of the past two years, since the Dursleys had never once hugged Harry. He wasn't
entirely sure if he'd ever actually tried to hug someone unprompted before, since whenever
Harry had tried to hug Aunt Petunia as a small child he'd be shoved away with a disgusted
glare. As a result, Harry didn't really know what he was supposed to do with his arms or
hands, which felt overly awkward and conspicuous as he wrapped them around Draco, so he
sort of linked them together and hoped for the best. Moments after he did it, Harry braced
himself, fairly certain that Draco was going to body slam him to the ground for even daring
to do something this idiotically affectionate. God, what was Harry thinking?

But Draco didn’t attack Harry. At first he tensed, but after a few moments, his arms came
around Harry’s middle. He actually buried his face in Harry’s shoulder and began to cry into
his robes. Harry stared around the toilets awkwardly, unsure of where to go from here.

What did you say to someone whose father was almost guaranteed a life sentence in
Azkaban, anyway? ‘Sorry’ didn’t quite seem to cut it, and it would also be a lie, since Harry
was fairly convinced that Lucius Malfoy firmly deserved to spend the rest of his life in a
prison cell. ‘There there’? Harry was not an expert in comforting crying people, he was
rapidly realising. Maybe he just should have just hunted down Snape or something…

Well, Snape was generally horrified by even the slightest hint of tears, so Harry wasn’t sure
he’d be able to come up with anything better.

In the end, Harry just settled for standing there silently and patting Draco’s shoulder every
now and then. He hoped the contact could impart all of the things he wanted to say but
couldn’t find the words for. Draco seemed accepting of it, at any rate. He kept his face hidden
in Harry's robes for a very long time, and his arms held onto Harry with the strength of a boa
constrictor. Harry just hoped he was helping.
Draco eventually surfaced from Harry’s robes, his face blotchy and his eyes red. “Why are
you even bothering with me?” he rasped. “I’m horrible."

That first question made something in Harry’s heart seize uncomfortably, since he was fairly
certain he’d shouted that exact phrase at Snape on a multitude of occasions. He was far too
familiar with the jagged mass of pain that accompanied the words.

“You're not horrible," Harry said firmly. "Er - I'm really sorry, Draco. I mean it. I've been so
sorry this whole time -"

"I'm sorry, too," Draco said hoarsely. "I was being such a prat!"

"I started it, though, then all the stuff in Flourish and Blotts -"

"But I shouldn't have said that stuff about your secrets," Draco said, his cheeks pinkening. "I
know I shouldn't have, I just wanted to make you as angry as I was… Severus had me
scrubbing cauldrons all weekend for it!"

"He assigned me a stupidly long essay," Harry said with a knowing smile.

"I wouldn't have actually done it, you know," Draco said quickly. "I just wanted to hurt you
back. I would never do that, never."

"I know."

Harry truly believed him. If Draco was going to do something, he'd have revealed all he knew
about the Dursleys during the actual fight. Harry tilted his head and shuffled his feet
hesitantly. "So… friends?"

"Yeah. Friends." Draco nodded rather jerkily, and if he hadn’t looked so thoroughly miserable
the curl of his lips could almost be construed as a smile.

Draco pulled out of Harry’s arms and sat down on the floor with his back against the wall.
Feeling generally like you shouldn’t leave someone alone when they were this upset, Harry
took a seat next to him and stared at the door that led to the hallway. If someone walked in
and saw this they’d be all sorts of confused, Harry thought.

“I didn’t want to be angry with you,” Draco whispered, not looking at Harry. “I realised you
didn’t send it recently, eventually, but it was from Weasley, of all people, and - everything is
just so hard!”

Draco drew his knees close to his chest and hid his face. Harry awkwardly reached an arm
out and placed it on his shoulder.

“Look, don’t worry about it. Honestly.” After a moment of hesitation, Harry asked, “What’s
your problem with Ron, though?”

Draco made an angry growling noise. “I just can’t stand stupid Weasley, okay?”

“Why?” Harry asked. “I don’t get it! What has he done to you that I haven’t?”
“Are you forgetting about his father?” Draco demanded. He at last lifted his head and
scowled at Harry. “He’s the one who authorised the search that jailed my parents!”

“But that isn't Ron's fault!” Harry protested.

“Well he’s not exactly put out about it, is he?”

“But don’t you think that hating Ron for stuff his dad does is the same as when people are
mean to you for things your parents did?” Harry pointed out.

Draco abruptly broke eye contact and started staring at the ground. He was silent for several
moments. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. Damn you, Potter!”

“What?”

“You just always have to go and make things more complicated, don’t you?” Draco muttered,
burying his face in his knees again.

Oops. Harry cringed as he heard a sniffle, and realised that Draco was crying again. A feeling
of slight panic crept over Harry. He hadn’t meant to set him off… What was he meant to do
now? Upon closer examination, he also realised that Draco’s knuckles were reddened and
bleeding. Harry glanced up to the shattered mirror on the wall, realised that Draco must have
punched it, and felt the panic worsen. He had forgotten about Draco's destructive tendencies
when he got upset, where he flew into a violent rage without any control over his actions.
What was he supposed to do if Draco started punching stuff, or throwing things like he had
on Harry’s second day at Spinner’s End? Harry couldn’t think of a single thing to do other
than keep his arm around Draco’s shoulder, hoping it would provide any kind of clearly-
needed comfort.

“I hate them,” Draco whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I hate them, and I hate
Father! Why did he have to do this?"

Draco's voice broke and his sniffles began to climb in frequency. Harry just didn't know what
to say. He had never felt so helpless.

Moments later, the door burst open. Harry snapped his head towards it, expecting an irate
Slytherin to harass him for daring to be down in the dungeons. Instead, a familiar flurry of
black robes graced his sight, and Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief. Snape was here at last,
and Harry had never been so happy to see him.

Snape took in the scene before him quickly, eyes darting across the room. He looked from
Draco’s hunched form to Harry, whose arm was still around Draco’s shoulders, and his mouth
actually fell open slightly. Harry quickly withdrew his hand and shot Snape a look, as if to
say, what else was I meant to do?!

Snape seemed to recover his wits quickly and hurried forwards. He crouched down at Draco’s
side, took his bloodied hand and muttered some healing spells that restored it to the proper
state. He shook his head.
"We've discussed this, haven't we?" Snape's tone was chiding, but there was no real heat
behind it. "Mindscapes, Draco, especially in times like this."

Harry didn't have the faintest clue what Snape was talking about, but Draco nodded without
looking up. Snape remained crouched at Draco's side, watching him intently - for what, Harry
wasn't sure. Over a minute later, Snape finally spoke.

“Let’s not sit in here,” he said quietly. “Why don’t we head to my quarters, where you can
have some privacy?”

Draco got to his feet almost mechanically. His limbs moved jerkily, like he wasn’t in
complete control of their course, and his head remained bowed. Snape put one arm around
his shoulder and used his free hand to crook a finger at Harry. “You. Come.”

Harry almost immediately decided he was somehow in trouble for something, but quickly did
his best to dispel that impression as he followed Snape through the dungeons. He spent the
entire journey steering Draco in the right direction, as the other boy seemed completely lost
in thought and unable to navigate. Harry trailed slightly behind them, unsure what his place
in all this was. Why hadn’t Draco immediately insisted upon Harry being sent away when
Snape arrived? Goodness knew Harry wouldn’t want Draco to see him so upset - or anyone,
really…

Harry’s musings were cut short as they arrived at Snape’s office. He led them straight
through, barely pausing to adjust his pace as he approached directly at a bookshelf behind his
desk. To Harry’s shock, the shelf sprang to one side as Snape strode towards it, revealing a
mahogany door with a polished golden handle. Snape held one hand on the top of the
doorknob for a few seconds, and it abruptly glowed green. The door swung open, and the
three of them stepped into the quarters within.

Compared to Snape’s office, which was dark, cold and full of creepy dead things in jars, his
quarters were actually rather nice. The whole place was made of the same dark stone as the
rest of the dungeons, but the walls were almost entirely covered by bookshelves, and the
floors were carpeted by a variety of green and silver rugs. Harry wasn’t surprised by the
Slytherin colours.

Unlike the small, claustrophobic rooms that characterised Spinner’s End, Snape’s quarters
were wide open and spacious. They had entered into a living room with leather furniture
surrounding a crackling fire, which led into a dining room with a reasonably large wooden
table. There was also a small kitchenette, which didn’t contain much more than a few
cupboards and a sink. Harry supposed Snape didn't need to cook when all meals were served
in the Great Hall. There was an open door adjoining the dining room, through which Harry
could just about make out the shape of a few cauldrons, and a small hallway which Harry
suspected led to Snape’s bedroom.

The whole place generally felt a lot more lived in than Spinner’s End did. There were
decorations, like a painting of a stormy sea, several half-read books lying around and oddly
enough, a wicker basket full of cat toys that had been pushed beneath the stool of an upright
piano at the left of the fireplace.
“Harry, are you going to sit down, or are you going to stand in the middle of the room
interminably?” Snape asked sharply. Harry jolted back to awareness and realised that Snape
and Draco had sat down on the sofa. Well, Snape was seated. Draco had just curled in on
himself again, feet drawn onto the cushions, head buried in his knees. Harry quickly joined
them, although he left a decent gap between himself, Snape and Draco. He didn’t want to
intrude.

From there, they proceeded to sit in dead silence for twenty minutes.

Harry knew twenty minutes had passed because he continually glanced at the clock on the
mantelpiece, which was ticking down the seconds with almost painful sluggishness. He
wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing here, but every time Harry opened his
mouth to ask a question, Snape cut him off with a violent shake of his head. In the end, Harry
resigned himself to accept the quiet until either Snape or Draco broke it, and occupied
himself with the matter of picking at a hangnail and thinking.

Harry wasn’t even sure what he’d do or say if the silence ever lifted, though. Draco’s father
facing life in prison wasn’t something that could be fixed with comforting words or a
reassurance that things would be alright since in all likelihood, they wouldn’t be. In fact, the
stifling, unbearable tension in the room reminded Harry horribly of the atmosphere amongst
the Weasleys last June, when they’d thought Ginny was dead in the Chamber of Secrets.
Percy, Fred, George and Ron had all gone a ghostly white under their freckles, eyes dead,
shoulders hunched. Harry had hovered on the fringes of their grief, feeling completely
powerless.

But there had been something he could do. There was a Chamber of Secrets to discover, a
living Ginny to save, and a solution to the problem. There was absolutely nothing Harry
could do to fix the issue of Lucius Malfoy.

Draco was grieving, that much was clear. Even though Lucius Malfoy wasn’t actually dead, if
he got condemned to life in Azkaban, that probably would kill him. Harry remembered
Hagrid after he’d returned from Azkaban, all shaken and drained, and he also remembered
the stories Hagrid had told of what it was like there. The dementors drove people mad within
months. The Malfoy from prison certainly wouldn’t be anything like the father Draco knew
with a bit of time…

At long last, muffled speech began to come from the crumpled ball that was Draco. “They
took all of our money. He won’t be able to afford a decent solicitor, will he?”

Snape wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders, a surprisingly affectionate gesture for
someone who Harry often thought of as quite closed off. “The Ministry is legally obligated to
provide him with a public defender.”

Draco choked out a hoarse, disbelieving laugh. “A public defender! Well, that will certainly
get him off those terrorism charges…”

He at last lifted his head, eyes so red and puffy you could scarcely see the grey colour of his
eyes.
“I really believed it, Severus,” he whispered. “I honestly thought he’d been under the
Imperius Curse the whole time, that he hadn’t wanted to serve the Dark Lord… but he lied,
didn’t he? Father really did all of those awful things they put in the article.”

Snape didn’t respond. He gave Draco an immensely sad look.

“Please be honest with me,” Draco said quietly.

Snape hesitated before he spoke. “You have to understand that the Prophet sensationalises
these things. While Lucius may have participated in what they listed, he was not single
handedly responsible -”

“Severus, please,” Draco interrupted. “That’s not - it doesn’t matter. Was he Cursed, or did he
do it willingly? I need to be certain, and I’d rather hear it from you, Severus. You’d know
more than anyone.”

Snape paused for a moment, and then slowly nodded. “I don’t have any reason to believe he
acted under duress in the war. I’m sorry, Draco.”

Harry was incredibly confused, as he still wasn’t entirely sure what the Imperius Curse did or
why Snape would know more than anyone if Lucius Malfoy was under it. As Draco’s face
had just crumpled into a look of abject despair, he made a mental note to ask Snape about it at
a later time.

“I’m so stupid!” Draco hissed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “How did I not
put it together? Why didn’t I realise that if he agreed with all of the Dark Lord’s ideals, he
was probably following him willingly? I believed - I wanted to believe he couldn’t do the
things people said he did, and I feel like a complete fool! Why did I believe him?”

“It can be… hard to accept certain things about our fathers,” Snape said slowly. “We
automatically idolise them, and see ourselves in them. When they fail to meet our
expectations, it can be immeasurably hurtful.”

“I don’t particularly like Muggles, but… these things are so violent,” Draco whispered. He
pulled a newspaper out of his robes and wrenched it open. “Torture? Murder of Ministry
officials? And - and the stuff about the children -”

“Don’t keep reading it,” Snape said firmly, taking the newspaper from Draco’s grasp and
thrusting it at Harry. He quickly shoved it down the side of the sofa so it was hidden from
view. “Reading it over and over isn’t going to undo what Lucius did.”

“But how could he do these things to someone?” Draco’s voice was so pained it actually
made Harry wince. “I mean… Muggles can’t fight back!”

“When you become so blinded by prejudice, it becomes easier to forget such things,” Snape
said heavily. “That is why I’m so insistent on you confronting your own thoughts on Muggles
and Muggleborns. This is where that sort of bigotry can lead.”
“It doesn’t matter if what I think has changed, though,” Draco whispered. “Everyone thinks
I’m just like my father, so what’s the point of trying?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Draco slumped in on himself and lapsed into pensive silence for several more long minutes
before he jolted up like he’d had a sudden realisation. His eyes were bright with sheer
desperation. “I can’t face them, Severus, I can’t. Please don’t make me go back into the
dungeons, please…”

Snape nodded, although the reluctance on his face was obvious. “Just for tonight, I suppose
you can stay here.”

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly, bowing his head. While he did so, Harry stared wide-eyed
at Snape, hoping he’d pick up on the fact that Harry had something to tell him.

“Are you alright here for a moment, Draco?” Snape asked. “I need a quick word with Harry
in my study.”

Draco nodded, and pulled himself up. “Right. Yes. I should probably clean up and wash my
face in the meantime…”

“We’ll return soon.”

For the first time ever Harry was immensely grateful for Snape’s ability to read him. Both of
them got to their feet and made their way into Snape’s office, only stopping to pick up the
abandoned newspaper. When the door shut behind them, Snape waved his wand at it in a
circular motion.

“Privacy Charm,” he explained, setting the newspaper down on his desk. “I see the two of
you have made up?”

“I think so,” Harry said. “I hope so, at least.”

Snape nodded briskly, looking slightly relieved. “So, why did you call me in here?”

“Um…” Harry shuffled his feet and bit his lip, unsure if what he was about to reveal would
break his and Draco’s fragile new truce again.

“Spit it out, Harry, I don’t have all day!” Snape said exasperatedly.

“I just don’t want him to be annoyed at me for telling you,” Harry said, wrapping his arms
around himself.

“And that comment has just solidified the fact that you are not leaving this office until you
tell me precisely what is going on with him,” Snape said in a low voice. He took a step
forward so that he took up Harry’s entire eyeline.

Harry groaned. “But we just made up!”

“I will do my best to hide that this information comes from you - I give you my word,” Snape
said, tapping his finger against the side of his desk. “I must insist you tell me, Harry. I get the
impression this is rather serious?”

Harry nodded and sucked in a breath. “Er - theSlytherinsarekindabullyinghim.”

“I beg your pardon?” Snape asked, giving Harry an exasperated look. “Slow down.”

“The Slytherins are bullying him,” he said reluctantly. “Some older ones. I saw them in the
dungeons after I had detention, hexing him and stuff…”

“Indeed.” Snape’s eyes darkened. “And why didn’t you inform me of this as soon as you
witnessed it?”

“Erm - well, we kind of got into an argument because I fought them off him and he didn’t
like that,” Harry admitted. “But look, I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I suppose you are… well, thank you for
bringing this to my attention. Why are you doing so now, though?”

“I just thought it might explain why he didn’t want to go back to the dungeons,” Harry said.
“I obviously don’t see what’s going on in the common room but I bet it’s miserable for him.
None of his housemates speak to him in lessons anymore and Hermione said he’s in the
library all the time, nowadays. I think he’s hiding.”

Snape’s face became rather grim. “I am inclined to agree, unfortunately…”

“He’s really not having a good time of it right now, sir,” Harry said quietly.

“He certainly is not.” Snape sighed again, and Harry was abruptly struck by how exhausted
he looked. “I must say, Harry, I am proud of how you came to his aid today, despite your
numerous differences.”

Harry couldn’t help it - he smiled. The words Snape had spoken had sent a warm glow
spreading throughout his chest. He hadn’t helped Draco just to make Snape proud, of course,
but it was remarkably nice to hear all the same.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” he said eventually.

“Some people are less scrupulous than you are,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “Now
unfortunately, I cannot be around at all hours of the day, and I know that Slytherins can be
particularly vicious. They will not rat each other out to me, and I highly doubt Draco will tell
me who has been mistreating him. Therefore, I may have to offer a more drastic measure.”

“Oh?”

“I may suggest he moves into my quarters until after the trial takes place,” Snape said,
tapping a finger against his chin thoughtfully.

Harry gave Snape a surprised look. “That’s allowed?”

“As I’m his guardian, yes,” Snape explained. “It’s not entirely uncommon in cases where
students have a parent on staff, as a matter of fact. Professor Sprout’s daughter stayed with
her instead of in the Hufflepuff dormitories many years ago due to some personal issues, and
I know Professor Sinistra’s son will sometimes stay with his mother in her quarters.”

That surprised Harry a little. He supposed he’d never really thought about the families
Hogwarts professors had, since they lived in the school.

“Why are you telling me?” Harry asked with a frown.

“We three are rather interlinked, now,” Snape said. “You, like Draco, are my ward, so you
both ought to accept a degree of involvement in one another’s affairs. Perhaps if we all spoke
more it would prevent conflicts like the one that arose because of that letter.”

Harry winced. “Yeah…”

“I also need to request something of you because of these circumstances,” Snape added.

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. “What is it?”

“Due to my duties in the school, I’m often not in my quarters,” Snape said. “I cannot entirely
cut back on my responsibilities to amend that, so there will often be stretches where he is
alone. I don’t wish for him to become a complete recluse, so would you occasionally come
and visit here?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “I mean we’ve made up, but we’re not exactly best friends. I
don’t think he’d even want me there…”

Snape looked at Harry for a long moment. “Draco is a lot more fond of you than he would
ever care to admit, Harry. I would have happily sent you from my quarters if he had requested
it, which he certainly would have insisted upon if he truly didn't desire your presence, but he
chose to have you here. That means something.”

“Oh.” Harry still felt a bit confused. He supposed Draco had said he hadn’t wanted to be
angry at Harry this whole time, but he often seemed to go between great extremes of like and
hatred when it came to people. Honestly, Harry had just assumed up until now that Draco
merely tolerated him. Perhaps he’d enjoyed their time together over the summer just as much
as Harry had, then…

“I’ll come down sometimes,” Harry promised. “Is he going to be alright eventually?”

“I hope so,” Snape said, steepling his fingers. “I’m sure you can imagine that the next few
months are going to be remarkably difficult for him, given the publicity of the case.”

“Definitely.” Harry’s brow furrowed. “What’s the Imperius Curse again? Ron’s mentioned it
a couple times but I’m never quite sure.”

“An Unforgivable Curse that allows the caster to have complete control over the actions of
the victim,” Snape explained. “Lucius claimed that the Dark Lord used the Imperius Curse on
him in the war. A lie, of course.”
Harry frowned. “And how are you so sure? Why did Draco say you’d know more than
anyone if his dad was under it?”

Snape hesitated for a long time before responding. “I… I have known Lucius for a very long
time. Now, I assume there is a rather large stack of unfinished homework sitting in some
neglected corner of Gryffindor Tower? Including, perhaps, that Polyjuice essay?”

Confused by the sudden change of topic, Harry couldn’t convincingly look like that wasn’t
true. Snape made a disapproving noise. “You ought to go and attend to that, then.”

He frowned. “But what about -”

“Draco will be fine,” Snape said. “At any rate, I need to discuss the new living arrangements
I’ve planned with him.”

“Er - does he know about the Polyjuice thing?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“I informed him after we spoke.” Snape scowled. “Polyjuice - of all the things…”

Harry winced. He got the sudden, unshakeable impression that Snape was never going to let
that one go.

“Now, go and say goodbye to Draco, and I’ll show you the second entrance to my quarters,”
Snape said, heading for the door.

“There’s a second entrance?”

“Yes, behind a portrait of a snake in the corridor outside,” Snape explained. “It would be
imprudent for you to go in and out of my office constantly, since it’s often in use. I’ll also
show Draco.”

“Er - and you won’t mention that I told you about those older students?” Harry said quickly
as Snape turned on his heel to leave.

“I won’t,” he said. “I’ll come up with some sort of alternate reason, and ensure he has no
suspicions towards you. Now, follow me.”

He strode back through the office door, and Harry closely followed. Draco didn’t even look
up as they walked in. His hair and face were slightly damp, like he’d stuck his head directly
under a tap.

“Come over here, Draco,” Snape said, striding through the stone archway into his second
office. “I want to show you both how to get in and out of here without using my office.”

Harry followed Snape, and could hear Draco’s footsteps rapping on the stone floors as he
trailed behind. Snape stopped them both next to an oddly square doorway and got out his
wand.

“Your hands, please.”

Harry and Draco both extended their hands. Snape tapped his wand to both of their palms and
waved his wand in a zigzagging motion in front of the square door, which made the handle
glow green. “There. You’re both keyed into my wards, but you’ll still need a password. At
the moment, it is ‘asphodel’, although I change it regularly and will alert you when I do so.
Simply say it to the portrait of a snake to the left of my office door, and you’ll be allowed
entry.”

“Alright,” Harry said as Snape put his wand away.

“You ought to be going, Harry.”

“Right.” He turned to the miserable-looking Draco and hesitated, struggling to find the right
words. “I’m sorry you’re going through this."

“So am I,” Draco said dully.

“I’ll come and see you soon,” Harry promised. “Bye."

Draco simply nodded at him and didn’t respond as Harry walked through the square doorway.
As it turned out, it was shaped in that way because it was actually a portrait on a hinge, which
swung open like the Fat Lady did as Harry clambered through.

When the portrait swung shut, an oil painting of a cobra observed him malevolently. “I see
my sleep will just constantly be disturbed in this wretched place…”

“Er - sorry,” Harry said, before quickly beginning to make his way back out of the dungeons
and up to Gryffindor Tower. He couldn’t help but feel like Snape had rushed him out because
of the questions Harry had been asking. Just how closely involved was Snape with Lucius,
anyway, and why did he not want to talk about it?

Luckily for Harry, the Fat Lady was far less offended by being asked to actually do her job,
and let Harry in with minimal sniping. As soon as he entered the common room, Ron and
Hermione began frantically waving him over. Harry winced as he went to join them in their
usual armchairs, only then realising that he’d sprinted out of the Great Hall without giving
them any sort of explanation.

“Where did you go?” Ron demanded. “One minute we were all eating, the next we saw you
running out of the Great Hall!”

“Er - sorry,” Harry said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about that,
it was nothing.”

“It didn’t look like nothing!” Ron said. “You absolutely legged it.”

“It almost looked like you were running after Malfoy,” Hermione said, brow creased.

“Er,” Harry said, feeling slightly panicked.

Hermione’s expression instantly morphed into one of horror. “Were you?!”

“I mean - after that article and everything, he seemed so upset…”

“Mate, why would you even care?” Ron demanded. “It’s Malfoy!”

“Well I didn’t see anyone else going after him!” Harry protested. “Someone had to!”

“But why does that have to be you?” Ron hissed. “He’s a right git! Why would you ever
bother being nice to the likes of him?”

“Because if I’m bloody well living with him for the next few summers, I’d rather not be at
his throat all the time!” Harry said angrily. “All the fighting is completely exhausting, it’s just
easier to get on with him, alright? Can you just leave it?”

When Harry finished, neither Hermione or Ron spoke. They were staring at him, mouths
agape.

“Harry…” Hermione said slowly. “What do you mean you’re living with Malfoy for the next
few summers?”

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t believe that had just slipped out!

“I’d kind of like to know that, too,” Ron added.

“This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you, but yeah,” Harry said heavily. “Er - so you know how
I mentioned Snape found out about the Dursleys? Well… um, because of all that he’s been
put as my guardian.”

“What?” Ron demanded.

“That’s awful!” Hermione exclaimed.

“No, don’t worry,” Harry said quickly. “I don’t mind that much, honestly. He’s way better
than the Dursleys were, at any rate.”

This comment did not seem to alleviate Ron and Hermione’s fears. If anything, their
expressions grew more concerned.

“Harry,” Hermione said timidly. “That’s not a good standard to judge by.”

“This is Snape!” Ron added. “He’s been bullying you in classes for the last two years! He’s
just going to abuse his power -”

“He’s changed,” Harry interrupted. “I meant it when I said he was decent to me this summer.
If I had a problem with this I’d tell you!”

“But why didn't you tell us about this sooner, Harry?” Hermione asked, her eyes crinkled
with worry. “That sort of makes me think you do have a problem with it!”

“It wasn’t because of anything bad, it was just because I’m still trying to get my head around
it all myself, okay?” Harry said. “I know how weird this all sounds, but I’m not bothered by
the whole situation. Besides, there weren’t any other options!”

“But Harry, my parents would have agreed to let you stay with them in a heartbeat!” Ron
said, his face falling. “They’re an option!”

“Dumbledore didn’t agree, apparently,” Harry said wearily. “I don’t think Snape would have
agreed to get stuck with me if there was someone else, anyway. It’s just the way things are.
But look, it’s really not bad. We get on now.”

Ron and Hermione did not look particularly impressed by this, still. They had started to
exchange dark looks which only served to irritate Harry, who felt like all of his answers were
woefully inadequate. He didn’t know how to explain all of it - how Snape had been the first
person to ever bother taking care of him properly, how he hated making Snape angry and felt
happy when Snape said he was proud earlier, and as much as he wanted to say it aloud, Harry
couldn’t find the words to tell Ron and Hermione that he actually liked Snape now.

Still, part of Harry didn’t think he should have to justify it at all. Why couldn’t they just trust
him when he said he was fine?

“Also, you can’t tell anyone about this,” Harry said eventually. “The only other people who
know are the Hogwarts staff and I think your parents, Ron. People at the Ministry apparently
might start bidding for my custody if they found out I don’t have a guardian, so you cannot
tell anyone else, alright? You have to promise.”

“I promise,” Ron and Hermione both said together.

Hermione gave him a very sad look. “Oh, Harry!”

He scowled. “It’s really not that bad! I do know what a bad guardian looks like, and Snape’s
not it, okay?”

“I know you know what a bad guardian looks like,” Hermione said slowly, “but would you
know what a good one should do?”

“Yes,” Harry said, suddenly feeling incredibly frustrated. “Look, I’m fine, okay? Just stop
worrying! I don’t know why you can’t just trust me!”

He stormed away to his dormitory without another word and drew the hangings tightly
around his bed, feeling so frustrated. He knew this was going to develop into a really big
problem. It seemed that the moment one aspect of Harry’s life finally came together, another
was always destined to spectacularly fall apart.
 Changes

Things between Harry and his friends remained frosty the morning after their discussion.
Harry only exchanged a few terse words with Ron and Hermione as they made their way
down to breakfast, where the looks on their faces only served to irritate Harry further. They
were staring at him with a mixture of sympathy and concern that made his skin crawl.

Harry wasn’t the only one not speaking, though. Ron and Hermione also seemed annoyed
with each other, although judging from their sniping it was more to do with another
Crookshanks on Scabbers assassination attempt. The three of them ate in near silence, all
disgruntled. Harry was not particularly excited for a whole weekend of this…

Harry had just about finished his food when he registered the sound of heels clicking on stone
behind him. A throat was cleared. “Mr Potter?”

He turned around and saw Professor McGonagall standing there. “Can I have a quick word
with you in my office?”

“Er - okay,” he said nervously, mentally raking through every possible thing he might have
done wrong in the last few days to merit his Head of House’s attention.

“You’re not in any trouble, just come with me.”

The last time Harry had been summoned to Professor McGonagall’s office when he wasn’t in
trouble he had needed to contend with the aftermath of the Dementor on the train, so that
reassurance didn’t help alleviate his reluctance. Ron and Hermione both exchanged a look as
he left the Great Hall, the first break in their silent treatment, which only worsened the
sinking feeling in Harry’s stomach.

Harry followed Professor McGonagall closely through the corridors and up a few staircases
until he was once again inside her study. She gestured to the waiting chair next to her desk
and settled across from Harry.

“Now, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, examining him over the top of her spectacles.
“How are you?”

“Um… fine?” Harry said hesitantly, completely nonplussed.

“Are you quite sure?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Your friends came to me this morning in some large amount of concern,” Professor
McGonagall explained. “They seem to be taken with the impression that Professor Snape has
been using his guardianship powers to mistreat you."
Harry groaned loudly. “I told them everything was fine! Professor, they don’t know what
they’re talking about -”

“Needless to say, I still need to take their concerns seriously,” Professor McGonagall said
with a frown. “I’d been meaning to check in with you, at any rate. I believe Severus told you
the Headmaster instructed me to?”

“He did, but I promise, everything is fine!” Harry insisted. “They have no reason to be
worried.”

“Nevertheless, I must ask,” Professor McGonagall said, looking slightly sympathetic. “I am

painfully aware I may have neglected some of my duties towards you previously, and I refuse
to do so again.”

Harry sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “If I’m fine with him as a guardian, I don’t see why
they can’t believe me.”

“Miss Granger seemed to disagree,” Professor McGonagall said. “She was highly concerned,
and mentioned you were complaining about him at length towards the start of term. She
seems to think your current staunch defence of him is a result of your worries you’ll be
returned to your relatives -”

“That’s not true!” Harry said indignantly. “I mean - unless Snape sends me back I’m done
with them, aren’t I?”

He couldn’t help the hint of anxiety creeping into his tone. Professor McGonagall knew
Snape reasonably well, so she might know Snape was planning to get rid of him or something
-

“You will not be sent back under any circumstances, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall said
sharply. “Even if things with Professor Snape aren’t going well. You can tell me, you know, if
you aren’t getting along.”

“I mean - I was a bit angry at him at the start of term, but it was just over normal stuff, not
because he’s abusing me or something!” Harry said, horrified. “Besides, people complain
about their guardians all the time! Ron goes on about his mum and dad loads, and so does
Hermione, and I’m not going to you about that and saying the Grangers and Weasleys are
mistreating them, am I?” The anxiety was worsening into a chest-squeezing kind of panic. “Is
Snape angry about something? Is that why you’re asking me about all this? Does he want to
get rid of me, or -”

“Don’t panic, Mr Potter,” Professor McGonagall said with a shake of her head. “I’m not
accusing Professor Snape of anything. I’m simply asking a few questions.”

“Er - right,” Harry muttered, staring at the ground. He felt his cheeks heat up. “Sorry.”

“Have a biscuit.” She handed over the tin. Harry selected a ginger newt and nibbled on it, still
feeling rather annoyed and worried.
“Professor Snape is not going to ‘get rid of you’, as you put it,” she added. “That’s not what
this is about. I’m following up on the concerns of Granger and Weasley - nothing more.”

Harry huffed. “There’s nothing to follow up on. They’re being stupid.”

“Your friends are just worried about you, Potter,” Professor McGonagall said chidingly. “This
all comes from a place of care, not spite.”

“Well if they really cared, they wouldn’t be trying to screw up what I have with my first
decent guardian!” Harry said crossly. “They seem to think I’m an idiot or something, but if
Snape was still being horrible to me, I’d honestly say something!”

“Would you?”

“Yes!” he insisted. “I promise! But he’s actually really good, professor, you saw in the
summer! He sorted out all of my clothes, and dealt with all the stuff with the Dursleys, and he
actually talks to me, you know? About my mum, and about me, and he wouldn’t do that if he
still didn’t like me. We really are getting on. If he was still mistreating me, I’d jump at the
chance to get away, wouldn’t I?”

“And has he stopped badmouthing James?” Professor McGonagall asked severely.

“I wouldn’t like living with a man who badmouths my father,” Harry said firmly. “The only
one of my parents he talks about is my mum. It’s honestly okay, professor. Things are fine, I
promise!”

Professor McGonagall gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Well, that’s very good to hear, then.
I’m pleased you both learned to get along. I did try to reassure Granger and Weasley of
Severus’ character, but I’m sure you can understand why your friends would be concerned
despite that.”

Harry sighed, since he still thought they were being a bit ridiculous.

“Nothing is going to come of this, Potter,” Professor McGonagall added. “I simply had to
check in after such accusations were levelled. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry said wearily. He remembered Snape going on about ‘duty of care’ and a bunch
of other stuff when he’d found out about the Dursleys, and supposed this fell under that
umbrella.

“Very well. That will be all, then,” Professor McGonagall said. “Perhaps you should go and
reassure your friends. I did my best to allay their fears, but I’m sure such things may be better
received from you.”

“Alright, I will,” Harry said, pushing his chair back. Truth be told he was just planning to
have a go at them, but Professor McGonagall didn’t need to know that.

“Oh, and Potter?” Harry paused and turned around to look at Professor McGonagall. Her face
had suddenly grown rather drawn. “For… for what it’s worth, on the night your parents died,
I did my best to persuade the Headmaster that your relatives were unfit to raise a magical
child. I was unsuccessful, but I did try.”

“Oh.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck and stared at her for a long moment. “Don’t worry
about it, professor. I don’t have to see them again, anyway. It’s fine.”

“All the same, I… I wish I’d done more,” she said tightly.

I wish you had, too. Harry pushed the bitter thought away and shook himself. There were at
least a dozen people who deserved to be blamed before Professor McGonagall for him
staying with the Dursleys, and most of them were far less apologetic than the woman sitting
in front of him. At least she’d tried something. And, he thought, she’d helped Snape lots with
actually getting him away from Privet Drive on the paperwork side, hadn’t she?

Harry couldn’t find a shred of anger in him.

“It’s fine,” he said again, opening the door. “Er - bye, professor.”

As he left, he didn’t miss Professor McGonagall dabbing her eyes with a hanky.

Harry made a beeline from the office to Gryffindor Tower, and practically barked the
password at the Fat Lady. As he stormed into the Gryffindor common room, blood fizzling
with anger and lingering worry, he saw Hermione and Ron both sitting around the fireplace,
discussing something in low tones. Clearly, they’d stopped giving one another the silent
treatment. Ron and Hermione quickly noticed him stalking towards them and winced in
unison.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?” Harry demanded.

“Harry -” Hermione started.

“No!” he growled. “You don’t get to defend yourselves! You had no right to do that, no right!
I told you things were fine, and you should have believed me instead of running off to
McGonagall!”

“We were just worried about you, mate!” Ron protested. “I’ve seen the horrible stuff you put
up with in Surrey, and I didn’t want that to keep happening to you because I know what
Snape’s like! You deserve better than that!”

“He’s changed!” Harry said angrily. “Did that ever occur to you?! I wouldn’t put up with this
if he was still the same old greasy git, I’m not stupid! You two are, apparently! Don’t you
think Professor McGonagall knows all about this already? She was involved in all the stuff
with getting me away from my relatives, and she approved me living with Snape! If you start
whispering in her ear that Snape’s awful to me, you could screw up my actually decent
relationship with my guardian! How could you do that to me?”

“We weren’t doing it to be mean, Harry!” Hermione said. She was on the verge of tears. “We
just couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t tell us about this before if there wasn’t something
bad happening!”
“Because this is all really hard for me, alright?” Harry said, crossing his arms. “I’m still
trying to work out my own feelings about all of this, because it’s all so new and strange. I
didn’t want to deal with all that and deal with you guys’ thoughts on Malfoy and Snape
because I was worried you’d make it all harder, which I was obviously right about!”

“It’s just weird, mate!” Ron insisted. “So fine, Snape’s changed. That’s hard enough to
believe on its own, but Malfoy? He hexed me just last week for absolutely no reason, don’t
you remember? Why would you actually want to live with someone who treats people like
that?”

“Snape doesn’t let him do that stuff,” Harry said quickly.

“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Ron said, his voice growing louder. “You’re choosing to
spend time with Malfoy, now, and that’s not normal for you! Has he brainwashed you or
something? Are you forgetting what his dad did to my sister?”

“Draco isn’t his father!” Harry said furiously. “That’s not fair!”

“Oh, so he’s Draco now?” Ron’s voice was growing dangerous.

“You don’t know what he thinks about Lucius Malfoy!” Harry hissed. “I do, and he’s never
defended what his father did! It’s completely unfair to blame him for things he wasn’t even
responsible for -”

“And what about the things he’s done, Harry?” Hermione said in a shaky voice. “Are you
forgetting that he does think Purebloods are superior to Muggleborns like Lucius? Are you
forgetting how he called me a Mudblood?”

Harry jolted back slightly at the look of utter hurt on Hermione’s face. Something twisted
uncomfortably in his gut.

“He said to our faces that he hoped the Basilisk killed Hermione, Harry!” Ron added. His
ears had gone a deep red. “How could you be friends with someone who treats her like that?
She’s meant to be your friend!”

Harry felt like the air had been knocked out of him. He knew all the horrible things Draco
had done the last two years, of course, but hearing them spoken aloud like that made them
sound all the more terrible.

“Maybe it’s easier for you to forget, Harry, but when you’re the Muggleborn he’s said all that
stuff to, it sticks a little more in your head,” Hermione said in a quavering voice.

“I do remember,” Harry said, his throat tight. “He’s said all that same nasty stuff about my
Muggleborn mother, Hermione, I haven’t just forgotten. You both know perfectly well that I
hated him, but I can’t anymore, not after what I saw this summer. It’s just so hard to explain
to someone who wasn’t there to see it, but he’s changing.”

“Really?” Ron said, his voice dripping with scepticism.

“I wouldn’t put up with him if he wasn’t!” Harry said, despair creeping up on him. “You guys
are my best friends, not him! I wouldn’t put up with Draco if he was still that same stuck-up
arsehole he’s always been, especially if he still thought the same stuff about people like
Hermione. He’s had a massive shock this summer, and he’s getting better!”

“I just don’t see it,” Hermione said, turning her face away.

“But because I’ve been so close to it, I do!” Harry insisted. “You can’t unlearn all this stuff
overnight, but I know he doesn’t believe it anymore because I’ve helped argue him out of it
myself, actually! Even if you aren’t seeing it I am, and I promise he’s changing. As my
friends, can’t you just trust me?”

Harry knew he sounded desperate on those last few words, but he couldn’t help himself. He
suddenly felt like his friendships with Ron and Hermione were balancing on a knife’s edge,
and the prospect of losing them absolutely terrified him.

And Ron and Hermione didn’t respond instantly. They just looked at him. Harry didn’t think
he could bear it if they said no to his question, but couldn’t bring himself to stay in the
common room to actually hear the dreaded words leave their lips.

But as Harry fled, he felt just as miserable as he would have if he had stayed to hear their
answer. After all, they distrusted his knowledge of Snape enough to go running to
McGonagall… who was to say they trusted Harry enough to believe him when he said Draco
wasn’t the same anymore?

Their silence was an answer in itself.

Harry avoided the common room and contact with any other humans for the remainder of the
day. Moping around the castle seemed like a far more desirable activity, at any rate, so he
drifted between deserted parts of the castle in a cloud of despair. Even a few laps of the
Quidditch Pitch on his Nimbus 2000 didn’t make Harry feel any better. The only time he
surfaced was to go to the Great Hall for meals. Even though Harry felt far too miserable to
eat much, he knew Snape would note his absence and start asking nosy questions he didn’t
want to answer.

Even though Harry was staunchly determined to defend Snape, as weird as that was to do, he
was absolutely not blind to the man’s flaws. Harry knew that Snape was a vindictive person,
and if he found out Harry was fighting with his friends because they’d complained to
McGonagall about him, he was worried Snape would get angry with them and do something
mean in lessons. No, he couldn’t talk about this with the man.

It surprised Harry that he wanted to, though. Really wanted to, in fact. Snape was surprisingly
good at helping Harry out when he got himself into an emotional mess like this.
Unfortunately enough, it simply was not an option. Harry was left to mull over his problems
by himself, and to contemplate the significance of what he’d just done.

Had he just chosen Draco Malfoy over his friends?

Harry wasn’t particularly keen to do that. Even if he sort of liked Draco now, and enjoyed his
company, Ron and Hermione were his best friends, and held his loyalty far more than Draco
did. And worst of all, they’d both made very valid points. Draco had done horrible things.
He’d called Hermione a Mudblood, for God’s sake!

And even though Draco was starting to change, he still got very awkward around Muggles.
He’d still made fun of Ron’s robes for no reason just last week. He’d apologised to Harry for
being a bully, but never Hermione for what he’d done to her.

And even if Draco needed someone, Harry just couldn’t let that slide!

So, after a restless night, Harry thought he might as well tackle the problem head on and go
down to see Draco, like he’d promised Snape. At any rate, Harry hadn’t really spoken to
another person for an entire day by Sunday morning, and was starting to feel a little lonely. A
chess game couldn’t hurt…

After breakfast, he headed straight for the dungeons. As a rule, Harry tried to avoid the
domain of Slytherins wherever he could help it, so he wasn’t very familiar with the winding
corridors. It took him forever before he found Snape’s office again, and the painting of the
cobra that stood to the left of it.

Harry stared at the sleeping snake and hesitated. Even though Snape had told him that he was
allowed to come into the quarters as he pleased, it still felt weird to actually do so. Harry was
just in the process of steeling himself to open the password when the cobra squinted at him.

“Save me from meandering children!” he complained irritably, rising up and flaring his hood.
“In or out, boy?”

“Er - in, sorry,” Harry said. “Ashwinder.”

The snake looked shocked, which allowed Harry to learn that snakes could even look
shocked, but the portrait swung open before he could comment further. Harry walked up the
short set of steps and heard music being played. Harry had never once heard Snape listen to
music at Spinner’s End, so it was a bit disconcerting to hear the distant sound of piano keys
tinkling as he made his way into the main quarters.

When he emerged, Harry realised that the music was actually coming from the upright piano
near the fireplace, and Draco was playing it. Harry hadn’t had any idea he knew how to play
the piano, let alone as well as he was doing now. His fingers seemed to fly across the keys,
and he was so focused on the sheet music in front of him that he didn’t notice Harry had
entered the room for over two minutes, when Harry took a step forward to get a better look.
Draco obviously noticed the movement and jumped violently, his hands banging against the
keys with a discordant bang.
“Merlin’s beard, you scared the life out of me!” he said indignantly, pressing a hand against
his chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sneak up on you? I could have come in dressed like a clown and you wouldn’t have
noticed!” Harry said. “You were too focused. I didn’t know you could play the piano!”

“I have many skills I doubt you know about,” Draco said haughtily. “I can also speak fluent
French and Italian, I can waltz, and I have enviable calligraphy. But yes, I’m something of a
musician. Severus doesn’t keep a piano at his house, so I didn’t have as many opportunities to
play this summer as I would have liked. I’m awfully rusty.”

Harry shrugged. “Sounded good to me.”

“Yes, you. An untrained ear.” Draco sneered slightly. “That isn’t the high praise you think it
is.”

Harry scowled. “If you’re going to be all moody, I guess I’ll just go back up to Gryffindor
Tower and -”

“Wait!” Draco said quickly. “Don’t. Er - please…”

“For someone who boasts about all his fancy etiquette training, you really hate saying please
and thank you,” Harry remarked.

Draco glared at him. “Perhaps I should send you back to Gryffindor Tower.”

But he got to his feet and fetched the chessboard anyway, albeit with a number of muttered
but half-hearted insults aimed at Harry.

“I’m assuming Severus told you all about me moving in here?” Draco said bitterly as he sat
down on the sofa.

Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly.“Er - yeah. He mentioned it.”

“If I wasn’t enough of an outcast as it is,” Draco muttered, taking the chess board out of its
box. “He’s promised I don’t have to tell anyone where I've gone, at the very least. It’ll
probably get out anyway, but at least it buys me a few days…”

“I won’t tell anyone, at least,” Harry promised, taking a seat on the other side of the sofa.

“Good.”

He finished setting out the chess pieces, and both of them quickly fell into the usual back-
and-forth bickering they had upheld during the summer. Harry had missed this more than
he’d thought while they’d been fighting, and felt a strange sort of contentment settle over
him. This was so good and easy…

But the fact that he had even missed this at all made Harry’s insides churn uncomfortably. He
couldn’t help but feel like he was betraying his friends by even being here after what he, Ron
and Hermione had discussed yesterday morning. After the things Draco had said, especially
to Hermione, how could he sit here and be friendly to him? Why did Harry even want to?

His inner turmoil must have really shown on his face, because even Draco noticed. He
frowned at Harry. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…” Harry leaned his head on his elbow and looked at Draco for several long seconds.
“Just thinking about stuff, I suppose.”

Draco watched Harry expectantly. He clearly knew Harry had more to say. Harry bit his lip
before suddenly blurting out, “I need to know what you think about Muggles.”

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

“And Muggleborns,” Harry added.

Draco stared at him, nonplussed. “I don’t even know what that means! It’s a pretty broad
question, isn’t it?”

“Actually, I think you do know what I mean!” Harry said with a scowl. "Do you still think
Muggles are scum? Do you still wish all Muggleborns dead?”

“When did I ever wish Muggleborns dead?” Draco demanded.

“Last year!” Harry hissed. “Are you forgetting the Chamber of Secrets? Did it slip your mind
how you said you hoped the Heir would kill someone next, and how you wanted it to be
Hermione?”

Draco’s face grew horrified. “I never said that in front of you!”

Harry abruptly realised that Draco had said that to him when he and Ron had Polyjuiced as
Crabbe and Goyle and cringed. That was not something Harry wanted to discuss right now.
He managed to save face by retorting, “I don’t see you denying it! And are you forgetting that
‘you’ll be next, Mudbloods’ comment when the Chamber got opened?”

“Look, I - I didn’t actually mean it!” Draco protested. “I didn’t understand what I was saying,
not really!”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you did say it, Draco!” Harry hissed. “Look, I’ve
danced around the topic all summer, but I can’t anymore, okay? You’ve always made it very
clear how much you hate Muggleborns, and at the end of the day, my best friend is a
Muggleborn. My mother was a Muggleborn, and I’m a half-blood myself! I need to know if
you still think those things.”

Draco was silent for a moment, his eyes wide. “I… I don’t think I do.”

“You don’t think you do?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. “Not exactly a vote of
confidence.”
“I don’t believe it anymore, alright?” Draco hissed. “I can’t! I know it’s all a stupid lie, I
know Granger is smarter than me, and she’s a Muggleborn, so how can all Muggleborns be
magically incompetent? And then Severus goes and explains that a Muggleborn witch, of all
people, was capable of stopping the Dark Lord with powerful blood magic that let you deflect
the Killing Curse! And to top it all off, it turns out all the most powerful wizards are half-
bloods! The Boy-Who-Lived is one, and the Headmaster, and the damn Dark Lord himself!
So yes, clearly blood doesn’t affect magic, and I was wrong, okay? I admit it! I just didn’t
know any better!”

Draco’s cheeks had flushed a deep pink by the end of his rant, and he fell into sullen silence.
Harry, despite his reservations, just knew that Draco was telling the truth. The look of utter
mortification on his face was enough.

“I believe you,” Harry said quietly.

“I bloody well hope you do, because I’m not saying all of that again,” Draco snapped, folding
his arms and staring at the floor.

I guess all of Snape’s lectures actually do have an effect, Harry reflected. He doubted Draco
could have worked all this out without significant input, and he'd personally witnessed some
of Snape's talks about equality. The man could be insistent.

“Is that why you were so upset when you heard about what your dad did?” he dared to ask,
the pieces finally coming together. “Because you understand now?”

Draco nodded, his eyes oddly dull. “To see he did all of those things to people - he’s a
murderer, Harry! Not just that, he tortured people, and he followed a maniac Dark Lord over
made-up nonsense! And I want to hate him, but - well, he’s still my father, you know?" Draco
sighed and slumped back into the cushions. "Look, I know your father’s a bloody war hero
and all, but you must get it a little. Do you ever want to hate your horrid relatives but then get
stuck on the good memories?”

Harry had to think about that for a moment. There really wasn’t much love lost between him
and the Dursleys, since they’d always resented ever being stuck with him and made their
feelings truly known…

But the world wasn’t split into good people and bad people, and the Dursleys had been
capable of the occasional kindness, fleeting as it was.

When Harry was quite small, before his accidental magic had become obvious, Aunt Petunia
would sometimes pat him on the top of the head when he did something to her satisfaction.
Occasionally, Uncle Vernon would broker a business deal or receive a raise, and it would put
him down in a good mood. He would bark out, “Good lad!” and give Harry a gruff nod while
Harry served up dinner, puffed up like a proud peacock. Dudley sometimes forgot to bully
Harry, and would include Harry in his games for brief stints when there no one else was
around to play with him.

The Dursleys weren’t complete monsters. They were people, capable of occasional pangs of
conscience, and they honestly hadn’t cared enough about Harry for their singular purpose in
life to be tormenting him. They had it in them to be briefly nice.

But unlike Draco, he didn’t feel conflicted about his dislike of the Dursleys. The acts of
kindness made the cruelty hurt more, because Harry knew they were capable of love. They
simply couldn’t bring themselves to share it with him, and that was wrong. Making them
emotionless monsters simplified how horrible everything they’d done to him was.

But Draco was looking at him with some desperation, so Harry did his best to put his honest
conflicted feelings into words to try and alleviate his obvious misery.

“I sort of understand. I don’t have any other family, you know? My aunt’s all I have left, and
I can’t change that, even if I wanted to." Harry swallowed, hard. Bitterness burned like bile in
the back of his throat. "And my aunt and uncle did raise me from a really young age. Like, I
know Snape says they n-neglected me, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had to do certain
stuff to look after me, or I wouldn’t have made it this long. Sometimes I remember how Aunt
Petunia must have fed me before I was old enough to do it myself, and she had to hold my
hand on the way to school when I was too little to know not to run in front of cars."

Harry trailed off, a harsh burning in the back of his eyes. Aunt Petunia was the closest thing
Harry had to a mother, and as much as he hated her, he still wished Aunt Petunia had it in her
to treat Harry like a son. Harry knew she was capable of love - Dudley proved that - so why
wasn't he worthy?

Did she care about him? She'd taken him in - that meant Aunt Petunia didn't want to see him
dead, at the very least. Were the brief kindnesses or moments of care, like her reluctant,
pinching grip of his four-year-old hand on the way to school, Aunt Petunia's twisted form of
love?

"I know Aunt Petunia resented everything she had to do for me, but she still did it," Harry
said, voice faltering. "Even if she didn’t want to, she still took me in because she knew I
might die without the blood wards, and I don’t know what all of that means to me, but it
shows she cared the tiniest bit, and it just makes everything more complicated.”

Harry stared at the floor after he said that, because Draco's face was so clearly full of pity and
he couldn’t bear to look at it. His chest ached.

Harry didn't want to want this. He shouldn't give a damn about the opinion of the woman
who had locked him in a cupboard for ten years.

But Harry did.

“Families are hard,” he said softly.

Draco shuffled up next to Harry, so close their arms were touching. They sat in silence for
several moments, neither of them knowing what to say.

“Things are different in my situation in a lot of ways, but there’s some stuff we have in
common,” Draco said, his voice so low it was practically a whisper. “My father’s a war
criminal. He murdered people, he tortured people, he did so many horrible things - but I
didn’t see that at home, you know? He never treated me the way he treated all of the
Muggleborns he hates. I know he loves me, and he would defend me to the bitter end, and he
was certainly far better to me than your aunt and uncle were to you. But… well, sometimes, I
wasn't sure if he liked me all that much, especially when I didn't do something to meet his
approval. He could be really harsh…”

Draco hesitated before ploughing on. “When I was very young, I had a stammer. I would be
speaking, and I’d get this awful twisted feeling in my chest, and I couldn’t get the words out.
Father hated it. He would shout at me, sometimes, for embarrassing him in public, or he’d
tell me to get over it, and he’d say the most horrid things to me. I think he thought I’d learn to
buck up, but it just made me get even more tongue-tied, and the cycle went on.”

Harry turned to look at him, horrified. “Draco… I had no idea.”

“Well, my mother took me to a Healer behind his back, and I managed to stop,” Draco said
dully. “But what I’m saying is, sometimes Father’s tolerance of me wore thin when I didn’t
live up to his expectations. He was outraged when Granger outdid me in first year, you know.
Malfoys should always be at the top, and they certainly shouldn’t be beaten by Muggleborns.
He didn’t speak to me for a week after the results came in, and he went on and on about it for
the rest of that summer. It sometimes felt like he only liked me if I behaved exactly how he
wanted, but his expectations could be completely impossible to live up to.”

Harry, who had witnessed Lucius Malfoy berating Draco in Borgin & Burkes last year,
winced sympathetically. He’d never actually connected the dots and realised that perhaps
Draco’s dislike of Hermione could be connected to his harsh father.

“And then the cherry on top is the house.” Draco scoffed. “I know he probably thinks he was
protecting all of us by doing it, but he burnt my home down with me inside to destroy
evidence and save his own damn skin! My mother barely got me out in time, and I lost
everything I owned, and I can’t Floo or even be near fire now because it freaks me out, and
it’s all his fault! I shouldn’t have to hate my own father, but he’s making it pretty bloody
difficult for me not to!”

The bonfire incident during the summer abruptly made more sense to Harry. Sympathy
stirred in his chest, and he reached out a hand and briefly squeezed Draco's shoulder.

Draco huffed and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes. “You’re right, Harry. Families are
hard.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Draco… why are you telling me all of this? It doesn’t seem like
the kind of stuff you’d normally tell me, of all people…”

Draco gave him a pained look. “Because I knew you’d understand. And you do, see? I think
it helps to talk about these things, sometimes.”

Harry gave him a thin smile. Shockingly enough, for the first time, he felt very grateful that
Draco had overheard that conversation between Snape and Dumbledore. He still couldn’t
quite imagine a situation where he’d have opened up about the Dursleys to the other boy, but
after circumstances had forced his hand, it had changed things for the better. Draco
understood more about Harry, and he was even starting to open up in return, which evened
out their footing.

And Harry had an abrupt and realisation - no, a paradigm shift. He didn’t know what he’d
been doing to try and rationalise what he and Draco had over the last few weeks, but it wasn’t
out of some kind of misplaced pity because he didn’t have anyone else, or because Snape was
forcing them to get on.

Harry just genuinely liked Draco.

He had seen personal things of Harry’s life and had actually been respectful of it. Because
they’d both had such a dreadful, tumultuous time over the summer in such close proximity to
each other, they’d bonded. It was impossible to help. Seeing each other so emotionally
vulnerable had made them closer.

So Harry did want to spend time with Draco. He wanted to be friends with him, simply
because he had grown to care about Draco, as weird as that might sound to Ron and
Hermione. He understood Draco far too intimately after what they’d been through to just give
up on him during a fight, just as Harry wouldn’t give up on Ron and Hermione if he got into
an argument with one of them for doing something stupid.

And, Harry realised with a sudden blaze of determination, he wasn’t going to lose his
friendship with Ron and Hermione now, because he cared too much about everyone involved
to let this blow up. He’d find a way to show them Draco had changed, make up with them,
and Harry wouldn’t be forced to choose between his two best friends and Draco. He could
find a happy middle ground, and sort out this rift, and things would settle down. Harry wasn’t
afraid of hard work.

But for now, Harry turned to Draco and smiled. "I really missed you."

A mixture of shock and happiness flashed across Draco's face. "You did?"

"Of course!" Harry, feeling slightly vulnerable and embarrassed, added, "and I missed
thrashing you at Monopoly most of all."

Draco scoffed. "I knew Gryffindors were thick, but this is really something else. You never
beat me, Potter!"

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. "Bring it on, Malfoy."

They stayed hunched over the board for hours, and Harry felt the happiest he had all
weekend.
 Interlude: Draco
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Draco sighed and shoved the newspaper to one side, the face of a masked Death Eater staring
malevolently back at him. Who was hidden behind that uniform? Was it his own father
glowering at him right now, or just one of his close companions who had perpetrated the
murders listed in this copy of the Daily Prophet? Draco didn’t know.

But he needed to.

Draco needed to know everything his father had done - everything his family had done, really,
since he had decided to read about every single one of his awful relatives as penance. He’d
learnt about the suspicious activities of Abraxas Malfoy that had never amounted to charges,
he’d read about his mother’s cousin, Regulus, who had deserted the Dark Lord and was killed
at eighteen, and he’d read enough about Aunt Bella and her horrid husband to make him turn
his stomach. He’d saved Sirius Black for later, since everybody knew what he’d done - for
now, Draco was focusing on Lucius.

So many murders. So many people tortured. So many horrid, bigoted comments that made
Draco feel so terribly ashamed, not least of all because he’d agreed with every single one of
them until recently…

Draco certainly still thought that Muggles were beneath him, of course, but Muggleborns?
Severus had taken to using one particular phrase: 'a wizard is a wizard'. There were no
differences in power levels, no intellectual defects caused by their Muggle blood, nothing that
could differentiate Draco and his thousand year old magical blood from the likes of Granger.
The fact that there was no real science behind Muggleborn inferiority like Draco had believed
truly made his jaw drop. He couldn’t understand how his father, who Draco had always
thought to be so intelligent, was blinded by this sort of stupidity -

Because he wanted to believe himself superior, Severus’ voice whispered in the back of
Draco’s mind. He wants to believe he’s more powerful and worthy by birthright, and will do
whatever mental leaps it requires to convince himself of such things…

That conversation, amongst many others, had been enlightening in ways Draco refused to
admit publicly. Severus had held many such conversations with him over the summer, as a
matter of fact. He had explained in excruciating detail the dangers of prejudice, and had even
talked about his own personal story when it came to his time as a Death Eater. The mere
memory of that conversation made Draco shiver upon recollection.
The summer heat pressed down over Cokeworth like a thick, oppressive blanket. No
mercifully cool breeze stirred the stifling air, and every inhale and exhale tasted stagnant and
muggy.

Draco fanned himself with one hand and wiped away another bead of sweat from his brow
before it dripped into the potion below. His entire body was drenched in perspiration.
Severus' laboratory always ran hot, but in the midst of the July heatwave they were
experiencing, it was practically an oven. Worst of all, the Muggle neighbourhood Severus
lived in could not be properly warded with climate controlling enchantments, so they were
stuck experiencing the worst of the heatwave with no relief. Draco was almost considering
breaking Severus' stupid ban on summertime magic to cast an Aguamenti over his head for a
brief reprieve from the torment. He couldn't understand how Severus was wearing his usual
black robes, buttoned to the throat and sleeves to his wrists. How had he not collapsed from
heat exhaustion yet?

"I can't believe you're going around in this weather dressed like that! It's absolutely boiling!"
Draco commented. He purposefully gestured to his light summer robes, rolled up to the
biceps. "Do you have an aversion to elbows or something?"

Severus lowered the heat beneath his cauldron and looked at Draco for a very long time,
expression blank. He slowly and deliberately lowered his hand to the cuff of his left sleeve,
unbuttoned it, and pulled it up past the elbow. A familiar, faded tattoo of a skull and snake
stared back at Draco.

In his list of mortifying moments, this definitely cracked the top three. You could have cooked
an egg on Draco's burning cheeks.

"I - it slipped my mind Severus, I apologise -"

"Don't," Severus said smoothly, sliding his other sleeve up. Draco remained silent, furiously
willing the pink flush in his face to die down while he tried to find the correct words to
remedy such an awful faux pas. People with Dark Marks generally made an effort to hide
them from the general public to avoid their scorn. Father had never once had his on display
outside of the privacy of Malfoy Manor, and even then he tended to favour long sleeves at
home. Draco didn't really understand why Severus wouldn't bare his arms in the privacy of
his own home, though. He'd been here four weeks, and had never once seen Severus' arms
until today despite the raging heatwave battering Britain.

After enough time had passed for Draco's blush to fade, he awkwardly cleared his throat.
"Erm - it doesn't bother me seeing it, you know. I've seen my father's Mark plenty. You don't
need to hide it."

Severus looked back up from his cauldron and arched an eyebrow. "Has it occured to you that
perhaps I do not want to see it?"

Draco, who that had certainly not occurred to, awkwardly coughed and ducked his head.
Severus tapped his wand against the rim of his cauldron, placing it under a stasis spell. That
was a surefire sign he wanted to devote his full attention to the conversation - or lecture - at
hand.
"I am deeply ashamed of this, you know," Severus said bluntly. He gestured to the Dark Mark.
"This tattoo represents the biggest mistake of my life."

Draco watched Severus, wide-eyed. "Why are you ashamed? Once or twice I overheard
Mother and Father talking, while they discussed your, ah… your true loyalties. They said
Dumbledore vouched for you during the trials, and that you'd turned spy."

"Turned," Severus emphasised. "Draco, I joined the Death Eaters willingly."

Draco stared hard at the ingredients on his workstation, unsure of how to proceed. He felt
very uncomfortable discussing any of this, since any talk of the war came dangerously close
to 'Muggleborns are just like you and I' territory.

"Look at me." Severus' tone was stern and severe, so Draco reluctantly met his gaze. "I am
going to tell you the full story, and I want you to listen."

Draco nodded slowly, uncertainly. Mother and Father staunchly refused to discuss the war
with Draco, and Severus' sudden willingness to shocked him.

"I am a half-blood," Severus said. Draco's jaw dropped with shock. That was honestly true?!
He'd had his suspicions, considering the location of Severus' home, but he'd never expected
them to amount to a confession!

"My father was the worst sort of Muggle," Severus continued, face unmoving. "My mother
was a disgraced, disinherited Pureblood, who was left too disabled to work by a
Transfiguration accident. She was entirely financially reliant on my father, a violent drunk
who she couldn't defend me from."

Draco's eyes continued to widen with horror, but Severus' tone and countenance remained
unchanged.

"My childhood left me prejudiced against Muggles, and made me a prime candidate for a
Death Eater. I fell in with a group of Purebloods who sympathised with the Dark Lord and
convinced myself that I was superior to Muggles - and to a degree, Muggleborns - and joined
the Dark Lord because I thought he'd give me the power and glory I so desperately craved."
Severus shook his head, and a hint of pain managed to break through his forced calm. "There
is no glory in serving the Dark Lord, Draco. Being his servant - although I think slave would
be the more appropriate title - is not an honourable life. He tortured his followers regularly -
sometimes as punishment, more often still for his own amusement." He gestured to the Dark
Mark. "This brand ties you to him forever, and if you wavered in your loyalties for even a
moment, if you so much as contemplated disobeying his orders, death would be a lucky
escape from his wrath."

Draco swallowed, hard. What little he had gleaned about the war consisted of Mr Nott, Mr
Crabbe and Mr Avery fondly reminiscing over wine about the days where Muggleborns knew
their place. Nobody had ever described it like this…

"I had a best friend - a Muggleborn girl." Severus' throat bobbed. "In my fifth year, I ruined
our friendship by calling her a Mudblood. My own prejudice destroyed something I valued
dearly. I then proceeded to serve the man who despised her and all of her kind, even though I
knew the Dark Lord wanted any and all Muggleborns gone. Eventually, the Dark Lord did
murder her. I have to live the rest of my life knowing that I aided the man who killed her."

"Oh." Draco's voice had become rather strangled.

"I think that the day I decided to use that slur against her was a fork in the road of my life,"
Severus said quietly. "Perhaps, Draco, if I had been more mindful of my language and
prejudices, I would not have ruined a true and genuine friendship to associate with my
'superior' Pureblooded companions, people who themselves sneered at my half-blood
heritage. I would not have permanently marred my arm with this tattoo that reminds me every
day that I chose to be a slave. I would not have assisted the man that murdered my friend."
His sigh was deep and heavy, and told the toll of a thousand mistakes. "These sorts of
prejudices need to be stopped early. You do not want to end up like me, because these regrets
will weigh on your conscience every day for the rest of your life."

Draco finally broke away from Severus' earnest gaze and fixed his eyes to the stained
floorboards. A month of chiding lectures about making nice with Mudbloods had fallen on
deaf ears until now, where Draco felt the first stirring pangs of conscience. Severus' descent
was far too easy to understand…

It was almost alarming how clearly Draco could see himself following the same path. He
thought back to the day he'd called Granger a Mudblood early last year, an event that
Severus had harped on about for the last month. After the story of Severus and his friend, the
word Mudblood felt more weighty in his mouth. A simple word that represented so much
more, a whole slew of prejudices and persecution that Draco had never truly comprehended
the horror of until this moment.

Severus deftly rolled his sleeves down, hiding the Dark Mark from view once more. His eyes
were lowered and full of pain. "After the things I've done, overheating is the least I deserve."

Draco was lost for words.

Much like Severus considered the day he called his Muggleborn friend a Mudblood a fork in
the road of his life, Draco considered that talk a defining moment in his. That conversation
had opened the door in his mind to doubt in his father and the prejudices he promoted, and
had led Draco from hating Muggleborns to…well, whatever he felt towards them now.

He couldn't put into words how much he appreciated Severus' candour about the war,
especially in comparison to Draco's mother and father. The vast majority of the time when he
asked, Draco’s parents would give him brief answers and change the subject whenever he
asked about the tattoo on Father’s arm, or the Dark Lord that Mr Crabbe had been
passionately praising after one too many glasses of wine. Draco vaguely remembered a brief
conversation with Mother when he was too young to understand the nuance of it all. She’d
explained that a man had used a Curse to force Father to do things he wouldn’t do normally,
and that he must never, ever ask Father about it.

Draco had believed her, of course. Why wouldn’t he?

As he’d aged, the Curse had been named as the Imperius Curse, and the man had been named
as the Dark Lord. The ban on asking questions had remained, though. As Draco had matured,
he'd made the realisation that perhaps some things about the past were just too difficult to
discuss. His father had only given Draco a response once when he'd dared to go against
Mother and ask about the Dark Lord.

"He was a great man. Terrible, but great. One of the most powerful wizards of our time, with
the right idea about Purebloods and Muggleborns. Perhaps if his methods had differed…who
knows how the world would look today."

Somehow, that had not set off any alarm bells in Draco's mind. Neither had any of the hushed
conversations overheard through closed doors and on darkened landings, late at night. He
would hear Father and his friends arguing about the Dark Lord, questioning if he was still
alive, or if they should seek him out. Mother and Father would engage in regular, scathing
rants about incompetent Muggleborn Ministry employees who weren't worthy of wands.
Snippets, names, arguments - fragments that never came together. Draco had never examined
all of the highly suspicious conversations and thought past the lie his parents had told him.
Father had been forced by the Dark Lord to do unspeakable things, an opinion that Draco had
vehemently defended without a shadow of a doubt.

Until now.

Draco sighed again, and lifted his aching eyes from the papers. It had been hours in here
again, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do than ruminate over his father’s various
murders. Draco couldn't stop until he understood it, because right now, everything he was
reading defied comprehension. Even though every last detail was laid out before him, Draco
still just couldn’t reconcile this murdering bigot with the man that used to pick Draco up and
carry him on his shoulders to show him the Abraxans, the man who would fly and race Draco
around the grounds whenever he asked, the man who had taught Draco his first spell. How
could a person who would pull four-year-old Draco onto his lap and cast beautiful shows of
lights and fireworks above his head to make him laugh also go out and murder Muggle and
Muggleborn children who were no older than Draco had been? How could someone who
looked at his wife like she hung the moon then take his wand and leave another witch or
wizard widowed?

Draco knew Father wasn’t always a kind man, of course. Even with Draco, Lucius could be
cold, and cutting, and he held impossibly high standards that Draco feared he would never
meet. He had just never expected that these less desirable traits of Father's would translate to
torture and murder…

Not until his father had burned the house down with Draco inside, with no way of knowing if
Mother would be able to get to Draco in time. He’d been willing to risk all of their lives to
save the family reputation.
Draco hunched his shoulders. He felt completely and utterly miserable. As an only child,
Draco had thought he was used to loneliness. He had been wrong, of course. Draco couldn’t
have possibly imagined what it was like to be truly and wholly alone in the world. Worse
still, hated.

And why wouldn’t everyone hate him? The spawn of a Malfoy - what was there to like? The
Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws despised him on principle, while the Slytherins
hated Draco in a more insidious and personal way. Draco knew that Father had tried to
wriggle his way out of trouble by reporting on other Death Eaters in his circle who had
walked free. It was probably good that he was in Azkaban - Merlin knew what sort of awful
things the likes of Macnair and Nott wanted to do to Father for the things he’d accused them
of…

“...hope Lucius Malfoy gets the Dementor’s Kiss, it’s what Death Eater scum like him
deserve…”

“...should be locked up right alongside them…”

Everyone hated Draco. He was another slimy Malfoy, destined to follow in his family's
footsteps and end up dead or imprisoned. He could disappear from the face of the earth and
there would not be a single person who cared -

Well, Severus probably would. Maybe even Harry, but Draco didn’t want to fool himself.
Everyone adored perfect Potter, and Draco was barely on his radar. He couldn't understand
why Harry had even bothered coming down to the dungeons for visits since they'd made up
two weeks ago. Why would he ever want anything to do with the son of a Death Eater?
Draco's father had worked for the man who had murdered Harry’s parents! He ought to
despise Draco!

But Harry didn't hate him - far from it, apparently. Draco still remembered the day the papers
had been delivered, when his world had fallen apart yet again. Harry had hunted Draco down
and hugged him when he'd felt like he was falling forever into a bottomless pit of anguish, he
had told Draco how sorry he was and how he wanted to be friends again, and he had made
such a difference on a day that Draco truly thought would be the death of him.

Still, the conversation the other day had only served to show Draco how much further he
needed to go. He had been doing his best to listen to Severus when it came to prejudice, and
to prevent himself from following in his father's footsteps, but it was all so hard, and Draco
knew he had a long way to go. Not only that, but all of Draco’s previous behaviour when it
came to Muggleborns was clearly still weighing on Harry, which he wasn't quite sure what to
do about…

And that was when Draco spotted Granger.

She was always in here, to Draco’s displeasure. He supposed that it was another fitting
punishment to endure alongside the constant reading of his father’s crimes, since Granger
served as a reminder of everything wrong with Draco, and every reason why Harry would
never like him as a best friend, and would only tolerate him at best… he’d hurt Granger very
frequently over the last two years. Nasty know-it-all Granger…
Draco really should not hate Granger, since all of the animosity between them had been
generally initiated by Draco. Severus, in one of his many scathing lectures, had made it
perfectly clear to Draco how appalling his behaviour had been. The Mudblood incident at the
beginning of his second year had featured quite heavily in Severus’ rants about equality and
bigotry. As much as Draco didn’t want to, he felt horribly guilty about that now. Severus had
made sure of that.

Severus had also rather heavily suggested that he apologise. At first, Draco had refused on
principle - apologies were a sign of weakness, everybody knew that! Still, as time passed,
Draco had started to see the potential benefits of embarrassing himself in such a way. Mainly
because it might make Harry happier…

And he probably owed Granger an apology, Draco reminded himself. Still, he hated saying
sorry. Unfortunately, Draco knew how important Granger and Weasley were to Harry. He’d
made that perfectly clear the other weekend. If Draco was going to be friends with a
Gryffindor, he supposed he had to suck it up and adapt to their nauseating apologetic habits.

Draco knew that if he didn’t do it now, it was never going to happen. He got to his feet,
carefully smoothed down his hair and checked his appearance in the reflection of the library
windows, and slowly walked over to the table Granger had placed herself at. She had taken
over the entire surface with a frankly ridiculous amount of books and parchment, all covered
in neat, tiny handwriting. As he approached, Granger didn’t even look up. Draco stood to one
side of her, feeling intensely conspicuous, and waited for a very long time to clear his throat
and announce his presence.

Granger’s head shot up, bushy hair bouncing all around her, and her expression morphed into
one of shock and suspicion. “Malfoy?”

“I just wanted a quick word.”

Granger scowled at him and crossed her arms. "Get on with it, then."

Rude. Draco really didn’t see why he should have to lower himself to associating with ill-
mannered Gryffindors like this -

Well, Harry was one of them, and Draco could tolerate his brash tendencies the majority of
his time. He just had to grit his teeth and get through this. He exhaled loudly through his nose
and clenched his fists.

“‘M sorry,” he muttered.

Granger’s brow creased. “What?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he snapped, feeling very irritated all of a sudden. “About last year. When I
called you a…well.”

“A Mudblood?” Granger said icily.

Draco winced. “Yes - that. It was… it was certainly not appropriate of me. Sev - er, Professor
Snape and Harry have helped me see the error of my ways.”

Granger’s scowl deepened. “Did Harry put you up to this or something?”

“What? No!” Draco said indignantly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the pricklings of
temper. “I just - well, I wanted to extend my apologies. I don’t believe any of that anymore -”

“Well, bully for you,” Granger snapped. “What’s the point of all this, Malfoy?”

“I just thought you should know,” Draco said, taking a step back. “Because I am. Sorry, I
mean. I’ve been a right prat when it comes to you, and I - well, I regret it.”

Unable to bear her haughty, disbelieving face for another minute, Draco spun on his heel and
fled the library. He ignored Madam Pince’s shouted admonishments for running and
continued to tear through the halls. He needed to get out - he needed air. Circe, that had
somehow been worse than Draco had anticipated. What was even the point of apologising if
no one believed you? How was Draco supposed to convincingly prove to Granger that he
didn’t hate Muggleborns anymore? It all was impossible!

He sprinted until he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, lungs burning from the
exertion. Draco sank down against a tree trunk, hugged his knees close to his chest, and tried
very hard to pretend that the water in his eyes was from the harsh Scottish wind. He hated
how close to tears he always was, especially these days. His father had always been
particularly condemning of such displays of emotions, but Draco couldn't ever help it. He felt
things so deeply, and it was impossible to keep it all inside.

He missed Father so much today.

Draco didn’t know what to do with that. He missed Mother constantly, of course, so much so
that he still cried himself to sleep some nights hoping she was okay in Azkaban, even though
he knew deep down that she wasn't. Draco’s feelings towards his Father were so horribly
tangled and complex in comparison. He hated Father with a passion that made his blood boil
for everything he’d done to both Draco and to the victims of his crimes, but at the same time,
he missed Father with an aching intensity. For thirteen years of Draco's life, Lucius Malfoy
had been the most important, intelligent and capable man Draco knew. He was the ideal role
model in every way!

Father had been Draco's compass, his map, his navigator. Now Lucius was gone, locked
away, and Draco was left lost and stranded.

Draco couldn't even pretend there weren't tears streaming down his face anymore.

Moments before he could wipe them away, something rough and wet swiped across his
cheeks. Draco yelped and shoved out his hands, which smacked into something brawny and
fluffy. He gave a hefty push, to no avail. The creature remained undeterred and continued to
lick him. Draco opened his eyes and realised that a large, black dog was currently attacking
his face with its tongue.
"Get off me!" he shouted, shoving the beast away with renewed determination. It was matted,
skinny, and probably riddled with fleas! Draco was going to have to burn his robes after this!

Just as he was about to cast Flipendo at the creature, it at last retreated and settled at Draco's
feet, head tilted slightly to the side. As he was very unfamiliar with dogs, Draco couldn't
work out what the thing could possibly want. The only experience he had with the animals
were the bloodhounds Father sometimes used for hunting, but the house-elves normally cared
for those without much input.

"Are you… hungry?" Draco asked hesitantly. "I don't have anything you could eat. You'd
have better luck with that oaf of a Gamekeeper."

Draco scowled in the direction of Hagrid's lopsided shack. What had that idiotic fool of a
Headmaster been thinking, hiring an incompetent buffoon like that to teach Care of Magical
Creatures? He'd nearly killed Draco with that bloody Hippogriff on his first day! This dog
was probably one of his horrid mutts….

But Draco stopped himself from getting up and leaving it at the last moment. He felt like he
knew this dog from somewhere, oddly. He couldn't quite place where he’d seen it before,
though.

The dog curled into Draco's side, but mercifully didn't jump up onto him again. Draco
tentatively reached out a hand to rub its head and the dog leaned into the touch, tail wagging
happily. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, even if Draco wasn't much of a dog person. After all, he
was remarkably lonely right now.

"Everything is hard," Draco said abruptly. The dog lifted its head to stare at Draco with odd,
grey eyes. It almost looked like it was listening…

Well, it wasn't like Draco had anyone else to talk to.

"I just want things to go back to normal," he whispered, leaning his head back against the
tree. "Merlin, I miss Pansy. I even miss Vince and Greg! They're more like ornaments than
people most of the time, I didn't know I could miss them!"

The dog let out an affirmative sort of bark, and Draco ploughed on. "It's not like I can even
make new friends, apparently. I didn't even want to apologise to bloody Granger, but I did it
anyway, and she didn't even accept it! She's probably going to go back to Harry, complain
about how awful I am for daring to so much as look at her, and he's going to go back to
hating me again because Potter likes her so much more than me..."

The dog's head jerked up at the name Potter, and Draco scowled. Of course, even a damn dog
would be overly interested in the fabulous Boy-Who-Lived…

Draco cut off that train of thought before it could gain any traction. If he started thinking
resentful thoughts about fame, it meant he said resentful things to Harry, which he shouldn’t
do. Draco knew logically that Harry hated being a celebrity, even if he sometimes struggled
against base inclinations towards the glamour and glory that fame brought.
It was so hard, fighting back all the horrid thoughts in his head before they became nasty
words and actions. Draco hoped it would get easier someday, because he wasn't sure how
much more of this constant mental chastisement he could take.

He sighed and awkwardly ran a hand over the dog's back. Draco wasn't quite sure what dogs
liked but it didn't seem to mind what he was doing, and Draco found the repetitive motion
surprisingly soothing.

"I did sort of want to apologise to Granger, you know, " Draco told him. "Even if she is an
insufferable, bushy-haired show-off. I know I've been foul to her for no good reason. Severus
has made that pretty bloody clear… "

The dog abruptly made a low growling noise in the back of its throat, and Draco pulled his
hand away, as if burned. Had he hurt it? Was it going to attack?

The dog noticed his flinch and quickly went quiet. It made a whimpering noise, nosing
against Draco's palm. After a few moments of hesitation, Draco gingerly patted him on the
head and the dog's tail began to wag again. How odd…

"I don't like who I was before," Draco admitted. "I… I don't want to be like Father anymore.
If believing the things he believes gets you locked up in Azkaban for following an evil Dark
Lord, I probably shouldn't believe them, right?"

"Woof," the dog said agreeably.

"And I don't like that the stuff I did makes Harry angry," Draco admitted softly. "He's the
only person who's been decent to me during all of this, you know. All my so-called friends
turned on me in a heartbeat, but he stayed there."

That meant more to Draco than he could ever say. Even after everything he'd done, Harry had
still treated Draco decently. He'd gone above and beyond, really, with somebody who he
owed absolutely nothing to. That sort of thing earned Draco's hard-won loyalty.

"I wish he was friends with me in the same way he was friends with Granger and Weasley,"
Draco said sadly. "I don't know what they have that I don't! And if Granger and Weasley don't
like me, I don't think Harry will, either, but there's nothing I can do to make them!" He huffed
loudly. "Granger thought Harry put me up to that apology! As if I could ever be forced into
anything! Can you believe that?"

"Woof," the dog said, and Draco swore he actually nodded.

"It's all a bloody mess," Draco said with a sigh. "I have no friends, and the only friend I do
have has about five billion other friends when I only have him, and everyone in Slytherin
hates me so much I had to move out of the common room, and my parents are in prison, and
there's absolutely nothing I can do to make any of my problems better!"

He slumped backwards into the tree trunk, feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. If there was
one thing Draco hated it was being powerless, and he was nothing if not powerless in his own
life right now. He wasn't able to get his old friends back, or get the older Slytherins to leave
him alone, he certainly wasn't able to do anything about his parents' legal issues, and he
couldn't even apologise to Granger without her assuming that Draco was plotting something.

Well. Granger hadn't been entirely wrong. Draco was technically plotting, since he wouldn't
have bothered apologising to Granger if he hadn't wanted to make things right with Harry.
That didn't mean Draco wasn't remorseful for the things he'd done, though, it just meant he
didn't want to admit to it!

Malfoys do not apologise, Lucius said haughtily in his mind. You twist their words until the
aggrieved apologise to you, Draco. Admitting fault is a weakness.

Severus was the opposite. He was always insisting that Harry and Draco apologise to each
other when they did something wrong, and to Draco's shock, it actually ended up solving a lot
more problems than pretending like nothing had happened or trying to pin fault on the other
party. Who'd have thought?

Of course, Draco never liked being wrong, so apologising didn't come that naturally to him.
Potter ought to realise that, and appreciate the effort he made in apologising to the bushy-
haired Mu-

Muggleborn.

Draco stared at the ground, feeling very sad all of a sudden. The dog rested its head on
Draco's lap, sensing the continued dip of his mood. Draco never would have said dogs could
be smart, but was quickly learning otherwise.

“You’re not so bad,” Draco declared. “Say, why don’t I sneak some drumsticks out of the
Great Hall for you? Would you like that?”

The dog began barking loudly and jumped up on Draco again, knocking him over from the
force of impact. It began enthusiastically licking his face.

“Get off!” Draco shrieked, although he found that didn’t mind it as much as the first time. “If
you don’t let up, I can’t get you any food, you know! Stop!”

After a few final licks, the dog released him and ran in a circle around Draco, tail wagging
enthusiastically.

“I’ll see you shortly,” Draco promised, heading back into the castle. He felt a little bit better,
having let all of that out in the open, even if it was to a dog.

He’d go and find Severus later, Draco decided. He had a way of explaining things in a way
that made Draco feel a little less awful about himself and his family. Maybe he’d even have
some sort of advice for how to make things right with Granger, for Harry’s sake.

Even though Draco didn’t have Father anymore, he was more grateful than he ever could
have imagined to have Severus in his life. One decent person to model himself after, in a
world where Draco's entire biological family were lunatics… Draco didn't know what would
have happened to him after the arrest without Severus, the one person in his corner.
 Severus and now Harry.

For his whole life, Draco’s family had consisted of Mother, Father and himself, and when
they’d been arrested, he’d assumed any concept of family had been stripped from him
forever. Now, though? Maybe a new family was forming around him, as misshapen and odd
as it might be.

His old world might have burned to ashes, but Draco was starting to like the new one he was
building.

Chapter End Notes

Surprise! Today's early chapter is brought you by me procrastinating an essay lol. Fun
fact this was originally supposed to be about 2k words but it very much got away from
me haha. To those who were asking before, more povs from Snape or Draco's
perspective in the form of oneshots are still happening but a few months down the line
when I am someday on top of my uni reading :)
 Jealousy
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Despite Harry’s determination to make things right between him and his friends, he didn’t
actually get a good opportunity to talk to them until Monday afternoon. The two of them had
spent the whole morning sitting together at desks and decidedly ignoring Harry, which
immediately withered any confidence he had to approach them and talk things through. Harry
was too worried about what might happen, and the fear had paralysed him into inaction. He
felt like losing Ron and Hermione would tug a loose thread in his chest free, unravelling his
very being until nothing was left of him.

But as the day progressed, Harry forced himself to shove his worry to one side. He had to
find a way to mend this rift, as difficult as it might seem. That afternoon, he made his way
alone down the grassy verge to Care of Magical Creatures and decided he wasn’t going to go
back into the castle without some resolution or another. Since they were now spending most
of Care of Magical Creatures shoving shredded lettuce down the throats of Flobberworms,
which wasn’t that mentally taxing, it made the class the perfect forum for a discussion.

Harry immediately made his way up to the Flobberworms Ron and Hermione were tending to
and looked at the two of them pleadingly.

“I don’t want to fight with you two,” he said quietly.

Hermione bit her lip, then sighed. “I don’t want to fight either. I hate this.”

“Er - sorry we went behind your back to McGonagall,” Ron mumbled, not meeting Harry’s
eyes. “We were just worried, mate.”

“No, I get it,” Harry begrudgingly admitted. A slight awkward silence fell, broken only by
the low chatter of the groups of other students around them. Harry shifted his weight from
foot to foot, unsure of how to progress from here.

“We do trust you, Harry,” Hermione blurted out. “All of these things with Malfoy are just a
lot to process at once. You said it yourself - we didn’t see him change like you apparently
have…”

“I don’t expect you two to be mates with him or anything,” Harry said, “I just can’t go on
hating him like I have before now.”

“I don’t see why not,” Ron muttered. Hermione elbowed him sharply and glared at him, and
Ron’s ears went slightly red. He coughed. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Ron, imagine what it would be like if you and Percy violently hated each other and fought
constantly,” Harry said, shredding more lettuce. “Wouldn’t that be miserable? Wouldn’t you
rather get on with him and avoid all the arguments?”
“Me and Percy do fight constantly,” Ron pointed out.

“Yeah, but you don't hate him, do you? And besides, your fights are him thinking you nicked
his Head Boy badge. When Dra - when Malfoy and I fight, it gets really bitter,” Harry said.
With a small amount of reluctance, he added, “And McGonagall pointed out to me that we’re
basically - well, sort of stepbrothers, I guess.”

Hermione and Ron’s immediate horrified groans were highly amusing to him.

“Look, I reacted the same way,” Harry said with a small laugh. “I don’t know what to call it,
really, but we’re pretty interlinked now. I definitely don’t want to hate someone I’m living
with every summer, and neither does he, so we’re trying to get over it. Wouldn’t you rather
not have him constantly fighting with us, anyway?”

“Even if he likes you now, he still hates me.” Ron scowled. “Just because the two of you are
making nice, I doubt he’ll stop hexing me…”

“I had a go at him about that and told him to leave you alone, actually,” Harry said irritably.
“And he said he would.”

Ron looked surprised. “Really?”

“Like I said, he doesn’t want to fight with me, either. And that means not coming after my
mates.”

Ron stared down at the Flobberworms, expression thoughtful. “Well, let’s see if he actually
does what you say, then.”

“I think he will,” Harry said firmly. Because if he doesn’t, I’ll hex him, he added in his head.

He noticed Hermione was staring between the two of them, looking quite anxious.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

Hermione sighed softly. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Harry.”

“I’m not going to.”

“It’s Professor Snape and Malfoy!” she said, wringing her hands anxiously. “They don’t have
a good track record when it comes to being kind to you. I’m just worried about what could
happen, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to be,” Harry bit out, trying not to be too snippy.

He felt like they were going in circles, but Harry knew he had to be more patient. They
hadn’t seen all of the changes Snape and Draco had made, Harry reminded himself. Besides,
it wasn’t fair to shout at Ron and Hermione when they were just trying to make sure he was
okay. Harry could still remember Ron awkwardly sidling up to him at the Leaky Cauldron to
check that the Dursleys hadn’t been too awful to him that summer, expression fearful. He
supposed it had to be horrid to see your friend go through something like Harry had with his
relatives without any power to do something - Harry knew it felt horrible for him to see
Draco upset about his parents, after all…

“Harry, I’m always going to be worried,” Hermione said bluntly. “But I trust you. And if you
say they’ve changed… well, I hope they have.”

Harry could tell from the resigned look on her face that she still didn’t quite believe it, but he
knew that this was about as far as he was going to get with his friends right now. At least they
were speaking, now. When this whole arrangement was a little less fresh a few months down
the line, when his friends had more evidence that things weren’t going to completely
implode, Harry really hoped he could change Ron and Hermione’s minds. He’d just have to
make do for now, he supposed…

Harry found his eyes straying to Draco, who was currently poking at a Flobberworm with a
disgusted look on his face. Once again, he was working alone, but there was something
different about the other Slytherins today. Harry thought about it for a moment and realised
that none of them had said a single bad word to Draco. Care of Magical Creatures up until
now had been prime territory for Pansy Parkinson to start making snide, mean-spirited
comments aimed at Draco, since he could be thoroughly embarrassed in front of the
Gryffindors in the class.

Not today, though. The Slytherins were all pointedly ignoring Draco, but no one had said a
mean word to him. Harry caught a glimpse of Pansy’s face, which was affixed with an even
fouler scowl than usual, and found himself wondering if Snape had had a word with the
Slytherins or something.

This theory was only strengthened when their Care of Magical Creatures lesson concluded
and their class ran into Snape in the Entrance Hall. He was standing in one corner, glaring
malevolently at the passing Slytherins. They all paled noticeably under his ire and made an
effort to quicken their pace as they scurried downstairs. Snape stalked after them, looking
every part the bat of the dungeons.

Harry, who was admittedly rather nosy, decided to follow the man into the dungeons to ask
about it. After all, Snape had said before that he wanted to see Harry when he wasn’t having
to yell at Harry about something. He often forgot that he could even take Snape up on that,
since Harry was so used to forgetting he had guardians while at Hogwarts. All of this was
still quite the adjustment for him…

Harry bade a quick goodbye to Ron and Hermione with the promise to meet them in the
Great Hall for dinner, then began to head down to Snape’s office. After a brief moment of
hesitation, he reached out and knocked. The door swung open of its own accord.

“Harry.” Snape looked up from his desk and beckoned for him to come in. Harry did so, and
the door swung shut behind him. “Draco’s not in at the moment.”

“Er - okay.” Harry cleared his throat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes. “I
just - well, I wanted to say hi to you, actually.”
If Snape was surprised, he hid it well. There was only the briefest flash of something like
shock in the back of his eyes. “Take a seat, then.”

Harry obeyed, while Snape retrieved his wand from his pocket and tapped the desk. A cup of
tea appeared in an instant, which he pushed towards Harry. “I see you made up with your
friends.”

Harry jolted upright. “How do you even know about that?!”

“I make it my business to know things,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow. “I believe I have
also informed you before that you are the least subtle person to ever walk this earth. It is not
particularly difficult to discern what is going on in your life if one simply pays attention. I
noticed you weren’t sitting with them at meals or speaking to them and assumed there had
been a falling out.”

“Oh.” Harry still didn’t know how he felt about that. He liked to think he was a little better
than that at hiding his secrets…

“Any reason for the rift?” Snape inquired.

Harry gave a purposely vague shrug. “Eh, nothing important.”

Snape’s brows knitted together. “Might it have anything to do with a certain conversation
they had with Professor McGonagall?”

“You know about that, too?!”

“She discussed it with me,” Snape said. His expression was almost misleadingly blank, and it
set Harry’s teeth on edge.

“Why?”

“Because the complaint was about me, as you’ll recall.” He frowned. “She was bound to
check that I was not mistreating you in some way.”

“I promise I wasn’t badmouthing you or anything,” Harry said quickly, his heartbeat
speeding up. “They just got the wrong idea about everything, I promise!”

“I never assumed you were badmouthing me.”

“And they didn’t mean anything by it,” Harry added a little desperately. “Look, I’ve already
talked to them and explained, it’s just taking them a minute -”

Snape gave Harry a piercing look. “What precisely has gotten you into such a state?”

“I just don’t want you to be angry with them,” he said miserably.

“And what gives you the impression I am angry?”

Harry knew it sounded ridiculous - Snape was clinically calm, his tone level. Still that level
of control was generally the result of Occlumency, and Occlumency almost always meant
that Snape was forcibly controlling his emotions.

Except for his tell - the tightness in his jaw. A surefire sign of Snape irritation.

“I don’t know!” Harry said eventually, his shoulders slumping. He didn’t know how to put
any of this into words. “You look all - all tense and stuff! You just seem annoyed!”

Snape’s eyebrows rose. “Well I’m certainly not happy to be accused of mistreating you. I am
not going to act on that, which is what you’re implying I might do.”

“Right. Er - of course.” Harry felt his cheeks burn.

Snape sighed. “They’re just concerned about you, Harry. I do understand that, and Minerva
certainly went to great lengths to emphasise that all of this came from a place of care on
Granger and Weasley’s behalf. All is well.”

“Good,” Harry said, feeling some of the tightness in his chest loosen. By now, he’d grown to
trust Snape’s word - the man wasn’t going to do anything, then.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t quite curious about conversations held that had something to do
with him, though.

“So… what did Professor McGonagall tell you, then?”

“Nothing in detail,” Snape said. “Simply that there were concerns I might be mistreating you,
which she addressed and alleviated with the whistleblowers. That is all.”

“Oh.” Harry fidgeted with the sleeve of his robe. “And you’re really not annoyed about that?”

“No.” The corner of his lips tugged into a slight frown. “Although I must admit I was rather
alarmed by something else Professor McGonagall mentioned. Certain comments you made
about me ‘getting rid of you’, I believe?”

Harry ducked his head, hoping to hide the blush spreading on his face. He knew those sorts
of anxious, vulnerable thoughts made him sound stupid and pathetic, but sometimes he
couldn’t help but blurt them aloud…

“It’s not going to happen, you know,” Snape said.

“But I can’t know that,” Harry bit out. “Look, it’s nothing against you or anything, but how
am I supposed to know for sure? With anyone?”

“Do you regularly see the parents of your peers discard their children over petty quarrels and
the like?” Snape pointed out. “The guardianship papers I signed are just as legally binding as
any other parent-child relationship. For one thing, it would be illegal for me to abandon you
one day, and for another, I have no desire to. My mind is not going to change.”

“I could do something terrible or something, though!” Harry insisted.

“What on earth are you going to do?” Snape asked exasperatedly.

“Well - like I could turn to a life of crime,” Harry said, splaying his hands wide. “I could
have some dark side you haven’t seen yet - like what if I murdered a bunch of people?”

“Well, I do find myself regularly cowering in terror from your violent outbursts.” Snape’s
tone was drier than the Sahara desert. “When you refused to allow me to squash that spider in
August, that really cemented your future as a brutal killer in my mind.”

“It’s not that hard to just trap them and -” Harry cut himself off and made a frustrated noise.
“Don’t distract me!”

Snape pressed his lips together, clearly trying to hide his amusement. “You are a far better
person than you give yourself credit for, Harry. But nevertheless, I will assure you - even if
you turned into a violent thug, I would not repudiate you. As a matter of fact, I would ensure
I could obtain visiting permission for Azkaban to continue to lecture you about the
consequences of your actions. You are unfortunately unable to escape me, even through a life
of crime.”

Despite his best attempts to the contrary, Harry couldn’t stop his small snort of laughter. He
thought that Snape’s lecturing would be a worse punishment than the Dementors…

“Any better?” Snape inquired.

Harry nodded, and a new wave of heat scorched his face. “Er - sorry I keep asking you this
sort of thing over and over. I know it must be annoying.”

“You never need to apologise for asking for something so simple as reassurance,” Snape said,
like it was the most obvious and logical thing in the world. “Reassurance I am quite happy to
provide, I might add. I have been made aware that it might be… helpful to you.”

Suspicion settled over Harry. Someone had made Snape aware… or something?

“It was in that book of yours, wasn’t it?” Harry grumbled.

“Perhaps it was,” Snape said evasively. “A book that is still very available for you to read, if
you wish to?”

Harry shivered. Something about that trauma book - or perhaps, about the confrontation with
his childhood he’d have to endure if he read it - made icy fingers of dread curl their way
around Harry’s heart.

“Yeah, no thanks.” Eager to steer away from the topic at hand, Harry asked, “Look, I have
other things to talk about, anyway. Like the Slytherins.”

“What about the Slytherins?” Snape asked.

“They’ve gone all Hufflepuff suddenly,” Harry said. “They’re all quiet and scared of their
own shadows and stuff, especially around you - I saw them. Did you scare them straight for
Draco?”
Creases lined the space between Snape’s eyebrows. “I fail to see how that’s any of your
business.”

“Well what if I want to know if I have to help Draco out or -”

“The situation has been handled,” Snape interrupted, holding out a hand.

Harry smirked. “So you did handle them yourself! What did you say? Did you go all scary on
them?”

“Slytherin house matters remain within the house,” Snape said irritably. “Don’t be so nosy.”

Harry kept grinning as he reached out to sip his tea, which had finally cooled to the perfect
temperature. As a now-scowling Snape reached for his own cup, Harry wondered if there was
anything that the omniscient old bat didn’t know…

And then, it came to him.

“Perhaps I could hear a little bit about Slytherin house matters,” Harry said, setting his cup to
one side, “since Sorting Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, after all.”

Snape choked on his coffee.

So you don’t know everything, Harry thought smugly.

“Why on earth would the Sorting Hat want to do that?” Snape demanded once he’d recovered
the ability to speak. “With your penchant for throwing yourself into danger, one would think
you’re a Gryffindor shoe-in!”

“Apparently I had a thirst to prove myself, and the potential for greatness or something.”
Harry shrugged. “The hat said Slytherin could help me on my way to greatness, but - er, well,
I wasn’t really interested.”

“I see.” Snape slowly smirked. “Perhaps you do have some redeeming qualities, then. Will
wonders never cease…”

Harry smiled into his tea.

After making up with Ron and Hermione, Harry finally settled into a comfortable routine,
which Snape and Draco were somehow now included in. On top of the usual business of
lessons and Quidditch practices, Harry also found himself taking a trip down to the dungeons
about twice a week to see the two of them. Snape was generally quite busy on weekdays and
spent most of Harry’s visits sitting in his office, but he tended to leave the door open unless
he had a student in with him. That meant he could chime in while Harry and Draco spoke, or
could ask a few simple questions about Harry’s day. It was all delightfully mundane, in a way
that made Harry almost giddy with happiness. He’d never had this sort of casual rapport with
anyone but Ron or Hermione…

Harry normally ended up providing something of a distraction for Draco. After their last talk,
which had been surprisingly frank and honest, Draco made a consistent effort to steer their
conversations away from any serious topics. He staunchly refused to talk about Lucius’ trial,
which Harry was careful to never bring up anyway, and pointedly ignored any subtle
questions from Harry about how the situation in Slytherin was. Harry didn’t mind that much,
though. If someone made him talk about all his problems with the Dursleys at all times, that
would be completely miserable. Draco deserved the same courtesy, and if he just wanted to
talk about their chess or Monopoly games, then so be it.

It was nice - that was the only word Harry could think of to describe it. Sitting in Snape’s
quarters and hanging out with Draco was nice, it was comfortable, and Harry really enjoyed
visiting them down there. He enjoyed their company.

Harry just wished he could talk to Ron and Hermione about it properly.

They currently had a great arrangement that consisted of them not discussing Harry’s living
situation. He disappeared down to the dungeons twice a week, they didn’t comment on it, and
they all avoided another fight. Harry knew that while they said they trusted him, Ron and
Hermione still weren’t fully comfortable with his new relationships. Ron was generally less
bothered about Snape for some odd reason but took greater issue with Draco, while
Hermione was decidedly wary about both of them. As a rule, it was safer for Harry to just
never raise the topic, which Ron and Hermione respected in turn.

To Harry’s surprise, though, Hermione actually brought it up to him, two weeks from the day
that Draco had moved into the dungeons. She returned to Gryffindor Tower from the library,
half-hidden behind a stack of books, and gave him a confused look.

“What is it?” he asked, turning his attention away from the Divination homework he and Ron
were struggling through.

“Did you tell Malfoy to talk to me?” she asked slowly.

Harry frowned. “Er - no? Why?”

“Did he say anything to you?” Ron asked, jerking his head up. His expression immediately
darkened with anger.

Hermione set down her books and slowly sat down in an armchair, looking completely
nonplussed. “He… he apologised to me.”

“What?” Ron demanded, his jaw dropping open.

“Did he actually?” Harry asked, feeling just as shocked as Ron looked.

“Yeah,” Hermione said, her brows knitting together. “He came up to me in the library and
said he was sorry for all the horrid names he called me, and for being such a prat about
Muggleborns.”

“Wow,” Harry said faintly.

“You really didn’t tell him to say that?” Hermione asked, frowning. “I sort of assumed you
had.”

“I really didn’t,” Harry said. “I did have a go at him two weeks ago for all the stuff he said
and he told me he didn’t believe Muggleborns are inferior anymore, but I didn’t make him
say anything to you, Hermione.”

“I wonder why he did it, then,” Ron said, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

Harry stared at him. “Because he doesn’t believe it anymore.”

“Sure,” Ron said, in a voice that clearly said how he didn’t believe that for a second.

“It was all really quite odd,” Hermione said, picking up a book and cracking it open. “I didn’t
quite know what to say, honestly.”

“I wouldn't either. That sounds really weird,” Harry said slowly. He was very confused about
what had happened and made a mental note to interrogate Draco as soon as possible.

Hermione shrugged. “Well, either way, I did appreciate it. I suppose he must have improved a
little bit, Harry. I can’t imagine him ever saying sorry to me last year, even if he was being
forced.”

Ron made an indignant spluttering sort of noise as a response, but Harry still smiled to
himself. He couldn’t help but be pleased by the progress.

Harry made a beeline straight to the dungeons the next morning on Saturday to ask Draco
what on earth Hermione had been talking about, but his interrogation was unfortunately held
up by an irate portrait.

“The password has changed,” the cobra guarding Snape’s quarters informed him loftily.

Harry groaned. “Can’t you just let me in anyway? I’m always in and out of here, you see
me!”

“What kind of security measures would that constitute, boy?” the snake demanded. “No
entry!”

“But what am I supposed to do? Snape hasn’t told me the new password!” Harry complained.
The cobra made a shocked, indignant sort of noise. “And you certainly don’t deserve it, if
you continue to address him without the proper honorifics! You youths have absolutely no
respect for your hardworking elders, back in the day they’d have rulered your hands for being
so rude…”

“Who are you to tell me any of this?” Harry said, crossing his arms. “You’re just a snake!”

This seemed to grievously offend the cobra. He drew himself to his full height, ruff flaring,
fangs bared, and loudly hissed, “how dare you! I have been the watcher and guardian of this
office corridor for over two hundred years, you insolent brat! I have seen generations of
insignificant, snot-nosed adolescents traipse along -”

“Harry, what have you done?” Draco said exasperatedly from behind him. “Why does that
snake look like it’s about to jump out of the portrait and bite you?”

“I think I pissed him off,” Harry said with a grimace, struggling to ignore the angry creature
as his rant grew in volume. “I didn’t know the password.”

“Right - Severus was going to send you a note when he got back in. New password is
‘Salazar’.”

Harry turned back to the portrait and gave it a smug look.

“I have half a mind to refuse you entry anyway!” the cobra said angrily.

“It’s literally your entire job to let me through!” Harry shouted, feeling quite frustrated by
now. The Fat Lady could get snippy, but she was never this bad! “Salazar, Salazar, Salazar!
Bloody hell, let me in already!”

The snake bared his fangs again, but the hinges of the portrait swung open against his will,
revealing the entrance to Snape’s quarters. Harry stepped through, but noticed Draco
remained out in the hallway. His face had drained of all colour.

“What is it?” Harry asked with a frown.

“I-I forgot you could do that,” Draco said in a slightly strained voice.

“Do what?”

“Speak to snakes!” Draco said loudly, stepping into the quarters so the portrait shut behind
them.

“Wait, was I speaking Parseltongue just then?”

“Yes.” Draco looked quite worried. “Did you not know?”

“It always just sounds like plain English to me,” Harry shrugged. “Don’t look so frightened!
You know I can do it!”
“I don’t look frightened!” Draco said irritably. “It’s just a shock to see you doing it, that’s all.
And it’s a bit creepy, really…”

“Rude.” Harry scowled, remembering the Chamber of Secrets affair from the previous year.
All of that had made him thoroughly sick of people calling Parseltongue evil and creepy.

Draco noticed his reaction and quickly changed focus. “Does the portrait have anything
interesting to say?”

“No.” Harry glared in the direction of the entranceway. “He’s a right dickhead.”

Draco frowned. “Can a snake be a dickhead?”

“That one certainly is,” Harry said darkly.

Draco began to make his way over to his bedroom, while Harry trailed behind. He’d been in
here a couple of times now - Draco’s bedroom was how Harry would imagine the Slytherin
equivalent of the Gryffindor dormitories to look. There was a grand four-poster bed with
green hangings, a silver and green rug carpeting the floor, and a few Slytherin pennants on
the walls. There were other aspects of the room that Draco had personalised, though, like the
bookshelves, or the slightly messy desk which he was currently placing a couple of
arithmancy textbooks onto. At the top of the stack Harry noticed a newspaper - he caught a
glimpse of a photograph upon the cover depicting a snake curling its way out of a skull’s
mouth before Draco hurriedly slammed it in a drawer.

“So… just wondering something,” Harry said casually, sitting on the end of Draco’s bed.

Draco looked up at him thoughtfully. “Yeah?”

“Er - Hermione mentioned you came up to her yesterday.”

Draco’s face instantly became rather pinched. “Ah.”

“Why did you do that?” Harry burst out. “Did Snape put you up to it, or did you -”

“He did not put me up to it!” Draco shouted, suddenly looking very angry. “Merlin’s beard,
why does everyone always accuse me of having someone else puppetting my every action?
First Granger, now you! Did it ever occur to you that I’m capable of making my own damn
decisions?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry said quickly, subconsciously backing away from him. He'd clearly
touched a nerve. “I just didn’t understand why you would do something like that, is all -”

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I actually wanted to make amends?” Draco demanded.

“But you hate apologising!” Harry pointed out. “No offence, but even if you were sorry about
something, you don’t tend to say the words unless someone makes you.”

Draco huffed, and glowered pointedly into the ground, but didn’t otherwise refute what Harry
was saying.
“Why now, then?” he asked insistently.

Draco sighed, and looked at Harry hesitantly for several moments before speaking. “I… I
was thinking about what you said the other day. When you asked me what I thought about
Muggles and Muggleborns.”

Harry gave him a surprised look. “You did?”

“Yeah. Er - it all sounded quite bad when you laid it out like that. Just made me think, I
suppose.” Draco crossed his legs beneath him. “Severus has been having a lot of talks with
me, as usual, and - well, long story short, there have been a lot of lectures about the
appropriateness of apologising and stuff, and I sort of thought that applied to Granger, and I
know you don’t want me to be nasty to your friends, so…”

Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself. Draco had seriously gone up to Hermione and had
apologised. Draco! He wasn’t even being forced to do so!

“What are you grinning about?” Draco asked irritably.

“Nothing,” he said cheerfully. “Just thinking about how you’ve changed.”

"Oh, shut up," Draco grumbled, throwing a pillow at him.

As the term progressed and the month of October marched on, Harry found himself
becoming slightly distracted from the issues of Draco, Snape and his friends. He had larger,
newer concerns to deal with; namely, the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. The date had at last
been set for Halloween, and the whole common room was buzzing with excited chatter,
discussing where they would go and what they would see in the village.

Harry, on the other hand, found himself morosely withdrawing from it all. Uncle Vernon had
refused to sign his permission slip back in July, and Harry wasn't entirely certain if Snape
even could give him permission, seeing as Harry was supposed to keep this whole
guardianship thing hushed up. Plus, Harry had something of a gut feeling about what Snape’s
answer would probably be.

“I reckon you should go ask McGonagall to give you permission,” Ron said decidedly, once
Harry’s moping had grown too obvious to ignore.

“Ron!” Hermione said, tone severe. “Harry’s supposed to stay in school -”

‘Black’s not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade,” Ron said dismissively. “Come on,
Harry, the next one might not be for ages, you should at least ask -”

“Yeah, I will,” Harry decided.

He made a beeline for Professor McGonagall’s desk at the end of Transfiguration, after a
quick reminder from her for them all to hand in their permission forms. He stood there
nervously, waiting for the rest of the class to disappear.

Professor McGonagall set her quill down and examined Harry over her square spectacles.
“Yes, Potter?”

“Professor, my aunt and uncle - er, well, they didn’t sign my form,” Harry said haltingly.
“And I - well, I can’t exactly ask them now, considering…”

Professor McGonagall frowned. “Do you or do you not have a new guardian to take care of
things of this nature, Potter?”

“Well - I didn’t know if I was allowed to go to him, since - er, since the stuff with him is
supposed to be secret and all -”

“The Hogwarts staff are the ones with jurisdiction over Hogsmeade permission slips, not the
Ministry for Magic,” Professor McGonagall said. “Professor Snape has full control over your
Hogwarts business, so you’ll need to go to him for this, not me.”

“Oh. Um, okay. Thanks, professor.”

Harry began to shuffle out of the classroom, a sinking sensation in his stomach. He somehow
had the feeling that Snape was not going to be particularly enthusiastic about this…

“No.”

“But -”

“You’re not going,” Snape said flatly, tapping a stack of papers against his desk and neatly
filing them away.

“Why not?!” Harry complained.

“You know perfectly well why not, or do the words ‘Sirius Black, mass murderer’ mean
nothing to you?”

“Black’s not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade!” Harry said, echoing Ron’s words
from earlier.

“Black is mad, and Black was recently sighted in Scotland!” Snape hissed. “We have no idea
what he may or may not do! When he is caught, this is open to change, but for now you will
stay in the castle."

“Everyone else is going!” Harry shouted. “I bet you gave Draco permission, didn’t you?!”
“As Draco does not have a murderer out for his blood, I did,” Snape said coolly.

“See? Completely unfair!” he yelled. “You’re just doing this because - because you like him
more than me, don’t you?! That’s why he gets to do stuff I never get to do!”

“Shouting unfounded accusations about my impartiality at me is not going to make me

change my mind, Harry,” Snape said, brushing his robes down and getting to his feet. He was
infuriatingly calm, which just made Harry angrier. “Your circumstances are completely
different, as you certainly understand. My answer is no.”

A strange, furious emotion clawed its way into Harry's chest. It was something that the
Dursleys had beaten out of him at a very young age - that deep sense of want, and the
accompanying urge to kick out and throw a fit when met with the wrong answer to his
request. Who the hell was Snape to decide all of this? Who was he to boss Harry around? The
outrage was like a tiny little gremlin, trying to fight its way out of Harry's body - he had to
actively struggle against the urge to stamp his foot like a petulant child. God, where had that
come from? Instead of expressing all of that, Harry settled for scowling fiercely at Snape.

“I still think it's unfair!” he complained. “You're being stupid!”

“Do not speak to me in that manner.” Snape's expression went from calm to stern in an
instant. Harry shrank back slightly as Snape stalked over to him. “If you want to continue this
discussion, you'll keep a civil tongue in your head.”

Snape scolding him only served to make Harry even more outraged, for some reason. The
gremlin-like emotion finally won its battle for dominance.

“Fine!” he shouted. “I don’t want to keep talking, so I’ll just go, then! You’re nasty, and
unfair, and I hate you!”

He spun on his heel and stormed out of the office moments later, leaving a weary-looking
Snape behind. When Harry’s anger had calmed a bit later on, he would feel remarkably guilty
about that last comment, a phrase he didn’t mean and probably shouldn’t have said. He was
just so angry, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate…

Still, despite the small pang of guilt, he wasn’t too happy with Snape - or Hermione, who had
spontaneously decided to relax on her Snape wariness on the one occasion where Harry
actually wanted to be angry with the greasy git. She seemed to agree that Harry shouldn’t be
allowed to go to Hogsmeade on account of Black, to his immense irritation.

But there was nothing to be done. Instead of getting swept up in the eager anticipation of the
trip, Harry spent the next week and a half before Halloween trying to ignore his classmates
excitedly talking about Hogsmeade while feeling desperately miserable. He was very
annoyed with Snape and spent most of Potions with his head bowed, refusing to make eye
contact with the man.

Harry also stopped visiting Draco down in Snape’s quarters. If he took a trip down into the
dungeons it carried far too high of a chance for Harry to run into Snape, which was utterly
unacceptable.
That wasn’t just it, though. There was something else colouring Harry’s opinion of Draco
right now - jealousy. Snape might have thought that Harry was throwing out unfounded
accusations in his office the other day, but he did sometimes think that Snape liked Draco
much more than he liked Harry. He was Draco’s godfather, and they had so much more in
common; both being Slytherins, Potions, general demeanour… all of that coupled with his
elevated privileges to go into Hogsmeade made Harry rather reluctant to see him, since the
bitterness was so all-consuming…

Harry did end up feeling a little guilty about this behaviour when Draco waylaid him after a
Potions lesson and dragged Harry into an obscured alcove.

“I tried to convince him to let you go, but no luck,” Draco said in a low voice. “it's
completely rotten of him, Harry. He’s being ridiculous!”

Harry sighed to himself.

“I’ll bring you back a load of stuff, okay?” Draco promised. “And I’ll get you a couple of
Zonko’s pranks you can use on Severus as revenge.”

Guilt stirred in Harry. Suddenly, his behaviour over the last week and a half seemed a lot less
like justifiable irritation and more like targeting his annoyance at someone who didn’t have
anything to do with Harry’s situation. Draco hadn’t asked for Snape to be so annoyingly
restrictive with Harry, after all.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come down,” he said guiltily.

Draco shrugged, making a clear effort at nonchalance. “I understand.”

“Er - I’ll come with Hermione to the library sometime this week and see you there instead, if
you’d like,” Harry promised. “I just really don’t want to see him right now…”

“What is Granger up to, by the way?” Draco asked. “Is she taking all the courses or
something? She’s got far too many textbooks for one girl, in my opinion.”

Harry smiled. “That’s just Hermione for you.”

“Speaking of Granger, I’ll let you get back to her before she and Weasley think I’ve
kidnapped you and try to stage a counterstrike,” Draco said, pulling a face. “See you in the
library, then. Oh, and I’ll try and talk Severus into it again -”

“Don’t bother,” Harry said wearily. “He won’t budge, and you’ll just end up fighting with
him, too.”

After his chat with Draco, Harry went from being angry to just feeling rather depressed about
the whole situation. He absolutely hated conflict, and he was starting to really regret how
he’d acted in Snape’s office. Sure, he was being an unfair git, but he’d been calm and relaxed
while Harry had shouted at him like a child and said he hated Snape. That wasn’t fair. He was
angry at Snape, but he didn’t hate him…

All in all, the various problems left Harry feeling very despondent on the morning of the
Hogsmeade trip. He wasn’t even buoyed by the various promises of sweets from his friends,
and decided that today was destined to be a ruined day.

Until he bumped into Professor Lupin, that was.

To Harry’s shock, he found himself feeling a lot better than he had in a fortnight while in
Professor Lupin’s office, talking about Grindylows and Boggarts and Dementors. It was a
relief to find out that the man hadn’t thought Harry was weak or something on the day he’d
stepped in front of Harry in Defence against the Dark Arts - he had simply been worried that
the Boggart would turn into Voldemort. Harry supposed that sounded reasonable, and felt
considerably lighter without that worry weighing on him.

Of course, Snape had to enter the office moments later, reminding Harry of just how
wretched he’d been feeling about the Hogsmeade situation and Snape’s role in it.

“Ah, Severus,” Lupin said, smiling. “Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk
for me?”

Snape set a smoking goblet down, his black eyes not leaving Harry once. He felt slightly
unnerved, like Snape was x-raying him. Was he using Legilimency or something?

“I was just showing Harry my Grindylow,” Lupin said, seemingly immune to the tension that
had settled over the office. He pointed at the tank, and the creature within growled from its
nest of seaweed.

“Fascinating,” Snape drawled. His tone clearly conveyed that he couldn’t care less. “Harry,
I’d like a word.”

“Er -” Harry said, pointedly looking between Lupin and Snape.

“Don’t let me hold you up, Harry,” Lupin said pleasantly, picking up the smoking goblet. “I
ought to get back to my work, at any rate. It was nice speaking with you.”

“You too. Thanks for the tea.” Harry got to his feet with a sigh. He supposed that after a week
and a half of avoidance, he was more than overdue for a talk with Snape…

“You should drink that directly, Lupin,” Snape instructed, backing towards the door.

“Yes, yes, I will,” Lupin said. "Goodbye, Harry."

As soon as the office door swung shut, Harry turned to Snape and tersely asked, "What?"

"There is no need to be so snippy with me," Snape said, scowling at him.

"Yeah, well I was kind of in the middle of something!"

"What did Lupin want with you, anyway?" Snape snarled.

"To talk. Or am I suddenly not allowed to do that, either?" Harry bit out.

Snape's shoulders tensed. "You will get permission when Black is recaptured, so I'd advise
that you drag yourself out of this childish strop and get on with your life in the meantime."

Harry exalted out of his nose harshly, grinding his teeth. When he thought he had enough
control of himself to not say something he regretted, he muttered, "What is it, then? Did you
want to talk, or did you just come to have a go at me?"

A muscle in Snape's jaw twitched slightly before he opened his mouth to begin speaking. "I
came to ask if you were alright."

For some reason, that really made Harry's temper flare, and he felt his very little patience
give out.

"I am not bloody alright with you stopping me from going to Hogsmeade! I'd have thought
that I’ve made that pretty obvious!" Harry snapped.

Snape's eyes flashed. "You most certainly have, Potter. You have made your feelings
extraordinarily clear! After all, you hate me, don't you?"

Harry felt like he'd been hit very hard in the stomach. Snape's voice was cold - the iciness of
his tone and the coldness in his eyes froze Harry's very blood in his veins as the man
continued speaking, tone laced with a dangerous kind of anger.

"My life does not entirely revolve around juvenile concerns such as visits to the local village,
Potter!" he spat. "I was asking after your wellbeing because it is October 31st, and I thought
you might appreciate the support on the anniversary of your parents' deaths! I see now I
oughtn't to have bothered!"

Snape strode away in the opposite direction in a flurry of dark robes, leaving Harry frozen
against the wall, reeling. He imagined the moment of freefall between being thrown from a
cliff edge and hitting the ground must feel something like this - a stomach-lurching moment
of anticipation…

Then came the impact.

Harry was awful. He hadn't even thought about it. He'd been so wrapped up with his misery
over Hogsmeade, and being angry at Snape, and trying to navigate the complexities of
holding a friendship between Ron, Hermione and Draco that he hadn't thought once of his
mother and father today.

It had happened today.

Harry ran his fingers over the lightning bolt scar on his forehead and leaned heavily against
the wall. He felt rather faint.
Harry hadn't known the date his parents had died as a child, since the 'car crash' that had
killed Lily and James Potter was a strictly forbidden topic. Before the age of eleven,
Halloween had just been a slightly miserable day where Harry got to sit in a cupboard and
listen to happy children trick-or-treat in the hallway just beyond while a costumed Dudley
feasted on a massive bag of sweets Harry wasn't allowed near.

He hasn't known the date in time in his first year of Hogwarts. Harry didn't remember
precisely when he'd found that out, but it wasn’t like Harry had commemorated it in any way
after discovering it had happened on Halloween. He'd been otherwise occupied. Death Day
parties, ancient Chambers of Secrets filled with Muggleborn-killing basilisks… he'd been
distracted.

He'd craved the distraction, perhaps.

Harry was terrible. He should be doing… something, right? But what? He didn't know what
you were supposed to do on the anniversary of your parents' deaths, especially since he hadn't
grown up commemorating them on the actual date. His sadness for his orphanhood was
reserved for other times, like ignored birthdays, sad, lonely Christmases, and long, sleepless
nights in his cupboard when all he wanted was for someone to soothe him back into sleep
after a nightmare. It was so hard, because Harry just didn't know them. He didn’t know what
they would have wanted him to do.

But they were his parents! How could he just forget them like he had?

Harry numbly wandered back up to Gryffindor Tower, completely and utterly ignoring a
rather chatty Colin Creevey in the common room. Harry pulled the hangings around his bed
and curled into a very small ball, hoping it would ease the ache of despair in his core.

He wished he could talk to Snape about this. He always had a way of making things make
sense…

But Harry couldn't talk to Snape. He didn't deserve to talk to Snape. He'd told Snape he hated
him for no good reason, and he'd clearly upset the man. Besides, Snape had way more of a
right to be upset today than Harry did. He knew Harry's mum, his grief was the proper kind.
Harry sometimes had horrible thoughts, where he wondered if he grieved the individual
people his parents were or just the idea of them. If the Dursleys had been kind to him, would
he still miss them? Harry thought he was an awful person for even wondering that.

No wonder nobody wanted anything to do with Harry.

He didn't deserve to grieve for them. Harry didn't deserve parents, not when he couldn't even
remember to be properly upset on the day they died, like they deserved, because they were
good, brave people, while Harry was rotten and awful.

He certainly didn't deserve parental figures, or anything, because he did stupid nasty things
like shout at them about Hogsmeade forms. God, it all just seemed so stupid, and Harry
wished he could take it back, but he couldn't. He ruined everything.
Harry took the photo album Hagrid had given him and flipped through it for a very long time.
He tried to pretend his eyes weren't stinging and blurry, that his throat didn't feel choked and
itchy, and stared hard at his parents' faces, smiling and happy, blissfully unaware of the fate
that would befall them. When it grew too unbearable, he shut the album and held it close to
his chest. He felt so achingly lonely.

Harry didn't want to go to the feast.

He knew Ron and Hermione had returned from Hogsmeade, bearing gifts. He knew that they
knew he was moping, because Ron tried shaking Harry awake while he determinedly
pretended to be asleep. Ron knew Harry was ignoring him, but eventually sighed and
promised to bring him up a roll from dinner. He also added a muttered comment about
Crookshanks trying to eat Scabbers that only served to make Harry feel even worse - so now
Ron and Hermione were fighting again, too…

Harry could not bring himself to go to that feast. He knew it would be delicious, and
wonderful, and fun, and Harry decidedly did not deserve to experience that because he was a
terrible son.

Snape'll be angry with you for skipping meals.

This did not affect Harry's decision significantly, because he was not only a terrible son, but a
terrible ward, and Snape already was disappointed in him and wanted nothing to do with
Harry, so what was one more terrible decision? Of course, Snape being disappointed would
mean he was actually invested in Harry which, after today, he doubted was the case. Snape
was probably washing his hands of Harry at that very moment, because all he did was push at
people and say horrible things without thinking and forget his dead parents.

Which he was doing again. Harry shook himself out of the thoughts of self-hatred and
returned to the important matters. What did people even do in this situation? Visit the dead
person's grave and talk to them or leave flowers?

Harry didn't even know where his parents' grave was. What sort of person didn't know that?
They were his parents! How could he not know?

Were they even buried somewhere, actually? What if they'd been cremated? Where would the
ashes go? Harry was suddenly overcome by a very vivid mental image of Aunt Petunia
pouring the contents of an urn into a wheelie bin and decided for his sake to hope it was a
grave.

Harry rolled over, buried his face in a pillow, and screamed a muffled scream. He was filled
with so many jagged, swirling emotions, and he had to let some of it out or else he would
quite literally explode. Once he was done, Harry was half convinced he could hear screaming
still, but it couldn't be him because it sounded vaguely feminine, and his voice certainly
 wasn't that high-pitched. It reminded Harry a bit of the weird screaming he'd heard on the
train with the Dementor, actually…

There would be a cruel irony in a Dementor showing up right now, Harry thought. He
wondered if its powers would even work on Harry, since he thought it was impossible for him
to feel any more wretched than he already did.

Well, it was a Dementor. Harry didn't fancy his odds. He made the remarkably un-
Gryffindorish decision to bury his head under his pillow until further notice in the hopes that
it could help. When he finally surfaced, realising that perhaps the screaming was not him
finally going mad but could be an actual person in distress, the sound had gone. Harry had
probably been imagining it, then. He returned to his duvet nest for further moping.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before the next disturbance. All Harry knew was that
one moment, he was lying in the darkness and contemplating matters of grieving, and in the
next there were pounding footsteps thudding on the staircase outside. It was probably the
fourth-year boys - they liked to run around the tower like a stampede of elephants, something
that Percy was prone to yelling at them about. If they were back, the feast had to be over.

Moments later, the door to his dormitory flew open so violently it hit the wall with a bang.
Someone shouted, "Harry?!"

Okay. Decidedly not normal. Harry removed his head from underneath the pillow just in time
to witness his curtains being violently ripped open, revealing Snape. His wand was clutched
in his hand, and he looked frantic and wild, almost feral.

"Did he get in?" Snape demanded. "Are you alright?"

"What’s going on?”

Alarm swept over Harry in an instant. Snape pulled the duvet off of him and grabbed onto his
shoulders with a vice grip. He began looking Harry up and down, almost as if he was
scanning for injuries.

"Um - mind explaining?" Harry said blankly. He was still reeling from the absolute
wrongness of Snape in Gryffindor Tower, of all places. "What happened?"

"Sirius Black." Harry looked over Snape's shoulders and saw Professor McGonagall standing
in his doorway, clutching her heart. Her face was deathly pale. "He attacked Hogwarts
tonight, while we were occupied with the feast. He came at the Fat Lady with a knife."

"What?" Harry demanded. "Why would he do that?!"

"Because she wouldn't give Black the password to Gryffindor Tower," Snape said gravely.
"She wouldn't give him access to you."

Chapter End Notes

-cackles in canon divergence-
 A Fractious November

When Snape at last seemed satisfied that Black hadn’t managed to get in and stab Harry, he
was promptly escorted out of his dormitory by both of the professors. Harry was far too
scared of Professor McGonagall’s gaunt, pinched face and Snape’s livid expression to dare
ask too many questions about what was happening as he was hurried out of the portrait hole.
Harry caught a sight of the slashed, torn canvas and cringed. He hoped the Fat Lady was
alright…

Within a minute, Harry joined the tail end of a long line of Gryffindors, who were being led
back to the Great Hall by the Prefects. Professor McGonagall stayed within arms reach of
Harry, while Snape broke away as soon as Harry was in the others, lips pressed into a thin
white line, visibly shaking with anger. His wand was clenched so tightly in his fist that Harry
thought it would surely snap clean in two. He wasn’t sure if it was because Snape was furious
with him or furious about Black’s break-in, but either way, he didn’t like seeing the man so
angry…

When Harry entered the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione both pounced on him immediately
and dragged Harry into a corner. Hermione was on the verge of tears.

“We were so worried!” she gasped, squeezing Harry’s hand in a vice grip. “When we came
up and found the portrait, and Peeves said it was Black, and we remembered you were s-still
inside -”

“I’m fine, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “Honest. I didn’t even know he was out there.”

“I’ve never seen Snape that angry,” Ron said in a low voice. “As soon as he got up there with
the rest of the teachers and didn’t see you with us, he dragged Hermione and me around the
corner and started interrogating us two about where you’d been. He noticed you weren’t at
the feast.”

“It was awful,” Hermione whispered. “W-We told him you were in the tower still, and his
face went all white, and he practically blasted through into Gryffindor Tower with Professor
McGonagall…”

“We really thought Black got you, mate,” Ron said, staring at Harry with wide, worried eyes.

Confused-looking students from the other houses gradually began to filter in through the
Great Hall doors to join the Gryffindors, while the Gryffindors filled them in.

“So… did you hear anything at all?” Ron asked hesitantly.

“I think so,” Harry said with a wince. “I, er - I was kind of distracted, but I thought I heard a
woman screaming faintly. By the time I decided I should check it out, it stopped. I’m
guessing it was the Fat Lady.”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, pressing a hand to her mouth. “What if he’d broken in?”
“He didn’t, though,” Harry said, trying his best to be reassuring for the sake of his friends.
They both looked incredibly shaken, so Harry thought he ought to put aside his own feelings
for their sake. They looked just as shocked as Harry felt. He couldn’t believe that there had
only been a portrait standing between him and Black…

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick shut all the doors to the Great Hall with a resounding
thud, while Dumbledore drew the attention of all the chattering students, commanding them
into silence.

“The teachers and I need to conduct a thorough search of the castle,” Dumbledore said
gravely. The usual twinkle in his eye was gone. “I’m afraid that, for your own safety, you will
have to spend the night here. I want the Prefects to stand guard over the entrances to the Hall,
and I am leaving the Head Boy and Girl in charge. Any disturbance should be reported to me
immediately,” he added to Percy, “Send word with one of the ghosts.”

Professor Dumbledore waved his wand, and the long house tables flew to the sides of the
Hall. The empty floor space was crammed with hundreds of purple sleeping bags moments
later. Dumbledore retreated to the main doors and said, “Sleep well.”

Harry, to the contrary, did not think he was going to be sleeping very much at all that night.
He, Ron and Hermione hurried into a corner with their sleeping bags, all whispering to each
other about how Black could have gotten in and if he might still be in the castle, all while
Percy prowled about, telling off people for talking. Harry rather thought he was fighting a
losing battle; when one area of the hall was shushed into silence, another would instantly
burst into hissed conversation while his back was turned.

Many people had fallen asleep by around three in the morning, but Harry was still lying half-
awake when Dumbledore returned to the Great Hall. Harry pretended to be sleeping as he
whispered to Percy, confirming that Black hadn’t been found anywhere in the castle.
Moments later, the Great Hall doors swung open, and more footsteps shuffled inside. Harry
tensed as he recognised the low rumble of Snape’s voice join the discussion.

“You remember the conversation we had, Headmaster, just before the start of term?” Snape
said very softly.

“I do, Severus,” Dumbledore said. There was a clear and obvious note of warning in his
voice.

“It seems almost impossible that Black could have entered the school without inside help. I
did express my concerns when you appointed -”

“I do not believe a single person inside this castle would have helped Black enter it,”
Dumbledore said firmly. Still, Snape was undeterred.

“Nothing but a portrait stood between them,” he hissed, his voice growing terse. Harry dared
to slit his eyes open to get a better look at the quickly escalating argument. Dumbledore’s
back was to Harry, but he could clearly see Snape’s hunched, angry profile as he stood barely
an inch from the Headmaster. The whites of his eyes almost glowed from the light of the
ghosts. “When I think of what could have happened -”
“And nothing did happen, Severus,” Dumbledore said softly. “We were lucky, I admit, but do
not let your emotions paralyse you.”

“That luck will not hold out,” Snape growled. “I want more precautions. No, I demand
them.”

“I am in complete agreement about that, but this can all be discussed in the morning,”
Dumbledore said, sweeping out of Harry’s eyeline. “Now, I must go down to the Dementors.
I said I would inform them when our search was complete.”

“Didn’t they want to help, sir?” Percy asked. Snape scowled at him, and he shrank away.

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore said icily. “But I’m afraid no Dementor will cross the threshold of this
castle while I am Headmaster.”

He walked from the hall without another word, his footsteps gradually fading. An abashed-
looking Percy left Snape to do another circuit of the Great Hall. Harry kept watching through
his eyelashes, expecting Snape to move away, but he didn’t. He stood vigil next to Harry’s
sleeping bag, staring directly at Harry, face too darkened by shadow to read. Harry watched
back through his eyelashes, pretending to be asleep and waiting to see when Snape would go,
until his half-open eyes drooped down enough to the point where he finally drifted off.

When they were all woken up by the teachers the next morning for breakfast, Harry felt like
he’d barely slept at all. He tuned out the continual chatter about Black, since he had to
consciously talk himself through the process of bringing his fork to his mouth to avoid
accidentally stabbing himself in the face in his sleep-deprived haze.

Harry had just finished his struggle to eat like a functional human being when he realised
everyone at the table around him had gone silent and were staring at something behind him.
Harry turned his head and jolted slightly - Snape was waiting, arms crossed.

“Potter. With me.”

He began to stalk from the Great Hall. Harry shrugged at the confused-looking Ron and
Hermione and followed Snape out, filled with the sinking feeling that he had to be in trouble
for something. He could think of any number of things; namely, the horrible argument he’d
had with the man yesterday. Or Sirius Black. Or, perhaps Harry had done something wrong
he hadn’t even considered yet…

His worried loop of thoughts were disrupted as Snape opened the door to his office and
settled behind his desk. “Sit,” he ordered. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Harry nervously settled opposite Snape, fidgeting with the fraying hem of his sleeves.

“You weren’t at the feast.”

Harry winced. That was the trouble, then.

“Why?” Snape was eerily calm. His Occlumency shields were stronger than ever, and Harry
shivered.
“An answer, Harry,” he said sharply.

“I didn’t want to go,” he muttered, not meeting Snape’s gaze.

Snape made an exasperated growling noise. “I am absolutely sick of this Hogsmeade tantrum
of yours! You do not get to skip meals because you’re upset about perfectly reasonable
restrictions on -”

“It wasn’t about bloody Hogsmeade!” Harry said loudly. “I didn’t want to go because of my
parents, okay?!”

Snape’s shoulders sagged. He ran his hands over his face, suddenly looking just as exhausted
as Harry felt. He suddenly realised that while he’d slept fitfully, Snape almost certainly
hadn’t slept at all. He’d have been up all night, looking for Black.

“You do not miss meals,” Snape said firmly. His tone sounded stern, but the lack of a
punishment tacked onto that sentence let Harry know he was getting off lightly. He supposed
that the near-death experience had lessened Snape’s anger towards him.

“Do you know how Black got in?” he asked hesitantly.

“If I knew, we’d have found him,” Snape bit out.

Harry didn’t respond, and went back to picking at his sleeve.

“Gryffindor Tower isn’t safe,” Snape said abruptly.

Harry frowned. “But Black didn’t get in.”

“He could have,” Snape growled. “And it’s a miracle that he didn’t. I don’t trust Sir Cadogan
with your safety, so the Headmaster and I have come to a new agreement for your safety. You
will be moving into my quarters.”

“What?!” Harry shouted. “No way!”

“I don’t recall asking you,” Snape said coolly.

“You’re mad!” he said angrily. “That’s a complete overreaction, he didn’t even get in!”

“But he could have!” Snape hissed.

“Everyone else gets to be in Gryffindor Tower!” Harry shouted. “I don’t want to be the only
one who’s got to live with you!”

“Perhaps, for just a moment, attempt to deflate your ego and actually consider everyone
else!” Snape yelled back. “Black is after you, Harry, last night’s attack certainly proved that!
If you stay in Gryffindor Tower, Black may attempt to break in again, and you will be putting
every single one of your classmates in danger by staying in there. It’s incredibly selfish!”
Harry abruptly felt the rest of his ready protests die on his tongue. His indignance dropped
away, and was replaced by a feeling of absolute shame. It burned in his stomach, and Harry
bowed his head. Snape was right - he was selfish. He was putting everyone in danger by just
being at Hogwarts, really…

“I’ll go get my stuff,” Harry said dully.

A pained expression crossed Snape’s face. He looked almost remorseful, like he was on the
verge of saying something, but Harry couldn’t hear it. He felt terrible. Selfish.

“Harry…”

“Won’t you and Draco be in danger if I’m here?” Harry asked softly, dreading the answer.

“Believe me, Black will not get in here,” Snape said. Most of the anger had died from his
face, to be replaced with something akin to pity. “Gryffindor Tower is less impenetrable, I
fear.”

“I’ll go now,” he said, standing up and turning around. “While there aren’t that many people
up from breakfast.”

Harry thought the only thing worse than being forced to move out of Gryffindor Tower would
be all of his housemates seeing him go. He hated feeling different.

Snape sighed. “A house-elf will bring your belongings down when you’ve packed them.
Come back afterwards and meet me here.”

Harry fled the office moments later.

Snape probably wasn’t happy about this either. Harry was occupying his space. Sucking up
his free time. Saying horrible things to him and still shouting at him that morning, even
though Harry had spent all of yesterday feeling terrible for doing so and knew better. What
was wrong with Harry? Why did he keep digging himself deeper and deeper into this hole?

He packed quickly. Harry didn’t want to go back down there and face Snape, but he
simultaneously didn’t want Ron, Seamus, Dean or Neville to come up from breakfast to find
him like this. After casting one last longing look around his dormitory, Harry headed back to
the dungeons, taking great care to avoid any Gryffindors who were making their way back up
from the Great Hall.

Harry knocked on the office door, feeling strangely reluctant to go through the portrait of the
snake for some reason he couldn’t articulate. Snape opened it, looking slightly confused, but
wordlessly ushered Harry through the hidden bookshelf entrance to his quarters.

“Your room is opposite Draco’s,” Snape said.

Harry frowned. “There isn’t a room opposite Draco’s.”

“The castle has a way of knowing,” he said vaguely. Harry, who was growing used to the
various quirks of Hogwarts by now, didn’t question it further. Snape led the way to Draco’s
room, where a new door made of dark wood had indeed appeared across the hall. Snape
gestured to the room within.

It was about the same size as Harry’s room in Spinner’s End, but felt slightly larger because
he was the only occupant. The whole place was rather bare-bones; a wardrobe, desk, and a
four-poster bed with dark green hangings, designed like Harry’s one from Gryffindor Tower.
His trunk was at the base of it. Harry thought that something about the room felt strange, but
it took him a good few moments to put his finger on it: the window didn’t actually let in
actual sunlight, but rather the greenish, wavering light of the lake. Harry thought back to the
widespread views available from Gryffindor Tower of the grounds and was hit by another
wave of sadness.

“How does this work, then?” Harry asked awkwardly. “Am I locked in here all the time from
now on, then?”

Snape scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course not. My only requirements are that you return
here after dinner in the evenings, and that you don’t travel the corridors unaccompanied from
now on.”

Harry frowned. “How am I meant to get down here, then?”

“Get Granger and Weasley to walk you down before they return to Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps
Draco, even.”

Harry thought that there wasn’t exactly much Ron, Hermione or Draco could do when faced
with Black, but wisely didn’t mention that to Snape. He’d probably put even more
restrictions on him if he put that together…

“You can leave anytime you wish, then,” Snape said, turning his face away. “Draco will
presumably accompany you. I heard him return from breakfast a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Okay.” Harry swallowed hard. Of course, Snape would want to kick him out at the
earliest opportunity. After all the problems they’d been having, he definitely didn’t want
Harry around, taking up space. “Bye, then.”

He walked past Snape quickly. Draco looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“I’m leaving. Come with me?”

“Okay…”

The fact that he was forced to have a minder really irked Harry, but he didn’t dare disobey
Snape directly in the man’s view, so he hurried onwards, Draco trailing a little behind. Of
course, as soon as he was far enough away from Snape’s office, Harry stopped walking and
turned to Draco. “You can leave now.”

Draco frowned. “Severus literally just told me to stay with you -”

“I don’t care,” Harry said tersely. “Go do whatever you want, I’m not going to snitch.”
“No way.” Annoyingly enough, Draco decided to continue to follow Harry as he made his
way out of the dungeons. “Look, if Black pops out from behind a suit of armour and knifes
you, I will not be held responsible because I wasn’t with you!”

“Can’t you just leave it?” Harry snapped. “I want to be alone!”

“If you want me to, I can show you a private hiding spot I like?” Draco offered. “Because
I’m not leaving.”

Harry huffed. “Fine.”

Draco led Harry up the stairs and to the third-floor corridor, where they stopped outside of a
large tapestry of a sleeping Welsh Green dragon. Draco lifted up the corner of the tapestry
and ducked underneath the heavy fabric. Feeling a small spark of curiosity amongst the
irritation, Harry followed through and hauled himself up onto a small ledge that the tapestry
hid. He and Draco were crouched next to a large bay window, which overlooked the grounds.
The whole place was just big enough for the two of them to sit in if they squeezed.

Harry stared out at the uniformly grey sky, which was currently drizzling onto the grass. It
certainly felt like November, he decided. The faint feeling of dreary misery that came with
the month seemed to hang over the whole school today. Harry swirled a finger through the
condensation on the glass and sighed. Life felt truly flat and dull.

“Merlin's beard, you look depressed," Draco commented.

Harry, unhappy to be dragged from the throes of self-pity, glared at Draco and kicked him in
the ankle before staring out of the window again.

"Be melodramatic if you'd like, but can you at least bother explaining to me why you're living
with us now?” Draco asked.

Harry stared at him. "I cannot believe that you, of all people, just called me melodramatic…”

"Was it because Black tried to get you?” Draco asked, refusing to be deterred. “You were in
Gryffindor Tower during the break in, weren’t you?”

"Yeah…" Harry sighed and drew his knees into his chest. “You know, I really hate being
different - I can’t ever just have a normal year, can I? I don’t want to live in the bloody
dungeons!”

“Well, you’re not all that different if you think about it,” Draco said, tilting his head to one
side. “I’ve also been stuck in his quarters so my house won’t hex me into oblivion,
remember? We’re in this together.”

In a strange way, that actually did make Harry feel marginally better.

“You know, if Black breaks into the castle again I don’t get how being in the dungeons is
going to stop him from stabbing me or something,” Harry pointed out. “He seems to have his
ways to get around the castle’s protections.”
“Oh, he won’t be able to get past Severus,” Draco said firmly.

Harry frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“Well… Severus was a Death Eater,” Draco said slowly, like it was the most obvious thing in
the world. “He knows how to fight dirty, the same way Black would. He’s more willing to
cross some moral lines.”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “Can I ask you a stupid question?”

“Sure.”

“Um… what actually is a Death Eater?” Harry asked hesitantly. “I keep hearing you guys
mention it but I’m never quite sure what it means.”

A large range of emotions seemed to flurry across Draco’s face, from confusion to disdain.
“Oh. Er - you really don’t know?”

Harry scowled. “If I did, would I be asking?”

“Right,” Draco said quickly. “It’s just odd to think - well, never mind. It’s what the Dark
Lord’s followers called themselves. They would wear masks and robes, and they had the
Dark Mark tattooed onto their left forearm so the Dark Lord could summon them whenever
he wanted. That’s why Severus always wears long sleeves, you know. He likes it hidden.”

“Oh.” Harry turned to Draco, a rising feeling of alarm growing in him. “Er - why isn’t he in
prison, then? I mean - if he followed Voldemort -”

Draco yelped and flinched away. “Don’t say his name!”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Draco. “So?”

“He turned spy for Dumbledore, and that’s why he didn’t go to Azkaban,” Draco said in a
low voice. “Besides, he hasn’t killed you yet, so I’d think it’s safe to presume he’s against the
Dark Lord.”

“So - did he ever properly support Voldemort, then?” Harry asked hesitantly. “Before he
turned spy? Why would he? Isn’t he a half-blood?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. He stretched out his legs and stared off thoughtfully. “He tried
explaining it all to me once, but I didn’t quite understand the why behind it all - a lot of stuff
about power, and his childhood - but anyway, former Death Eater connections aren’t exactly
something one brings up in polite conversation, Harry. It’s quite a sensitive topic - Father
couldn’t bear to discuss the war with me, and Severus seems to be the same. Ask him
yourself if it’s bothering you that much.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. “I can’t talk to him about anything right now,
honestly.”

Draco frowned. “Why not?”

“He’s not happy with me,” Harry muttered. “Didn’t you see the way he basically chucked me
out just now?”

Draco’s brows knitted together. “He didn’t kick you out. You asked him if he was going to
lock you up in the dungeons, Harry! He obviously assumed you wanted to leave!”

“Oh.” Phrased like that, it seemed a lot more like Harry’s fault. Again.

“Seriously - what’s so wrong?” Draco asked, nudging his side.

“I ruined everything.” Harry drew his knees close to his chest and sighed mournfully. “I keep
getting in huge arguments with Snape! I told him I hated him after the Hogsmeade
permission slip thing, and it obviously sort of upset him, and I don’t know what to do to
make it better!”

“You could just talk to him, you know,” Draco pointed out. “Tell him you’re sorry - if you
are, that is.”

“I am.”

“Then tell him!”

“He won’t forgive me,” Harry mumbled, resting his chin on his knees. “I upset him.”

“Harry, families fight,” Draco said. He shuffled closer, so their shoulders were touching.
“They say horrid things to each other, and they apologise, and they move on. He’s not going
to chuck you out or something, just talk to him! Imagine how much quicker we could have
stopped fighting if I’d actually bothered to sit and listen to you explain. Don’t start that kind
of mess with Severus.”

“Okay, then.” Harry took a deep breath to steel himself. “I’ll try and talk to him.”

Unfortunately for Harry, that proved to be a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated. He spent
most of the day hiding in the windowsill with Draco and playing Exploding Snap, not feeling
the urge to actually go out and talk to anyone. He ate dinner early to avoid the majority of the
school and returned to Snape’s quarters, only to find the man had locked himself away in his
study.

“Just knock on the door and talk to him, Harry,” Draco urged.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to bother him -”

“You’re not bothering him!” Draco huffed. “Just knock! The worst he can do is ignore you.”

Draco said that like it wouldn’t be a big deal, but Harry vehemently disagreed. He thought
that if he knocked on that door only to be ignored, it would break something inside of him
that he couldn’t afford to be broken. As weak as it was, Harry couldn’t bear that. He would
rather be miserable and leave this all unresolved than accept that things were wrecked
forever. So, ignoring the disapproving look from Draco, he withdrew to his new, unfamiliar
room and hid.
Still, Harry just couldn’t put the whole mess out of his mind. He stared at his Charms
homework without making any progress for hours before realising it was all a lost cause, and
spent the whole evening lying on top of the covers and staring at the hangings of his
unfamiliar, unwelcoming bed, considering a casual way he could go into Snape’s office and
bring up the topic. He came up short, of course. Harry found himself hoping that Snape
would come and find him, like he sometimes did, but the man remained in his office until
Harry finally gave up and turned the lights out.

He couldn’t sleep, though. Between the strange bed and the mingling feelings of worry and
shame, he was tossing and turning for a long time until Harry finally realised that sleep was a
lost cause. He couldn’t keep ignoring the issue - Harry had to find out if this could be sorted,
or if Snape would never want anything to do with him again. He swung his legs over the side
of the bed and practically sprinted to the office door, knocking before he could lose his nerve.

The door swung open, revealing Snape at the desk. He must have opened it wandlessly, as he
was currently surrounded by something of a mountain of paperwork. Towers of parchment,
covering the desk and much of the floor around it.

“Harry?” He frowned. “I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say, but all of
the things he wanted to talk about were locked inside his head and couldn’t be forced out.

“What’s wrong?” Snape had started to look very concerned, so Harry took a deep breath and
finally managed to force out speech.

“I - I’m really sorry, sir,” he blurted out. “I’m so sorry.”

Snape gave him a confused look. “Pardon?”

“I keep saying horrible things to you, and I keep shouting, and being selfish, and I’m really
sorry,” he said very quickly, hugging himself with his arms. It was very cold in the office.
“I’m sorry, and I really don’t want you to be angry with me -”

Snape’s expression softened. “I’m not angry.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said miserably. “I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have said it, I upset you
and I’ve been completely horrible!”

“Calm yourself, Harry,” Snape said softly. “You’ve been having a difficult time lately. I had
assumed that was why you were rather short-tempered with me this last month.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know you are.” Snape sighed and got to his feet. “Maybe this can serve as a lesson for you
to think before you speak?”

“I will,” Harry said fervently. “I promise. And I’m -”

“Sorry. You mentioned.” Snape grimaced, deftly sidestepping his stacks of parchment. “It’s
really nothing, Harry. I’ve certainly said far worse to you in moments of anger.”

“I still wish I hadn’t said it.” Harry swallowed, hard. “I… I wasn’t handling the stuff with
Black well. And then everything's changed again, and I forgot about my parents, and all of
Halloween was happening, and Ron and Hermione keep fighting over Scabbers and
Crookshanks, and - ugh, just everything!”

"I see.” Snape was looking at Harry with no small amount of confusion, like he wasn't quite
sure where to start with any of that rant. Harry knew that none of it made sense to an outsider,
but felt a little better for saying it nonetheless.

"Crookshanks?” Snape said eventually. Something about his baffled expression made Harry
laugh, despite the misery he was still wallowing in.

“Hermione’s cat," Harry explained. “He keeps trying to kill Ron’s rat, and they won't stop
fighting over it. I - well, it seems stupid to be so annoyed by, considering the whole mass
murderer thing…"

“It's something of a last straw, I would assume," Snape said.

Harry nodded. “Yeah."

By now, the weight pressing on his chest had lightened considerably.

Snape hesitated, then reached out a hand and briefly squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Things will
go back to normal when he’s captured. I promise you.”

“Okay.” Harry wrapped his arms more tightly around himself as another shiver wracked his
body. Snape noticed this, scanned Harry, and frowned.

“When we bought you new clothes, did I get you any slippers?”

Harry’s brows knitted together at the odd question. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ll remedy that,” Snape said. “The dungeons get very cold at night. Bare feet aren’t a good
idea.”

“Oh. Er - thanks?”

“Go back to bed, Harry.” He put gentle but firm pressure between Harry’s shoulder blades,
ushering him in the direction of his room. “You have lessons tomorrow.”

“Right.” Harry started walking in the direction of his room, feeling a lot lighter than he had
before. If Snape was back to nagging him about the cold and school, that meant things were
back to normal. It meant all was forgiven.
The news of Harry’s move from Gryffindor Tower seemed to spread across the school like
wildfire. Snape had mentioned to him that it wasn’t a good idea to have his new location be
widely known for security reasons, but his missing belongings had obviously clued in a lot of
the Gryffindors. All of them were peppering Harry with questions about where he was
staying, what he knew about Black, and other exhausting queries that left Harry’s head
aching by the end of dinner each day.

Ron and Hermione, who were the only friends of Harry’s who knew precisely where he was
staying, were equally unimpressed.

“Bad luck, mate!” Ron said sympathetically. “I wouldn’t want to get stuck living with a
teacher. He’s going to be on you all the time about homework, I’d bet…”

Harry grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Maybe you could use that sort of oversight, Harry,” Hermione said sniffily. “I saw you
finishing that Astronomy chart before breakfast the other morning!”

“Er - you guys also need to walk me down to the dungeons after dinner, apparently,” Harry
said awkwardly. “Sorry about that -”

“No problem,” Ron said with a shrug. “It’s what, five extra minutes? Besides, we’re never
gonna see you now if you have to be down there after dinner!”

Harry sighed mournfully. “Yeah…”

Hermione reached out and squeezed his shoulder, face sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’m
sure things will all go back to normal as soon as Black is captured.”

“People have been saying that to me for months,” Harry muttered. “No one’s managed to
capture him yet…”

“I’m sure they will soon,” Ron said firmly.

Harry had less faith than his friends did, and found himself fairly certain that he had quite a
bit of time in the dungeons ahead of him. Once he settled into the new routine of spending his
evenings there, though, Harry found he didn’t actually mind living in Snape’s quarters as
much as he’d expected to. It was a lot like Spinner’s End, if Harry had been attending lessons
by day.

Contrary to what Ron had believed, Snape was not lingering around constantly, nagging and
micromanaging Harry’s every move. He actually spent most of his time in his office, dealing
with students and detentions. Later in the evening, he tended to move and mark essays in the
living room, or retreat to the locked room in his quarters to brew potions. That meant it was
just Harry and Draco the majority of the time. He didn’t make for bad company, especially
since the both of them hadn’t ended up in the dungeons by choice - they had a common gripe.
Harry was remarkably glad someone else was there with him. Since Snape was so busy with
his duties, it could feel very empty in the man’s quarters. He wondered what this had been
like for Draco to deal with alone for the last month…

Of course, as November progressed, a noticeable tension grew between Harry and Draco.
The first match of the Quidditch season was quickly approaching, and the two of them would
be playing against each other. The rivalry between them intensified, as it did for the rest of
the Gryffindors and Slytherins. Living in the dungeons became something of an exercise in
tactical Slytherin avoidance, since Harry was almost certain that anyone who saw him down
there would immediately assume he was stealing team secrets and hex him. He had taken to
going to breakfast and returning from dinner under the Invisibility Cloak to avoid any
wayward snakes who wanted to try and take out the Gryffindor Seeker in advance of the
match.

Competition was also rising between Harry and Draco, although it mostly manifested as
lighthearted jabs and jibes. It never developed into anything more, since their conflicting
training schedules meant that Harry and Draco barely saw each other as the match drew near.
Despite this, Snape had absolutely no patience for what he called their ‘incessant and mind-
numbing sports talk’. He’d tried to ban them from discussing Quidditch in his quarters, and
when that hadn’t worked, had taken to locking himself in his laboratory or his study for hours
at a time.

“I do wonder how he and Professor McGonagall are even friends,” Harry whispered to
Draco. “She’s Quidditch-mad, you know.”

Snape was so focused on avoiding Harry and Draco’s Quidditch obsession that Harry barely
saw him at all in the run up to the match, so when he went into Defence Against the Dark
Arts and was met with the man in question instead of Professor Lupin, it was quite the shock.

“You’re late, Potter.” Snape scowled at him. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry, who had been waylaid by Oliver Wood on the way to Defence, gulped and quickly sat
down next to Ron. Part of him was desperate to ask Snape what on earth he was doing here,
but then he caught sight of the man’s tight jaw and narrowed eyes and wisely decided to keep
silent. Snape was quite clearly in a foul mood.

“As I was saying, Professor Lupin is ill. He has not left any record of the topics you have
covered so far -”

“Please, sir, we’ve done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows,” Hermione
interjected, “and we’re just about to start -”

“Be quiet,” Snape said icily. “I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on
Professor Lupin’s lack of organisation.”

“He’s the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we’ve ever had,” Dean Thomas said
defiantly. There was a general murmur of agreement from the rest of the class, including
Harry.
This did not seem to impress Snape, who looked even angrier with every passing minute.
“You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly over-taxing you - I would expect first-years to be
able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss… werewolves.”

“But, sir,” Hermione began, seemingly unable to restrain herself, “we’re not supposed to do
werewolves yet, we’re due to start Hinkypunks -”

“I did not ask for your input, Miss Granger,” Snape said. His tone was calm, but Harry could
tell from his face that he was rapidly approaching the point of losing his temper. “Now, turn
to page three hundred and ninety-four.” He glanced around again and glowered. “All of you!
Now!”

With a lot of sullen muttering, the class obeyed. Harry didn’t touch his textbook - he stared at
Snape instead, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. He couldn’t possibly understand
why the man was in such an obvious, terrible mood. Snape, clearly feeling the weight of
Harry’s gaze, looked over at him and gave him a truly venomous look. Harry quickly
remembered Snape’s warnings in September about respecting him in class and reminded
himself to save his questions for later.

“Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?”
Snape asked.

Excluding Hermione’s hand, the class was motionless and silent.

“Anyone?” Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “Are you
telling me that Professor Lupin hasn’t even taught you the basic distinction between -”

“We told you,” Parvati said irritably, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on
-”

“Silence!” Snape snarled. “Well, well, well, I never thought I’d meet a third-year class who
wouldn’t even recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing
Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are …”

“Please, sir,” Hermione said, hand still upright, “the werewolf differs from the true wolf in
several small ways. The snout of the werewolf -”

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” Snape said loudly.
“Five more points from Gryffindor for not knowing how to hold your tongue!”

Hermione, red-faced, lowered her hand. Every single person in the class was now glaring at
Snape, including Harry, who couldn’t understand why on earth the man was intentionally
ignoring her.

Ron seemed to be thinking the same lines. He said loudly, “You asked us a question and she
knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?”

Harry immediately cringed as Snape’s face darkened and tightened. It almost looked as
though he had lockjaw by the time he made it to Ron.
“Detention, Weasley,” he said softly. “And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class
again, you will be very sorry indeed.”

The class was silent for the remainder of their lesson. They made their way through the
chapter while Snape stalked the room, criticising everything they’d done so far and
particularly Lupin’s teaching.

Harry, for his part, couldn’t possibly understand what Snape’s problem was. Sure, the man
had been in an awful mood for days, but Harry had thought that was just general grumpiness
over the Quidditch match! This, though? He couldn’t possibly understand why Snape had
flipped back to being so horribly unfair. Still, the more that Harry thought about it, the more
he realised that Snape’s bad mood had nothing to do with the upcoming match. As a matter of
fact, he’d been grumpy since Halloween at the earliest, even after Harry had apologised…

It was a relief when the class was finally dismissed from the frosty atmosphere of the
Defence lesson. Harry and Hermione were quickly met by a furious Ron, who called Snape
all sorts of names that made Hermione gasp while he explained the details of his detention -
cleaning the Hospital Wing bedpans without magic.

“Why couldn’t Black have hidden in Snape’s office, eh?” Ron said, breathing rather heavily.
“He could have finished him off for us!”

“Hey,” Harry snapped. “Don’t joke about that.”

Ron scoffed. “It was just a joke, Harry -”

“Not a very funny one!”

“And I don’t see why you’re defending him when he’s been foul to everyone all afternoon!”
Ron fumed. “Some friend you are!”

He stormed off down the corridor without another word, closely followed by a hurt-looking
Hermione. Even though Harry didn’t appreciate the comment about Black, Harry was still
rather angry on their behalf. What was Snape’s problem with Professor Lupin, anyway? It
was clearly something to do with him… maybe the Boggart of himself in Neville’s
grandmother’s clothes had angered him? No, it couldn’t be that - Harry thought back to his
first night at Hogwarts, when Harry had fainted on the train. Snape had been in high
dudgeon, snapping about Lupin in Professor McGonagall’s office until Madam Pomfrey had
actually told him off. It was obvious that there was some sort of issue between the two men.

Harry couldn’t possibly understand why, though. From what he’d seen, Lupin was a pleasant
man, and a brilliant teacher. He genuinely couldn’t think of what Snape’s problem might
be…

But, Harry thought angrily, he was going to bloody well ask! He stormed directly down into
the dungeons, not giving any thought to Snape’s constant insistence on him having an escort
in the corridors, and barged straight in without knocking.
Snape, who looked as though he’d just gotten in, immediately whirled around to look at
Harry and glared fiercely. “And why have you suddenly lost your grasp on manners?”

“Are you actually serious?” Harry said incredulously. “After that joke of a lesson, you’re
coming after my manners?”

Snape gave him a dangerous look. “I’ve spoken to you before about questioning my teaching
methods - watch it.”

“I’m in your office talking to you about this instead of yelling at you publicly, aren’t I?”
Harry said angrily. “I think that’s pretty polite, seeing as you just embarrassed me in front of
my friends! Why were you ignoring Hermione like that? Why are you having a go when
people know the answer to the question you’re asking?!”

“If teaching consisted of me assessing if Miss Granger knows the answer, it would be a very
simple job indeed,” Snape said coldly. “I’m warning you, Harry -”

“I just don’t understand why you’re being like this!” Harry said. “What’s your problem? I
know you’ve got some complex when it comes to Lupin, but -”

“Right! Go to your room!” Snape barked.

“But -”

“NOW!”

Despite himself, Harry flinched away from Snape. Something rather like regret replaced the
apoplectic expression on the man’s face, but Harry hurried away before he had time to say or
do anything and rushed into his room. He pointedly slammed the door behind him and kicked
the frame of his bed, feeling hot with outrage. He was really starting to regret defending
Snape from anything Ron had said earlier…

Quite a while later, someone else entered the room. Harry spun around, prepared to yell at
Snape to leave him alone, but instead found a scowling Draco.

“Merlin’s beard, Severus woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, didn’t he?”

“I know!” Harry said indignantly. “He spent all of Defence Against the Dark Arts yelling at
my class!”

Draco frowned. “What’s he doing teaching that?”

Harry shrugged. “Beats me - something about Lupin being ill. I hope he’s back soon.”

“He had a go at me about literally nothing!” Draco complained. “I’d just walked in, and I got
in trouble for about six different things!”

“He shouldn’t be such a moody git,” Harry grumbled. “D’you want to hide in here and play
Monopoly with me?”
“Definitely.”

On Saturday morning, the day of the match, Harry came to a perfect solution to get back at
Snape: absolutely destroy the Slytherin team at Quidditch. Even though he knew Snape
wasn’t all that bothered about sports, the man was still very invested if it meant Slytherin
winning the house cup, so Harry was going to make sure that didn’t happen just to spite him.
Ron and Hermione both hadn’t spoken to him since the Defence Against the Dark Arts
lesson, and Harry was seriously starting to regret defending his ill-tempered guardian, who
had also been avoiding Harry at all costs since their fight. He really wanted to get his own
back.

Of course, it wasn’t going to be an easy match by any means. There was a terrible
thunderstorm raging outside, lashing the windows of the Great Hall with rainwater.
Occasional streaks of lightning illuminated the enchanted ceiling.

Oliver Wood seemed particularly nervous. He didn’t touch a thing at breakfast, and when he
tried to give the Gryffindor team their usual pre-match pep talk, just ended up making a few
odd gulping noises before giving up and shaking his head.

After about ten minutes flying, Harry could see why his captain had been so nervous. The
rainstorm had completely wrecked any chance of visibility, and the roaring wind drowned out
any of the commentary. Harry didn’t have a hope of hearing the commentary, and the only
reason he knew that the Snitch hadn’t been caught was because he could just about make out
a green figure, marking him closely. That had to be Draco, also searching for the Snitch. If
Harry hadn’t gotten a quick Impervius cast on his glasses, he’d have been absolutely
hopeless. As it was, he was pretty sure they’d be playing well into the night.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and Harry saw something that made his
heart drop. A large black dog was standing on the top row. It was unmistakably the Grim.
Harry did a double take, feeling highly alarmed, but when he looked again, the dog was gone.

“HARRY!” A loud shriek that could only be Draco came from behind. Harry wasn’t sure
why the other boy would be calling out to him at all right now - it was the middle of a match,
and they were on enemy teams. Still, as Draco called his name again, he decided to turn
around and see what the matter was, trying to ignore the horrible new wave of cold settling
over him…

But as he drew his Nimbus Two-Thousand in a circle, Harry’s attention was not focused on
the green blur streaking towards him. No, his eyes were instantly drawn downwards, to
where a hundred Dementors were standing and staring back at him. The noise of the
thunderstorm cut off, as if muted by a remote control. Instead, familiar screaming filled his
ears…

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -”

Swirling white mist was filling Harry’s brain … What was he doing? Why was he flying? He
needed to help her… she was dying, she was going to be murdered… he had to help, he was
going to kill her...

“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy …”

A shrill voice was laughing, the woman was screaming, and darkness crashed over him.
 Breaking the Dam
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Voices swirled around Harry, intangible and nonsensical.

“Why won’t he wake up?”

“He’s had quite the ordeal. His body is still recovering.”

“But I want to know he’s okay…”

“He will be. He’ll wake soon.”

Harry didn’t know what these people were talking about, where he was, or what he’d been
doing. All he knew was that every single inch of him ached from head to toe. He had never
experienced being hit by a lorry, but Harry imagined this would be what it felt like.

And then all at once, it all snapped back. The match, the storm, the Dementors, the screaming
-

Harry’s eyes shot open, and he jolted upright with a shuddering gasp. A firm hand pressed
him back into the mattress, for he was lying in a bed in the Hospital Wing. Draco and Snape
were sitting by Harry’s side, both absolutely soaking wet. Draco in particular looked like he’d
dived headfirst into a muddy puddle; the green and silver of his Quidditch uniform was
almost unrecognisable beneath the filth. For some reason, his arm was in a sling, a stark
splash of white against the grime.

“Oh, Harry!” he said in a faint sort of voice. “Thank Merlin you’re awake!”

He made a move forward, unbandaged arm reaching out, but Snape grabbed him by the
elbow, which made Draco abruptly remember himself. He sank back into a chair but
continued to stare at Harry, eyes wide and bloodshot. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”

“What happened?” Harry rasped.

“You fell,” Snape said in an unusually strangled voice. He was a rather pallid man on the best
of days, but was a deathly white at that moment. Even though Harry was lying back again, he
still hadn’t removed his hand from Harry’s chest. “You fell a very long distance. Over fifty
feet, I believe.”

“We - we thought -” Draco clapped a hand to his mouth and turned his face away.

Harry felt a horrid sinking sensation in his stomach. “And the match?”

Snape muttered something under his breath and scowled fiercely.

“Collective forfeit,” Draco said. Harry noticed he was shaking. “No one caught the snitch. I -
I couldn’t keep playing. I tried to grab you when you fell off, and dislocated my shoulder. I
thought - it was just so stormy, and your hand slipped out, and you just started falling -”

His voice cracked, and Snape reached out his free hand and squeezed Draco’s.

“I don’t suppose you could spare me from the mind numbing discussions about rematches
and save it for a later date when you’re not both sitting injured in the Hospital Wing?” Snape
said angrily. Harry and Draco both quickly fell silent, but Snape’s ire didn’t recede. His lip
curled up into a snarl. “Blasted Dementors!”

He bit back the rest of what promised to be a long rant with obvious difficulty and sank back
into his chair, glowering at the rain pounding against the windows. His shoulders were
hunched.

"I thought they weren't allowed on the grounds," Harry said. He felt himself start to shiver
from something other than the cold.

"They're not!" Snape growled. "They were tempted by the euphoria of the match, one must
assume. The Headmaster is having words with the Ministry, and if he doesn't get Fudge to
remove them, then Albus can be assured I'll be having words with him."

The darkness lurking in the back of his eyes and in his coarse tone seemed to hold the
promise of fire and brimstone if such a discussion was forced to occur.

“With me, Draco,” Snape ordered, getting to his feet. “Madam Pomfrey still needs to
properly attend to your injuries now that he’s awake. Your friends should be outside, Harry -
they’ve been waiting to see you. Do you need anything?”

He shook his head and hugged himself with his arms. Snape regarded him for a long moment
before taking Draco behind a curtain surrounding the adjoining bed, while Madam Pomfrey
opened the doors, admitting Ron and Hermione. Both of them ran the length of the room and
skidded to a halt at his bedside.

“Don’t be so disruptive!” Madam Pomfrey scolded. “This is a Hospital Wing, not a

playground!”

“Sorry,” Hermione said quickly as Madam Pomfrey disappeared behind the curtain
surrounding Draco’s bed. She turned to Harry, eyes rimmed red. Hermione had obviously
been crying.

“How’re you feeling?” Ron asked softly. The rainwater had plastered his fringe to his
forehead.

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “Are the team okay?”

“They’re outside,” Ron explained. “They wanted to come in, but Snape didn’t want them
crowding you or something.”
Oddly enough, he didn’t scowl like he usually would at the mention of Snape. Before Harry
had time to reflect on why that might be, he looked between his two friends and noticed that
Hermione was clutching an oddly shaped bag. He frowned. “What’s that?”

Hermione and Ron looked at each other hesitantly.

“Um… is everything okay?”

Hermione gave him a pained look. “Harry - when you fell, your broom… well, it got blown
away.”

“And?”

“It hit - oh, Harry, it hit the Whomping Willow,” Hermione whispered. “And… well, the
Whomping Willow doesn’t really like to be hit…”

With a sad look on her face, Hermione tipped the bag upside down, dumping a bunch of
twigs and splinters onto his bed. All that remained of Harry’s beloved Nimbus 2000, now
battered to bits.

“Oh,” Harry said in a small voice. He stared at the remains of his broomstick and felt a horrid
lurch in his stomach. Harry knew it was stupid to feel so upset, but it almost felt like he’d lost
one of his best friends.

Ron gave him a sad look. “Flitwick tried his best to salvage it, but… yeah.”

Harry could still barely believe he’d fallen. His shattered Nimbus 2000 well and truly proved
it had all been real, not some sick, twisted nightmare.

“Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione said shakily. “He ran onto the pitch as you fell,
waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his
wand at the Dementors, and shot some silver stuff at them. They left the stadium straight
away… he was furious they’d come into the grounds, we heard him -”

“Then he magicked you onto a stretcher,” Ron finished. “And walked up to school with you
floating on it. Everyone thought you were…”

His voice trailed off into silence.

“Professor Snape went raving mad at Dumbledore,” Hermione whispered, casting a fearful
look at the curtains next to them. Harry actually had to strain his ears to pick up on her soft
voice. “We could hear him shouting through the walls while we waited outside to see you.”

“I’ve never heard him shout like that, not even in Potions,” Ron added, just as quietly. “He
just completely lost it. We couldn’t hear what he was saying super well, but I know he kept
yelling about how you and Malfoy could have died, over and over.”

“He blames the Headmaster for what happened, I think,” Hermione said.
That sounded like something Snape would do, Harry thought. He recalled the terse
conversation he’d overheard the night after Snape had visited the Dursleys - it seemed that
Dumbledore had a unique ability to enrage Snape.

“Oh, and Harry? I’m never giving you a hard time about Malfoy again,” Ron said in a hollow
voice.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why?”

“The way he reacted when you started falling…”

“He really has changed, Harry,” Hermione whispered in a tremulous voice. “We saw him
dive to grab onto you when you started falling -”

“He wrenched his arm right out of its socket!” Ron said, awed.

Hermione cringed, glared at Ron, and carried on. “After you hit the ground - he was in
complete hysterics, really. Dumbledore had you floating on that stretcher, and we all thought
- we all thought you’d d-died, and he clearly did too, because he was shouting, and kept
trying to run after you, even though his legs kept giving out and his arm was all messed up.
Professor Snape actually had to wrestle him back…”

“Snape didn’t look so good himself, mind you,” Ron added. “He stuck Malfoy on another
stretcher and went straight after Dumbledore.”

Harry’s eyes drifted to the closed off curtains, where he knew Snape and Malfoy were with
Madam Pomfrey. They both had looked rather dreadful, hadn’t they?

“They definitely do care about you, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “And if that can change,
well - well I suppose the other stuff can, too. But both of us are here, no matter what happens
with them.”

Relief swept through Harry. “Thank you. Seriously, just - I’m glad.”

As awful as today had been, at least he finally had some sort of resolution to one of his
problems… no more issues with Draco, Ron and Hermione. Or Snape, by the sounds of it.
Besides, any of the anger Harry had been feeling towards Snape had evaporated in the face of
that chaotic match. The man had looked positively ill when Harry had awoken, and it was
impossible to be upset with him when he’d looked so haunted.

“I doubt we’ll be best mates, mind, but anyone who nearly yanks his arm off trying to help
my friend can’t be all bad,” Ron declared. “Like Hermione said, we’re gonna be here for you
while you figure it out. No more bickering.”

Harry mustered a thin smile, grateful beyond the scope of words.

Moments later, the curtains surrounding the adjoining bed vanished. Draco’s arm was still in
a sling, but he was no longer covered in mud, and he had changed into pyjamas. He was
presumably being forced to stay overnight. Madam Pomfrey bustled over to Harry’s bedside,
and shot disapproving looks at Ron and Hermione. “Out. He needs his rest.”
Ron hesitated, then walked over to Draco’s bed and gave him an awkward, jerky sort of nod.
“Er - thanks for trying to help him.”

Draco scowled. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Ron looked at Harry and raised his hands helplessly before following Hermione out of the
Hospital Wing. She shot him one last worried look while she edged into the hallway. “Bye,
Harry.”

As the doors swung shut, Snape got to his feet and sat at Harry’s bedside once again. “I’m
staying the night.”

Harry nodded mutely, because he couldn’t quite put into words how relieved that made him
feel. If Harry had to lie in the Hospital Wing in the silence and the dark without any sort of
distraction, he’d be forced to think about what he’d heard, which was just completely
unacceptable.

Snape frowned at the pile of twigs, still lying on Harry’s lap. “What on earth is that?”

“Don’t get rid of it!” Harry said quickly, drawing the broken Nimbus up close to him. “It’s
my broomstick. Please, you can't throw it away!”

Snape looked absolutely baffled by Harry’s insistence on keeping it, but simply shook his
head after a moment. “At least put it back in that bag, then.”

As he helped Harry put the twigs back in the bag Hermione had been carrying, Harry thought
that it was a sign of how worried Snape was that he didn’t immediately insist on throwing it
away. The man was normally far too pragmatic for sentimental nonsense like this,
particularly when it came to Quidditch.

Snape wasn’t really acting like himself, though. In fact, he was currently staring at Harry,
harsh lines carved into his forehead from his furrowed brow. Snape didn't often display
emotions on his face if he could help it, so Harry knew he was truly out of sorts.

Madam Pomfrey returned moments later, and Harry was forced to eat so much chocolate that
it was sickening before various potions were thrust upon him, including a Pain Reliever and a
Pepper-Up Potion that made hot steam pour from his ears.

“Could you also fetch a Dreamless Sleep, Poppy?” Snape asked as Harry finished up.

She clucked her tongue and regarded Harry sympathetically. “Of course.”

While Madam Pomfrey made her way over to her store of potions, Snape looked at him
closely. “If you need to talk to me, you can.”

Harry swallowed, hard. “And if there was anything I needed to talk about, I’d tell you.”

Snape’s eyes crinkled with worry. “Harry…”

“I just want to sleep,” he said tersely. “I’m tired, and everything hurts. Okay?”
Snape seemed to shake himself. “Of course.”

Madam Pomfrey handed him the Dreamless Sleep moments later, which Harry downed in
one great gulp. It worked quickly, like a strong current pulling him under. Harry’s eyes
fluttered closed, and his mind slipped into a deep sleep.

In his half-conscious state, he would not remember his glasses being gently removed from his
face and set to one side, or the hand that carefully brushed the hair from his forehead before
coming to rest upon his shoulder.

Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry for the entire weekend. Harry didn’t argue or
complain - not that he could, since Snape was hovering around constantly, watching his every
move. He never left the Hospital Wing, even at night, when he slept in a chair in between
Harry and Draco’s beds. The other boy was also being forced to stay overnight, arm still
wrapped up in a sling, but Harry didn’t think that was the reason for Draco’s stay. He heard
Madam Pomfrey and Snape muttering about ‘shock’ and ‘fragility’, and supposed the stress
of the match had had more of a negative impact on Draco than he’d wanted to let on. He had
become prone to fits of staring at Harry with a haunted, scared look on his face, which was
rather disconcerting.

Neither of them discussed what had happened. Neither of them could. Harry knew that
whatever Draco heard when Dementors around was awful enough to make him sick to his
stomach, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about his own waking nightmare…

Harry was also subject to a series of other visitors: Ron and Hermione remained with him for
hours every day, and the entire Quidditch team came by, including one incredibly depressed
Oliver Wood. He spent most of the visit glowering at Draco’s bed, like the other boy was
trying to steal team secrets while napping. Harry also received get well soon cards from half
of the school, all attempting to cheer him up.

None of it helped.

None of it could ever help, since Harry now knew who the screaming woman was. It was his
mother, pleading for her life before Voldemort murdered her. Harry played her words over
and over in his head; her pleas, her screaming, Voldemort’s shrill laughter… he dreamt of it
the second night in the infirmary, when he didn’t have any Dreamless Sleep to aid him, and
woke up with gasping every few hours with images of scabbed hands and cloaked figures
swirling through his head. One time, he roused Snape by mistake, but pretended to be asleep
before the man realised what was going on.

Harry knew he couldn’t tell Snape any of this. After the first time asking, he’d let the matter
of what Harry may or may not have heard drop. Harry thought Snape believed he still
couldn’t remember it properly, and it was better that way. Snape couldn’t find out what had
happened. He couldn’t know that Voldemort had given Lily a chance to move aside, to
escape, a chance she hadn’t taken, because then he’d know that it was Harry’s fault that Lily
was gone. He should be dead, not his mother, and that knowledge was haunting.

Returning to regular schooling the following Monday helped somewhat, but not much. The
Slytherins were mocking him mercilessly, and took great pleasure in performing theatrical
imitations of Harry fainting, all accompanied by jeers about how weak he was. To Harry’s
immense shock, this seemed to infuriate Draco, who was also getting a fair bit of trouble for
his reaction after Harry had fallen. He snapped completely after Care of Magical Creatures on
Monday afternoon and hexed Pansy Parkinson viciously, so she was barely recognisable
beneath the long black fur and green boils covering her skin. Even more shockingly, Draco’s
most staunch defender was one angry Ron. He helped Draco fight off Crabbe and Goyle until
an immensely annoyed Professor McGonagall showed up and gave them all detention before
sending Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle to the Hospital Wing, all while the latter two left a slimy
trail of vomited slugs in their wake. At last, Ron’s aim had been true. It was all rather
shocking; Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen the two boys agree about anything up until now.

But none of it registered. He couldn’t feel much about the situation - not gratitude, not
camaraderie, anger - nothing. Harry felt like a great, white mist had cloaked him, and he
couldn’t feel anything anymore…

Thursday morning was the worst of all. After days upon days of no sleep, save for the
haunting nightmares filled with scabbed hands and screaming mothers, Harry felt utterly
wretched. His whole body felt leaden; his eyes oddly sticky; his brain foggy and worthless.
The task of even getting out of bed, let alone attending lessons, felt absolutely
insurmountable. Harry had double Potions first, and he knew that the Slytherins would
continue on with their onslaught of teasing about the Dementors, which Harry just couldn’t
bear right now. Unfortunately, since he lived with the man who was teaching that class, Harry
couldn’t simply bunk off. Therefore, that morning, Harry tried something he had never done
before: he pulled a sickie.

Draco came into his room first and made a disapproving noise. “Why are you in bed still?
Get up, you’re going to make me miss breakfast!”

“Can’t go,” Harry muttered. “I’m ill.”

“Oh.” Draco tutted. “I’ll fetch Severus for you, then.”

Harry listened to the sound of his receding footsteps and tried to think of a good illness that
Snape couldn’t cure with a simple potion. The man hurried into the room moments later, and
crouched down next to Harry’s bed. “Draco mentioned you aren’t feeling well?”

Harry nodded, and pulled the duvet up to obscure the lower half of his face. “Er - yeah.”

“What hurts?”

“My stomach,” Harry said, not meeting Snape’s eyes. “And my head’s killing me.”

Snape looked up sharply. “Not in your scar?”

“Er - no. Just a general migraine. It’s kept me up all night,” Harry lied.

Snape sighed. “You should have fetched me sooner.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Snape flicked his wand and two vials flew into his hand. “Take these.”

Harry sat up and obediently choked down the potions, which really tasted quite awful, while
Snape pressed the back of his hand against Harry’s forehead. He frowned. “You don’t feel
warm, so I don’t suppose you have a fever… did those help at all?”

“A bit, but I still don’t feel great,” Harry lied. He squirmed in place. The worried expression
on Snape’s face was making him feel remarkably bad about what he was doing.

“Stay here for the morning and try to get some rest,” Snape ordered, taking a step back. “I
don’t think you’re in a fit state to brew anything today - you do look a bit off-colour.”

Harry slowly nodded, hardly believing his luck. Just like that, Snape was giving him the
morning off? The man was normally so strict! Just two weeks ago, Draco had tried to skive
off lessons by faking an illness, and Snape hadn’t been sympathetic in the slightest…

“I’ll come and check on you at lunch but if you feel yourself worsening, go up to the Hospital
Wing,” Snape said quietly.

“Okay.” Harry turned over and stared at the wall. He heard Snape’s retreating footsteps halt
for several moments in the doorway, before his bedroom door was closed. Harry rolled over
again, unable to get comfortable, and stared at the ceiling.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

He bit down on his lip until the coppery tang of blood flooded his taste buds. It seemed as
though Harry didn’t even need a Dementor anymore - the sound of his mother’s screams
haunted him at all hours.

For the first time, Harry thought he was truly comprehending it; his parents had been
murdered. Sure, from the age of eleven he’d known about it in a clinical sort of way -
Voldemort had come to their family home, killed both of Harry’s parents, but couldn’t kill
Harry. He’d never given much thought about the specifics - how his mother would have
begged, the lazy, casual way in which Voldemort had demeaned her and laughed, the exact
pitch of her sobs and screams in her last moments before the Killing Curse struck her…

Harry wished he didn’t know. He wished he could go back to blissful ignorance, as selfish as
he was. This was why his mother should have never traded her life for his. From what Harry
had heard, his mother was a talented, selfless ray of sunshine, loved by all, a hero.
Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t even remember to honour her on the day she’d died, because he
was selfish, and wasn’t good enough.

His fault, his fault, his fault. How had Harry never realised it before?
Sleep came to Harry in small snatches, and it was somehow worse than lying awake and
hating himself. The nightmares were painfully vivid, intolerable. Harry almost preferred the
sleep deprivation…

He spent most of the day in a fitful doze as a result, only roused by the occasional
interruption. He heard Snape re-enter the room around what he supposed was lunchtime and
stand watching Harry for a long time before eventually withdrawing. He thought he heard
Draco try to come in at one point, but a hissed reprimand from Snape that Harry couldn’t
quite hear stopped the other boy short. It wouldn’t have really mattered if Draco had come in,
though. Harry would have just kept pretending to sleep. After all, nothing would ever
extricate him from this pit of misery…

“Harry.”

He kept his eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s past dinner - there’s food outside,” Snape said. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

Hot anger surged up in Harry. What was it with Snape and his bloody food obsessions?
Couldn’t he see that Harry had bigger problems?

“Harry.” Snape’s voice held a note of warning. “I know you’re awake. Do not ignore me
when I’m speaking.”

“I don’t want anything,” Harry muttered. “I still feel sick.”

“You do.” Snape’s voice was flat and unimpressed. Both of them clearly knew that Harry was
lying by now. “I’ll cast a Diagnostic Charm for sickness, then.”

He muttered something under his breath which made Harry feel like icy water was trickling
down his back. Parchment crinkled in Snape’s hand.

“Interesting. No illnesses are coming up…”

“Well it’s gone wrong, then, because I feel terrible,” Harry muttered, squeezing his arms
around his middle. That part wasn’t actually a lie; he felt so thoroughly depressed that it was
actually giving him a stomach ache.

“Harry, you cannot just -”

“Snape, please,” Harry said desperately. “I’m just really tired, and I feel bad. Please just let
me stay here.”

Some of the misery filling Harry seemed to seep into his tone, because Snape’s gradually
growing irritation seemed to stop in its tracks. He let out a long, quiet sigh.

“We’re going to Madam Pomfrey tomorrow morning if this hasn’t changed,” he said wearily.

Harry let out a non-committal grunt, relieved that he didn’t have to actually face his issues
until the following day.
“And Harry? My door is open. Always.”

Snape waited for a long moment, clearly expecting a response he would not receive. After a
while, he finally withdrew from the room.

The guilt only intensified. Now Harry also felt bad for Snape, who clearly didn’t understand
what was going on. Harry was terrible. All Snape was trying to do was help, but Harry was
being a snappy, nasty liar.

He couldn’t tell Snape the real reason for his change in demeanour, though. As selfish and
horrid as it was, he couldn’t take the look of blame he’d surely receive when Snape found out
that Harry had killed his mother, Snape’s best friend. No, Harry had to weather this alone -
that was his penance. Harry sighed and waited for fitful, disrupted sleep to claim him once
more.

When Harry woke up again with the dying screams of his mother still ringing in his ears, late
in the night, he had to struggle against the urge to let out a wail of his own. It felt like a
boulder was sitting on his chest, and if he didn’t get out of this horrid, oppressive room, he
might actually die in here. Harry pushed himself out of bed and wiped the back of his hand
over his face, which was wet with tears. He’d been crying in his sleep again. That kept
happening lately.

He silently hurried through Draco’s room and into the small kitchenette, where he pressed his
head against the cold stone of the dungeon wall. Harry truly couldn’t bear this knowledge the
Dementors had brought. Was this his life now? Was he doomed to wander Hogwarts, sleep-
deprived and depressed, waiting until another Dementor floated past and trapped him in the
day his parents had died?

Water. Snape told him to drink something cold when he couldn’t breathe once. He snatched
up a glass with trembling fingers and filled it in the sink, but as soon as the icy liquid touched
Harry’s lips, it made everything ten times worse. It was far too similar to the bone-chilling
cold of the Dementors, moments before the screaming started. Harry slammed the glass on
the counter and slid down against the cabinet and onto the floor, where he put his face to his
knees and wrapped his arms around himself. He was shaking. The suffocating weight of
despair was pressing down on Harry with renewed force and he just couldn’t bear it. He felt
completely, utterly miserable.

Harry was on the verge of losing his battle against the undignified sob building in his chest
when he registered the sound of someone making their way through the quarters. Apparently,
Harry wasn’t the only one awake at this late hour. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.
Hopefully, the shadows would obscure him. Harry didn’t want anyone to find him like this.

Of course, he had no such luck.

“We have furniture for a reason, Harry,” Snape said quietly. His voice was coming from
above. “Don’t sit down there in the cold. Come on, I want a word…”

Harry was far too broken inside to even feel properly irritated by another Snape-enforced
conversation. Two firm hands took his arms and moved them away from Harry’s face before
insistently tugging him to his feet. Harry made a concentrated effort to stare at the ground as
Snape led him by the elbow to the sofa. Even though it was dark, he didn’t want to risk his
red eyes being noticed. The man next to him was far too observant.

“I think we both know you aren’t ill,” Snape said, forgoing his usual armchair to sit directly
next to Harry. “With a physical ailment, at least.”

Whatever that means, Harry thought mulishly.

“What is your actual issue?” he asked. Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek and didn’t
respond. He couldn’t talk about this. “Is it about the Quidditch match?”

Harry shrugged.

“The Dementors, perhaps?”

He did his best not to react, eyes fixed to the flagstones. That was far too close to the truth…

“Harry.” Snape reached out a hand and tilted Harry’s head up so he had to meet the man’s
gaze. Snape’s eyes were crinkled with concern. “You’ve been out of sorts for days. Tell me
what’s wrong. Please.”

“It… it is the Dementors, like you said,” Harry said thickly after a moment of internal
struggle. “It’s what I hear when they’re close to me. I finally figured it out.”

Snape gave him an expectant look, urging Harry to continue. He took a deep, shaky breath.
The secret was becoming unbearable and he had to let it out before he imploded under the
strain.

Harry choked in a gasp of air and dug his nails into his thighs. “I hear Voldemort killing my
mum.”

“Oh.” Snape made a strangled sort of noise. Harry stared at him with a strange, panicky sort
of desperation, waiting for a response.

Snape didn't speak, though. He appeared to be lost for words, and a horrible, twisted look of
pain slowly settled over his features. It looked like someone had gutted him. This was even
worse than Snape being angry - he was hurt. He was going to know this was all Harry’s fault,
he would know who to blame, and he'd truly hate Harry forever -

Then Snape abruptly reached out an arm, wrapped it around Harry's shoulders, and pulled
him in close.

Snape was by no means a particularly tactile person, and the slight awkwardness of the one-
armed hug he was attempting reflected that, but it still brought a lump to Harry’s throat. All
he could think about was that he could never remember being held like this, even when his
parents had been alive, because all Harry could remember of his parents were the dying
screams of his mother as she was murdered in front of him. He leaned into the contact, rested
his head against Snape’s shoulder, and the tears brimming in his eyes finally spilled over.

None of this was fair.

And as much as he hated being so fragile, and despite his constant need to feel independent
and capable of handling his emotions, Harry still found himself desperately hoping that
Snape wouldn’t move his arm away. That small gesture of comfort was certainly worsening
the swell of tears, but Harry didn’t think he could bear it if Snape took that away from him.

And he didn’t. If anything, Snape’s hold grew tighter when Harry started crying again, and
his hand started to move in soothing circles on Harry’s shoulder. That just made the tears
even worse, and they grew to a practically uncontrollable stream. Harry felt obliged to choke
out, “Sorry.”

“You know my feelings on your unnecessary apologising,” Snape said quietly.

“I just - I feel so s-stupid!” Harry gasped, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyeballs in a
futile attempt to somehow squish the tears back into place. It was unsurprisingly ineffective.
“I feel like such a crybaby!”

“You are not the snivelling idiot you make yourself out to be,” Snape said. “You’ve cried in
front of me a grand total of two times now. It is a normal display of emotions, you know. You
shouldn’t be ashamed.”

Years of conditioning from the Dursleys told Harry otherwise, but that didn’t make the tears
stop. It was as if some sort of dam had broken, and Harry couldn’t quite patch it up now it
had all exploded out after years of the cracks and fissures building. Snape handed him a box
of tissues, which Harry used up a rather large quantity of, and tapped his wand on the side of
the table so a mug of tea appeared, which he pushed towards Harry. He left it there, since his
hands were shaking too badly to hold anything without spilling it right now.

“I don’t know why I’m so upset,” he whispered once the sobs had calmed to the occasional
hiccup. “I don’t have anything to grieve for. I can’t even remember them properly.”

“And that is precisely what you are grieving,” Snape said softly. “You’re mourning what you
should have had. I’m assuming your encounters with the Dementors are bringing up a lot of
emotions around your parents that you’ve never had a chance to mull over?”

Harry nodded slowly. When Snape phrased it like that, it actually made a lot more sense, so
Harry felt like less of an overly-emotional twit.

“I just feel like I don’t have any right,” Harry choked out. “I - I can’t remember them, I forgot
on the day - I don’t even feel like I deserve to be sad -”

“Grief is not a straightforward thing,” Snape interrupted. “Whether you have memories of
them or not is irrelevant, Harry - they’re your parents. Your sadness over their deaths is no
less significant because you don’t know them well… the opposite is true, even. You’re
rightfully upset by the opportunity to ever know them being robbed from you. Just because
your grief looks different to that of others does not make it any less important.”

Snape picked up the cup of tea, handed it to Harry and pressed one steadying hand over
Harry’s shaking one to steady the mug so he wouldn’t spill. Harry took a sip, and the warmth
seemed to spread to all of his fingers and toes, which were stiff with cold from the chilly
dungeons.

He shouldn’t have this. Not this kind of comfort - not when he hadn’t fully confessed.

“He wanted her to stand aside,” Harry whispered, placing the tea back down. The circling
motion of Snape’s hand froze, and his fingers dug into Harry’s shoulder. It was painful. “He
told her to move, and she wouldn’t, and - and -”

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Snape’s voice was oddly raspy.

“It’s my fault,” Harry whispered, at last giving voice to the thought that had been running
rings around his brain for the last few days.

“It is not your fault,” Snape growled.

“It is!” Harry buried his face in his hands. He couldn't look at Snape while he admitted it.
“She’s dead because of me. She should have moved!”

“Don’t even start with that,” Snape said fiercely. He pulled Harry's head up and framed
Harry's face with his hands so he was forced to look into the man's fervent eyes. “Harry, it is
not your fault.”

“It is my -”

“It is not!” Snape shook him slightly. “There are a dozen people who could be held
responsible for your parents’ demise, and none of them are you! Perhaps blame the man that
actually pointed the wand at Lily and ended her life? Or the man that betrayed their location?
Even my-” Snape cut himself off and took a long, deep breath. “Don’t be ridiculous - you
were a baby. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

More tears leaked out of the corners of Harry’s eyes.

“I knew Lily very well, and I can guarantee you she wouldn’t have wanted things any other
way," Snape said softly. "She would have put herself between you and the Dark Lord a
thousand times over if it meant saving you. And… well, I know James also would have.”

The last words were said reluctantly at best - Snape practically spat them, in fact - but he still
did say them, and the weight of the guilty burden Harry had been carrying for the last week
finally eased. He couldn’t stop the second onslaught of crying. Harry pressed a hand over his
mouth, trying to muffle a sob. How did he even still have tears left to cry? By the time he was
done with this, he’d turn into a shrivelled, wrinkled prune.
Snape didn’t seem to mind, though. His hand moved to the nape of Harry’s neck, a strangely
comforting presence, and Harry hated himself for needing it. That felt like the only thing
stopping him from completely spiralling into the darkness within. Harry couldn’t seem to
regain control of himself, and he hated it, he hated it, he hated it. He needed it all to stop, to
go away.

“C-Can I have a Calming Draught?” he choked out.

“No.”

Harry gave Snape a slightly hurt look, and he sighed. “You can’t use Calming Draughts to
push down all difficult emotions so you never have to deal with them, as much as you may
wish to. Unfortunately, you have to weather this - it’s important.”

Harry curled further in on himself, the despair crushing him. In that moment, he felt as
though nothing could ever make this better. He was consigned to this hellish whirlwind of
grief forever.

“But you aren’t alone,” Snape continued. “I’m here for however long you need me.”

Harry looked up, pressed his lips together, and dared to lean his head against Snape’s
shoulder, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t be roughly shoved away. And as he’d
promised, Snape didn’t reject him. As a matter of fact, he drew Harry a little closer, until his
arm was completely encircling Harry’s shoulders.

He stayed.

Snape remained right at Harry’s side for what felt like an eternity while Harry sobbed until he
ran out of tears to cry over the parents he’d never know and missed dearly, over the people
who he’d been raised by instead, over his fury at Voldemort’s cruelty, things he’d never been
allowed the space to feel before but had to deal with now as it all exploded out of him in a
great mass of weeping. Harry cried until he thought he’d be sick, until his eyes hurt and his
throat was raw and scratchy, all while Snape’s arm around him kept him moored amongst the
grief. He stayed silent, since they both knew platitudes to be worse than useless, but the
gentle circling of his hand on Harry’s shoulder said all that needed to be said. It imparted all
of the sentiment Harry knew Snape struggled often to find the actual words for.

Once the sobs eased enough for Harry to draw a clear breath through, Snape handed the tea
back to him and told him to drink it all. It was a surprisingly difficult feat, considering his
ragged breathing, but Harry tried his best to concentrate on that task. Just holding something
warm in the chilly dungeons provided an additional kind of comfort, at any rate. By the time
he reached the dregs at the bottom of the mug, the breakdown had mostly concluded, and his
gasps for air had levelled out into even breaths and the occasional sniffle.

When it was all done, and Harry was numb and broken down, like he’d been buffeted by an
almighty hurricane, he couldn’t even find it in himself to be too embarrassed by that horrid
emotional display. All he could feel was an immense sense of relief that so much weight had
finally been lifted from his shoulders. It had been surprisingly helpful to let everything he’d
been bottling up explode out in one great wave of tears, even though Harry normally prided
himself on suppressing any urge to cry. After all, it had managed to rid him of that awful
cloud of numb misery - he could finally feel again.

Still, Harry was exhausted. Between the tiring explosion of emotions and the lack of sleep
over the last few days, he was dead on his feet. His eyelids began to droop slightly as he
continued to rest his head on Snape’s shoulder, and he had to jerk himself awake rather
violently. Even if Harry was too wrung out to be appropriately embarrassed by his crying
breakdown, he still drew the line at falling asleep on Snape. That was simply too much.

“I’m tired,” he said in a croaky voice, pulling away from Snape. Harry found himself
surprisingly reluctant to break away. “I’m going to go back to bed.”

“Let’s go, then.” Snape stood up and followed Harry through the darkened quarters and into
Harry’s bedroom. He burrowed under the covers, eyes aching, and stared hard at the wall. He
knew Snape was still standing behind him, but couldn’t bring himself to look back at the
man.

“If you wake up again, fetch me,” Snape said.

“I really don’t want to bother you again -”

“It bothers me more to think you’re struggling alone,” he said firmly. “You will fetch me.”

Harry sighed to himself. “I really hate the Dementors.”

“Well, just know you’re not alone in that,” Snape said heavily. “The majority of witches and
wizards despise those abominations of nature. Believe me when I say the Headmaster is
doing his utmost to get those foul creatures booted from the school grounds.”

“Good.”

Maybe if Dumbledore threw the Dementors out, Harry would stand a chance of keeping his
place on the Quidditch team. Oliver Wood certainly wouldn't want to keep Harry if he kept
falling off his broom at a moment's notice.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” Harry whispered. “I hate it. I’ve been miserable this
whole week, and I just can’t stop thinking about it all, especially at night, and I haven’t slept
properly in days and days…”

“Perhaps I can assist you with that?”

Harry rolled over to look at Snape, whose face was half obscured by night-time shadow.
“How?”

“Occlumency,” he said. “I can try and teach it to you. I have been considering it for a while,
but there is a component of Legilimency to its teaching, which requires there to be a level of
trust between teacher and student for it to be -”

“I trust you,” Harry said abruptly.

Snape fell silent. Harry got the impression he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, for
some reason. After several long moments, he finally seemed to gather himself. “I’m glad you
do. If I teach you properly, then it should be able to help you regulate your emotions and
manage unpleasant and traumatic memories. And, if you wish, tonight I can Occlude for
you.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Yes,” he said. “If you do trust me, and allow me complete entry into your mind, I should be
able to temporarily deflect these memories and clear your stream of consciousness so you can
get a decent night’s rest.”

Harry swallowed hard, did his best to push away his residual fears around Legilimency, and
nodded. “Okay. Do it.”

“Look me in the eyes.”

Harry met Snape’s gaze a little nervously, not knowing what to expect. Did Legilimency
hurt? How would it feel to have another presence actually in his mind?

But it took him a moment to realise someone was actually in there. He became abruptly
aware of a probing sensation, which felt like a beaming spotlight was being shone on Harry’s
memories of the last few days. The laughing, jeering Slytherins, Ron and Hermione
surrounding him like bodyguards, Draco flying into a rage at a moment’s notice, the
perpetual fog, looking up at Snape’s worried face while he lied about a migraine… Harry
started guiltily and tried to steer him away from that, but found he couldn’t. It was impossible
to control his own thoughts with Snape in there. He didn’t like that at all, but Harry had to
trust him, so he did, and allowed the process to continue.

Snape moved on quickly. Sleepless nights, lying in the hospital wing, aching with pain from
the fall… and the fall itself. Cloaked figures, moving through the fog… a scabbed hand…
screaming.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside, now…”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -”

High, cold laughter and screams mixed together with the flash of blinding green light that
haunted Harry’s nightmares. The weary, aching, unbearable sadness crashed back in, grief
and misery mixing together with something new. It wasn’t just Harry’s sadness anymore, he
realised. Snape’s own emotions were bleeding in. His own grief.

It felt jagged, like the sharp edge of a broken glass. It was all wrapped in guilt, and hatred,
and self-flagellating blame. The pain was almost unbearable, like Snape’s very heart was
ripped in two, but it complemented Harry’s own grief, which felt like absence, and a cold,
lonely childhood, and the knowledge that a part of who he was would forever be missing.
 And then, nothing.

Soft rain fell over Harry’s thoughts and memories, growing and swelling from a puddle into
the great, rippling waves of an ocean. Harry had never been to the seaside before, but he
imagined that lying on the surface of the water would feel something like this. He was
buoyed by the movement of the waves, gently rocking him. It was a rhythmic, soothing
sensation.

Had Harry been upset? None of it mattered. There was nothing but the soft hiss of waves as
they brushed across sand, and the sensation of the water bobbing beneath him. He felt
relaxed. He felt peaceful.

Sleep came to Harry on the waves of the sea, a long, uninterrupted sleep, free of Dementors
and murders and Dark Lords. He just dreamed of the beach, and of a pealing, childish
laughter, carrying to him over the breeze. All was calm.

Chapter End Notes

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I loved writing it! I've been waiting to
upload this one for a while! :)
 The Fragility of Trust

It took Harry a very long time to wake.

Even as he returned to consciousness, Harry didn’t get up as quickly as he normally would.

He was warm, comfortable, and felt so rested. It was too cosy, wrapped up in the duvet, and
he didn’t ever want to leave his bed.

But it wasn’t long before the previous night’s events came flooding back to Harry. He
groaned and burrowed under his duvet, cheeks aflame. He could not face the world after a
display like that, especially since Snape was probably outside somewhere, judging him
viciously! Had he actually cried on the man like a three-year-old? What was wrong with him?
Harry was suddenly struck by the urge to owl Gilderoy Lockhart for a handy Memory Charm
so he could scrub last night’s events from his brain…

Things felt rather odd, and Harry abruptly realised that it was because Snape’s quarters were
strangely silent. Normally when he woke up on a school day, he’d hear the sounds of Draco
rooting through his drawers, or Snape rustling papers, but things were entirely silent. Harry
finally surfaced from his blanket cocoon, pushed his glasses onto his face, and squinted at his
alarm clock. His stomach dropped.

It was quarter past eleven!

Harry jolted upright, panic rushing through him. He was going to be in so much trouble! Why
hadn’t someone woken him up in time for lessons? He was supposed to have Transfiguration
at that very moment, and Professor McGonagall would absolutely give him detention for
being so late -

But Harry then spotted the note on his nightstand, written in familiar, cramped handwriting.

Harry,

You have the morning off lessons, so remain in my quarters until I return from teaching. I
have left food on the table, so ensure you eat something when you wake.

S.S.

Harry felt some of the panic ease, but the note didn’t make him feel all that much better. He
really wanted to just avoid Snape and get the hell out of his quarters so he could escape the
embarrassment of last night, but that was impossible. Harry would be forced to return at
nightfall and things would just be ten times worse if Snape knew Harry was avoiding him.

He groaned and buried his face in his arms. If you could drop dead of embarrassment, Harry
was going to do it.

The mortification was so all-consuming that it took Harry a fair few minutes to realise how
much better he felt today. He’d spent all of last week in a miserable haze, and it had at last
lifted. He’d also slept properly for the first time in a while, a deep and dreamless sleep
without nightmares. Perhaps that was why Harry had managed to have such a long lie in. The
latest he ever slept in was until about half-past eight, normally.

With a sigh, Harry got out of bed and began to pull on his robes. If he seemed ready for
school, Snape might hopefully let him go without starting one of his endless chats? Harry
hoped so, at least. He dressed, packed his bag with the textbooks for his afternoon lessons,
and nervously shuffled into the main part of Snape’s quarters.

Harry immediately noticed that an assortment of cereal and fruit had been set out in clear
view at the table. He didn’t particularly feel like taking any of it, since it was practically
lunch time and he could wait, but he doubted that excuse would fly with Snape. In fact, not
eating any of that might be a gateway lecture into a discussion about other things, like the
crying. Harry made a disgusted face and picked up an apple.

He’d just finished eating it when the door to Snape’s quarters swung open, revealing the man.
He saw the apple core in Harry’s hand and nodded approvingly. “How did you sleep?”

“Er - really well, actually.” Harry hurried over to the bin to throw away his food waste, just
for something to do. “Sorry I slept in so late, I -”

“Don’t apologise,” Snape interrupted. “You clearly needed the rest, which is why I gave you
the morning off.”

Harry nodded, and carefully avoided meeting Snape’s eyes. The tension in the air was
palpable. Harry decided to break the awkward silence first, unable to bear it.

“So… how was your morning?”

“A Hufflepuff second-year singed off her eyebrows, but I otherwise avoided any major
catastrophes,” Snape said, sweeping over to the sofa. He patted the seat next to him. “Sit.”

“I was going to go to the Great Hall for -”

“Sit,” he said firmly. “We’re talking about it.”

Harry made a great show of groaning and moping as he dragged himself over to the sofa and
sat down, staring hard at the carpet. This should count as torture, he decided.

“Can we just not?” he tried. “It’s embarrassing…”

Snape’s brows drew together. “I disagree.”

“It is!” Harry insisted. “I just - I was being a complete crying wreck!”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying, Harry.”

“Oh yes there is,” he muttered.

“Draco has cried in front of you quite a few times,” Snape commented idly. “Should he be
embarrassed?”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “Well - no, but -”

“Then there is no reason for you to be ashamed.”

“It’s just different!” he protested.

“Really?” Snape watched him expectantly. “Tell me how, then.”

Harry thought for several moments, but to his annoyance, came up blank. He groaned and
rubbed his hands over his face, feeling rather irritated.

“You have every right to be upset about what happened, at any rate,” Snape added. “You’ve
had a rather difficult week.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed reluctantly.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner what you heard under the Dementors’ influence?” Snape
asked softly.

Harry fidgeted with his hands uncomfortably, debating the merits of telling Snape bits and
pieces or everything. In the end, he decided to throw caution to the wind and just plough on.
“I was too sad to do much of anything, really… I was also kind of worried, because I knew
you knew my mum, and I didn’t want to upset you. Especially because… I was worried
you’d blame me for what happened that night, maybe.”

Harry mumbled the last few words very quickly. After a moment of nervous anticipation, he
glanced up at Snape’s face, unsure of what he was looking for. The man’s expression was
pained.

“Why on earth would I blame you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said miserably. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly at all.”

“I certainly do not blame you!” he said fiercely. “I blame the Dark Lord, not the defenceless
child he attacked! Good grief…”

Harry felt his shoulders slump with relief. Apparently, a tiny part of him had still been
worried without him truly realising.

“Harry.” Snape gave him a piercing look. “What happened to your parents was not your
fault.”

Harry bit down on his lip, hard.

“Do you understand that?”

“I guess…”
“You will cease saying that it is immediately, then,” Snape ordered. "You are not responsible,
and claiming to be absolves those who actually perpetrated the crimes against your family of
their responsibility."

“Okay,” Harry said with a wince. He hadn’t thought about things from that angle.

“Say it, then,” Snape ordered.

Harry frowned at him. “What?”

“Say it wasn’t your fault.”

Harry wrung his hands in his lap and took a shallow breath in. “What… what happened to my
parents wasn’t my fault.”

Part of Harry felt a little ridiculous, having to repeat something like that aloud, but it did
make him feel a little better to say it.

“Your parents would want you to be happy,” Snape said quietly. “Don’t do their sacrifices a
disservice and carry on in the way you have.”

“I won’t,” Harry promised. “I really do feel a lot better today. Er - last night did help, I think,
letting it out.”

He coughed and ducked his head, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Snape said. He regarded Harry thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, I
was serious when I offered you Occlumency lessons. If you’re still willing, I’d be perfectly
happy to teach you.”

“Really?”

“I believe it’s a very useful skill,” Snape said. “Our lessons will begin after Christmas, then.”

Harry smiled. “Great.”

“After I fetch some things from my office, shall we go to the Great Hall together so you can
rejoin your classmates?” Snape suggested.

“Okay.” Harry got to his feet and followed Snape into his office. Feeling curious, he asked,
“So what was that Occlumency stuff you did last night, then? How did you make all my
thoughts go away like that?”

“I brought you into my mindscape,” he explained. He pulled open a desk drawer and tucked a
stack of papers into the pocket of his robes.

“What’s a mindscape?”

“A physical landscape that I go to so I can shield my other thoughts, emotions and

memories,” Snape said.
“Is that what you’re doing when your face goes all randomly relaxed when you get angry?”
he asked.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain in more depth when I begin our Occlumency lessons.”

“Okay…” Harry, who wanted to learn how to do that immediately, had to fight to avoid
sounding too impatient. “So how did I get in yours?”

“Legilimency.”

“That’s the mind reading stuff, right?”

“It is not mind reading,” Snape said tersely. He moved from his desk and began to prod at
some vials at the back of his shelves. “It is far more eloquent and complex, and at any rate the
mind cannot be ‘read’ in the way you describe -”

“But you saw my thoughts and memories and stuff, right?” he interrupted.

“I did.”

Harry shrugged. “Sounds like mind reading to me.”

Snape gave him a truly withering look, then returned to his vials.

“So when I was at that beach place, I was in your mindscape - so was I like, in your
thoughts?” The idea was simultaneously fascinating and slightly alarming to Harry.

“Legilimency is in part the melding of two minds, so in a manner of speaking you were.”

“Cool!” he said. “Am I going to learn to do that with other people?”

“Perhaps, but it’s rather advanced,” Snape said. “It would take a while to learn.”

“I’ve never even been to a beach, but it was like I was actually there, you know?” Harry said.
“So if I could do that, you could take people everywhere! Like - if I wanted to show someone
Hogwarts who had never been there, I could take them into my mind and they’d be there,
too… Legilimency is wicked!”

“We’re awfully chatty today, aren’t we?” Snape remarked, finally moving away from his
shelves and towards the door.

“Well I’ve barely said anything for days and days, so I’m making up for lost time,” Harry
said, following Snape out of the office.

“Perhaps employ a bit of that chattiness in the event you find yourself becoming that
emotionally distressed again, please?” Snape said. He stopped walking and raised an
eyebrow. “Despite your claims to the contrary, I cannot actually read minds. Seeing you in
such a state while being powerless to work out what is wrong is not a particularly pleasant
experience.”

Harry winced. He suddenly felt very bad for icing out Snape in the way he had been after the
Quidditch match. “Sorry…”

“I don’t want an apology - I want you to place more value in your own wellbeing,” he said.
“When I became your guardian, I promised you I wanted to help you with your problems -
that still remains true. You can always come to me.”

“I’ll try more,” Harry said. “It’s not something I’m super good at, that’s all…”

“Believe me, I’ve noticed,” Snape said dryly.

Harry gave him a sheepish look and shoved his hands into his pockets as they continued
through the dungeons. Going to adults with his issues just wasn’t something he remembered
was an option most of the time… the Dursleys could have cared less about his problems,
after all.

Still, Harry knew he needed to give it a go. Every single time he had a problem Harry found
himself fearing Snape’s reaction if he dared to go to the man with it, but each time Snape was
extraordinarily helpful. He’d helped Harry after the Dementors, after the issues with Draco,
after finding out about the Dursleys… the list went on, really. What was the point of going
around and feeling miserable when you could easily fix your problems by actually talking to
someone about them?

I trust you, Harry thought at Snape’s back. I have someone to trust, now. I know he’ll help me.

He smiled to himself, a warm glow spreading throughout his chest.

Harry found himself quickly settling back into the regular routine of school after the
Quidditch incident. Snape wasn’t the only one to seem rather relieved that Harry was back to
normal - Ron and Hermione also seemed to cheer up when he returned to lessons, and Draco
was clearly thrilled when Harry returned to their quarters Friday evening, actually smiling for
the first time in a week. He couldn’t help but feel rather guilty for worrying them all, but that
feeling quickly dissipated as Harry was dragged back into the usual routines of Exploding
Snap, homework anxieties, and overly-competitive games of Monopoly.

Harry made a mental note to work out a proper plan to get Ron and Hermione and Draco in a
room together. After seeing them take on Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle together last week, Harry
was certain Ron and Draco had a lot more in common than the two of them thought. He also
thought Hermione might enjoy having someone more on her level to actually argue about
homework with - if only they could all get past the first few years they’d known each other…
And as it turned out, Snape wasn’t the only person offering Harry extra lessons. After his first
Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson following the Quidditch match, Professor Lupin held
Harry back.

“I was terribly sorry to hear about what happened with the match,” he said, packing some
papers into his tattered briefcase. “Is there any chance of fixing your broomstick?”

“No,” Harry said sadly. “The tree smashed it to bits.”

Lupin sighed. “They planted the Whomping Willow the same year that I arrived at Hogwarts,
you know. People used to play a game, trying to get near enough to touch the trunk. In the
end, a boy called Davey Gudgeon nearly lost an eye, and we were forbidden to go near it. No
broomstick would have a chance.”

“Er - did you hear about the Dementors, too?” Harry asked a little awkwardly.

“Yes, I did,” Lupin looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t think any of us have seen
Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time - furious at
his refusal to let them inside the grounds… I suppose they were the reason you fell?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s shoulders slumped. “I hate that they affect me like that.”

“Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth,” Lupin said bitterly. “They
infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope and
happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can’t see
them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory, will be sucked
out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something
like itself - soulless and evil. You’ll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your
life. And the worst that has happened to you, Harry, is enough to make anyone fall off their
broom. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.”

Snape had said something similar, Harry thought, recalling their late night discussion last
Thursday. He thought it was rather odd how much Snape clearly hated Lupin, even though
they believed a lot of the same things. Harry felt like they’d get on - so why didn’t they? Was
it simply because Lupin held the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, which Harry knew
Snape coveted? He considered asking, but Lupin was so obviously a sore spot for Snape, and
Harry really didn’t want to start an argument when they were getting along so nicely right
now.

“You made the Dementors on the train go away,” he said abruptly.

“There are certain defences one can use,” Lupin said slowly. “But there was only one
Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist -”

“What defences?” Harry asked eagerly. “Can you teach me?”

“I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry - quite the contrary -”

“But if the Dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them!”
“Well … all right,” Lupin agreed haltingly. “I’ll try and help. But it’ll have to wait until next
term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to
fall ill.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks, sir.”

After the promise of anti-Dementor lessons, Christmas was upon Hogwarts. The grounds
were covered by a brilliant, sparkling frost, Professor Flitwick began the usual business of
decorating the castle, and everyone started to discuss Christmas plans. Harry, to his shock,
actually found he had some for once, although he hadn’t lended the topic much thought
before Draco brought it up with Snape in early December.

“Are we going to return to Spinner’s End for Christmas, Severus?” Draco asked. Harry
glanced up from a half-complete drawing of Hedwig in flight, interested.

“No - we’ll be remaining in the castle,” Snape said. “I have Head of House duties to attend to
over the holidays. We’ll dine in the Great Hall for Christmas dinner, but otherwise celebrate
the occasion amongst ourselves, I think.”

Harry looked between the two of them, and had to fight to hide his shock. He, Harry Potter,
actually had Christmas plans. The only time he’d felt this shocked in relation to a holiday
was when he’d woken up on Christmas morning two years ago to actually find presents piled
at the end of his bed.

Harry felt slightly silly that it hadn’t occurred to him earlier to ask, but Christmas was
something of a sore spot for him after years of being excluded by the Dursleys on the actual
day. He was forced to slave over the food while Dudley opened piles and piles of presents,
wondering why Father Christmas hadn’t bothered to get Harry a thing even though he’d tried
extra hard to be good this year…

Harry struggled to push away the residual sting of the memory and looked between Draco
and Snape, feeling something akin to wonder. He was actually wanted for Christmas. It made
him feel warm all over.

“Not a lot of people are staying this year, you know,” Draco said to Harry. “The whole castle
will be empty.”

Harry smiled. “It’ll be fun having it all to ourselves, I think.”

Snape gave them a slightly disapproving look but otherwise didn’t comment. Harry could tell
he was darkly imagining the sort of mischief they would be getting up to.

“And we must decorate your quarters, Severus!” Draco said excitedly.

Snape sighed loudly. “Must we?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, nodding vigorously. “We ought to have trees, and tinsel, and garland, and
lights…”

“You could definitely do with some Christmas cheer, sir,” Harry said with a smirk.
Snape simply sneered at him in return and shook his head. “Fine. Deface my quarters with
your gaudy Christmas nonsense…”

He strode towards his office, a disapproving look on his face.

“D’you reckon we could sneak a carolling suit of armour into his bedroom?” Draco
whispered.

“We can use my Invisibility Cloak,” Harry whispered back with a grin.

"I can still hear you!" Snape called, his tones stern and imposing. For some reason, his
dramatic disapproval struck Harry as truly hilarious, and he found himself dissolving into fits
of laughter with Draco. Every time they tried to stop, one would set the other off again, until
Snape threatened to double-dose them both with Calming Draughts if they didn’t stop.

The approaching holidays also brought another Hogsmeade trip, which Harry was yet again
excluded from. Ron and Hermione were very excited to do all of their Christmas shopping,
while Harry had resigned himself to a day hidden away in some quiet corner of the castle,
tucked up under his Invisibility Cloak to avoid unwanted company. He had borrowed a few
magazines and catalogues in a vain attempt to try and figure out what on earth he should buy
Snape as a Christmas present. Something potion-y? Another pair of black robes? Headphones
to block out Harry and Draco’s bickering? He was stumped.

But as Harry went off to find a place to hide away after waving goodbye to Ron and
Hermione, he found himself being yanked into an abandoned classroom by none other than
Fred and George Weasley.

“We’ve got you an early Christmas present,” George said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh?”

Fred dramatically pulled a piece of stained parchment from his cloak and placed it onto a
desk. “This, Harry, is the secret to our success.”

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” George said, “but we decided last night, your need’s greater
than ours.”

“Anyway, we know it off by heart,’ Fred added. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need
it any more.”

“And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?” Harry asked.

“A bit of old parchment!” Fred pressed a hand to his chest and closed his eyes, as if mortally
offended. “Let us explain.”
And explain they did. Harry listened with wide eyes as the twins told him the tale of how
they’d retrieved this bit of parchment all the way back in their first year and explained how to
make it work as a map. Harry stared at the little ink dots beneath the curling calligraphy
naming it ‘the Marauders Map’ with fascination.

After telling Harry about the multiple disused or dysfunctional passages, George pointed to
one particular corridor. “This one here leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We’ve used
it loads of times. And, as you might’ve noticed, the entrance is right outside this room,
through that one-eyed old crone’s hump.”

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs,” sighed George. “We owe them so much.”

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers,” Fred said
solemnly.

“Right,” George said briskly, “don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it -”

“- or anyone can read it,” Fred warned.

“Just tap it again and say, ‘Mischief managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

“So, young Harry,” Fred said in a rather pompous voice, “mind you behave yourself.”

“See you in Honeydukes!” George said cheerfully.

The two of them withdrew from the disused classroom, leaving Harry to stare in wonder at
the ink dots moving around on the map before him. He watched Filch pacing back and forth
in the Entrance Hall and thought hard. He wouldn’t even have to go past the Dementors this
way… he could go right through the tunnel under Honeydukes and join the others…

But then Harry saw the dot labelled Severus Snape in his office and felt his stomach clench.
If Snape knew he had disobeyed him and attempted to go into Hogsmeade, then Sirius Black
wouldn’t be a problem; he’d murder Harry himself.

But how would Sirius Black even know Harry was in Hogsmeade? There would be dozens of
people around - he wouldn’t dare show his face, would he? And besides, Harry would be
under the cloak! Black wouldn’t even be able to see him, even if he actually was there!
Nothing about this was actually dangerous - Snape was just paranoid.

But if Snape found out, somehow…

He wouldn’t, Harry assured himself. Snape had a long day of brewing ahead of him - they’d
discussed it that morning, since Harry had turned down Snape’s offer for company, wanting
to be alone. It was all lined up perfectly - he even had the Invisibility Cloak tucked under his
robes. There was no way anybody would find out - he’d only let Ron and Hermione see him,
and they certainly wouldn’t tell…

Harry very abruptly stuffed the map into his robes and hurried out of the classroom to the
statue of the one-eyed witch. After carefully examining the corridor for potential witnesses
and consulting the map to see what he should do, Harry tapped the statue with his wand and
whispered, “Dissendium!”

The statue slid open just enough to reveal a small hole that Harry could squeeze through. He
slid down a long chute and landed in a pitch black tunnel. Harry lit his wand, wiped the map
clear, and began to walk. He was practically vibrating with excitement and anticipation. This
was amazing! He could go to and from Hogsmeade without anyone finding out, so he
wouldn’t feel so glum and left out, and Snape would never have to know.

There was a sudden rush of guilt, which Harry did his best to push it away. It was good in the
long run for him and Snape, Harry told himself. They kept having terse discussions and all-
out arguments when it came to Hogsmeade, and this way, he could get his Hogsmeade fix
and be less upset by the forced exclusion!

But this is wrong, a niggling little voice in the back of his head whispered. You know he’s just
trying to protect you, and after everything he’s done for you, this is a sorry way to repay
him…

But Harry would be perfectly safe…

So why couldn’t he put those guilty thoughts out of his mind?

Harry had managed to just about put most of his thoughts of Snape to one side when the
tunnel finally started to even out. He climbed what felt like hundreds of steps until his head
smacked into something hard - a trapdoor.

Harry cautiously poked his head through it and realised he was in a cellar, full of crates and
boxes. After carefully checking he was alone, Harry hoisted himself out of the trapdoor,
carefully wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around himself, and slipped through the half-open
door.

Harry’s face split into a grin as he took in the sights before him. Dozens of students packed
the aisles, which were stuffed with all sorts of fun and exciting sweets from Fizzing
Whizzbees to Pepper Imps. Harry weaved his way through the crowd, taking care not to
bump into anyone, until he found Ron and Hermione bickering over a display of blood-
flavoured lollipops.

“...can’t get him Cockroach Clusters, Ron!” she said exasperatedly.

“Why not? Malfoy could love them, you don’t know…”

“If we’re going to get him presents, then we should do it properly,” Hermione said firmly.

Harry’s jaw dropped. Ron and Hermione were buying Draco gifts? Had he gone through the
looking glass somewhere along that tunnel?

Ron was giving Hermione a sceptical look. “I don’t know who you think you are to lecture
me about sweets Malfoy would like since you’re buying him Toothflossing Stringmints!”

“They’re tasty!” Hermione protested.

“They stab your gums!”

“Maybe if you actually brushed your teeth properly your gums wouldn’t start hurting so
easily,” Hermione said sniffily.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Ron grumbled. “Just get him a block of chocolate, why don’t
you?” He craned his neck and scanned the selection with a frown. “But I don’t know what
one of these to pick, either…”

“He’s a fan of the salted caramel,” Harry said, sharply prodding Ron’s shoulder through the
cloak.

Ron let out a rather undignified shriek, startling a nearby group of Hufflepuff fifth-years, and
stared around Honeydukes wildly. “Who’s there?!”

“It’s me,” Harry whispered, pulling the hood of the cloak back enough so that Ron and
Hermione could see his face.

Hermione gasped and pressed her gloved hands to her mouth. “Harry? What - how on earth
-”

“Did you learn to Apparate?” Ron asked excitedly.

Harry quickly filled them in on the details of the Marauders Map. Ron immediately became
outraged.

“I can’t believe Fred and George didn’t give it to me! I’m their brother!”

“But Harry isn’t going to keep it!” Hermione said. “He’s going to hand it in to Professor
McGonagall, aren’t you, Harry?”

Harry scoffed. “No way! Besides, if I hand it in, I’ll have to say where I got it! Filch would
know Fred and George nicked it!”

“But what about Sirius Black?” Hermione hissed. “He could be using one of the passages on
that map to get into the castle! The teachers have got to know!”

“He can’t be getting in through a passage,” Harry said quickly. “There are seven secret
tunnels on the map, right? Fred and George reckon Filch already knows about four of them.
And the other three - one of them’s caved in, so no one can get through it. One of them’s got
the Whomping Willow planted over the entrance, so you can’t get out of it. And the one I just
came through - well - it’s really hard to see the entrance to it down in the cellar, so unless he
knew it was there…”

Some of Harry’s excitement died away. What if Black did know the passage was there? It
would be really irresponsible of him to keep this secret if that was possible…

But Ron quickly pointed to a notice pasted on the inside of the sweetshop door, announcing
nightly Dementor patrols of Hogsmeade until further notice. “See? There’s no way he could
get in through here! It’s fine, Hermione!”
“Yes, but -” Hermione pressed her lips together, still clearly trying to find another problem.
“Look, Harry still shouldn’t be coming into Hogsmeade, he hasn’t got a signed form! If
anyone finds out, he’ll be in so much trouble! Professor Snape would be furious if he knew,
Harry!”

He grimaced at the reminder of Snape, and more of the guilty came flooding back,
accompanied by no small amount of fear. If the man even got a hint that Harry had done this,
he’d be so unbearably furious…

But it was a risk worth taking, in Harry’s opinion. Honeydukes was fabulous, after all. Who
knew what the rest of the village held in store?

“He’s not going to find out unless someone reports me,” Harry said firmly. “You wouldn’t,
would you?”

“Well - well no, but -”

“He’s even under the cloak, Hermione!” Ron added insistently. “Black won’t see him, and
neither will the teachers! It’s fine!”

Hermione still looked anxious, but before she could speak, Ron began pointing out the
various sweets he wanted Harry to try, cutting off any further protests.

After Ron and Hermione paid for their items, they began to show Harry around the various
sights of the village, although it was rather difficult for them to actually go anywhere in the
snowstorm. The blizzard was also rendering Harry’s Invisibility Cloak a lot less useful than
usual. After all, just because nobody could see Harry didn’t mean he wasn’t able to be
touched, including by the flurries of snowflakes which kept catching on the surface of his
cloak. Random chunks of snow floating in the air was obviously quite suspicious, so Ron and
Hermione had to thoroughly brush him down in a sheltered alleyway so they could go into
Zonkos without attracting suspicion. While they sorted it out, Harry recognised a familiar
head of blonde hair standing opposite to the joke shop, struggling with some sort of odd
gadget. It was Draco. An idea suddenly came to him.

“Hang back a second,” Harry whispered, shuffling out of the alleyway and crouching down
to pick up a handful of snow.

“Harry, what are you -”

He crept in Draco’s direction under the cloak, ignoring Hermione’s question, and smirked.
Once he was close enough to act, Harry pounced.

“Boo!” He yanked on the back of Draco’s robes and shoved the snow down his back. Draco
let out a loud yelp, while Harry stumbled backwards, trying not to laugh audibly.

“Who’s there?” he hissed, head turning around wildly.

Harry just kept laughing to himself and ran back around the corner to Ron and Hermione,
who had watched the whole thing. Ron was doubled over with laughter, while Hermione
looked worried.

“Harry!” she scolded. “You need to be more careful!”

“Oh, don’t worry. He didn’t see me!” Harry said, his face aching from smiling so hard.

“Even if he did, that would be so worth it!” Ron chucked. “His face! You two act just like my
brothers, you know.”

“What do you mean by that?” Harry laughed.

“Fred and George do that every winter,” Ron said. “It used to drive Charlie spare. One year,
he used a spell to stick their tongues to a lamp post in the village and left them there for hours
as revenge. Mum went ballistic when she couldn’t find them anywhere!”

“I’d better watch out, then,” Harry said. “That sounds exactly like something Draco would do
to get me back if he finds out…”

“Harry, your cloak’s covered in snow again!” Hermione complained, brushing him down
with more force than was strictly necessary. “We just wiped it off!”

“Since it’s so hard to keep you invisible, should we just run into the Three Broomsticks
instead and get a drink to warm up?” Ron suggested, rubbing his hands together. “I’m bloody
freezing. We can do Zonko’s in a bit.”

“Sure.”

They hurried across the road and entered the crowded inn. It was packed with people, but
Harry, Ron and Hermione managed to nab a table in between the crackling fire and a large,
splendid Christmas tree. Since it was so crowded, Harry shed his cloak, leaving it in a silvery,
damp clump around his waist. While Ron went over to the bar to order drinks for them, Harry
turned to Hermione curiously.

“So what’s with you two buying Draco gifts?”

“Oh - well, Ron and I thought it would just be a nice thing to do,” she explained. “I… well, I
do feel a bit bad for not accepting his apology back in September, now. After he tried to help
you during the match, and after we saw how he was defending you from the Slytherins, I
think I’ve really seen a different side to Malfoy. I thought Ron and I could offer a bit of an
olive branch, so he knows there’s not any bad blood between us now.”

“That’s brilliant,” Harry said. He grinned. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Besides, you can’t go
wrong with chocolate… or Toothflossing Stringmints, I suppose.”

Hermione laughed.

Ron returned to their table, carrying three brimming tankards of Butterbeer which he
distributed amongst them.

“Happy Christmas!” Ron said cheerfully, raising his tankard.

Harry took a long gulp, and suddenly remembered a long-ago conversation with Draco at
Spinner’s End where he’d excitedly told Harry about Butterbeer, claiming it to be the greatest
drink ever invented. At the time, Harry had doubted him, but he now knew Draco hadn’t been
exaggerating in the slightest. It was delicious, sugary, and warmed Harry to the tips of his
toes.

He was just about to take another sip when an icy breeze ruffled his hair; the pub’s door had
opened. Harry had just enough time to register the signature lime-green bowler hat of
Minister Fudge when Ron and Hermione both reached over and firmly shoved him under the
table. Harry snatched his Invisibility Cloak off the chair and hurriedly threw it over himself
but remained crouched while Minister Fudge, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall and Professor
Flitwick took seats at the table right by them.

As the four of them were joined by Madam Rosmerta, Harry felt his heart pounding in his
throat. That had been a dangerously close call. If he’d been caught by any of them out in
Hogsmeade, the trouble would be unimaginable. Harry really needed to sneak out of the pub
when he had the chance…

But moments before he could crawl out from beneath the table, Madam Rosmerta said the
words that changed everything.

“Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here - ooh,
they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”

Harry made a choking noise, and Ron kicked him. Harry stopped trying to get out from
beneath the table and remained crouched in place, listening. His father had been friends with
Sirius Black?! How had nobody ever ended up mentioning that to him before?

And as the conversation continued, Harry decided it couldn’t hurt to stay for a few more
minutes and listen in. He wanted to find out more about what they knew, anyway…

But the more he heard, the more it made Harry wish he’d escaped the pub while he had the
chance.

“You’d have thought Black and Potter were brothers! Inseparable!”

“...Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school.
Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry -
Harry has no idea, of course.”

“You-Know-Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best
chance was the Fidelius Charm - an immensely complicated spell…”

“So Black was the Potters’ Secret Keeper?”

“Naturally…”

“...Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for
You-Know-Who, and he seemed to have planned this for the moment of the Potters’ death.
But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter…”

“What if I’d given Harry to him, eh? I bet he’d’ve pitched him off the bike halfway out ter
sea. His bes’ friend’s son!”

“Unfortunately, it was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew - another of the
Potters’ friends.”

“He went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to
smithereens…”

“I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked
the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggles screaming. And Black standing there
laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him…”

“Is it true he’s mad, Minister?”

“I wish I could say that he was… I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know,
most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark, there’s no sense in
them… but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It
was unnerving…”

“Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?”

“I daresay that is his - er - eventual plan… we hope to catch him long before then, of
course…”

When the five of them at last dispersed, Harry felt cold all over. His ears were ringing
strangely, and he didn’t notice Ron or Hermione calling his name until Ron shook him. He
surfaced from beneath the table, legs weak and wobbly.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“I - I need to go,” he stammered.

“Harry - “

He pulled the cloak more tightly around himself and disappeared into the flurry of snow. His
head was pounding, his entire body was shaking, and his mind was buzzing from the
information he’d just overheard.

Why had nobody ever told him? Dumbledore, Hagrid, Mr Weasley, Professor McGonagall,
Snape. Why hadn’t Snape ever bothered to mention the fact that Harry’s parents had died
because their best friend had betrayed them?

Why had everybody kept this from Harry?

Snape definitely knew. Harry suddenly recalled their conversation from the night he'd been
upset over the Dementors - Snape had mentioned a man who had betrayed his parents'
location, hadn't he? At the time, Harry hadn't given it much thought - he'd been otherwise
occupied - but now, he realised just who Snape had been referring to. Sirius Black.

Snape had definitely known, and he'd chosen to keep it from Harry, knowing he hated secrets,
knowing that Harry had every right to know who had murdered his mother and father -

He felt so angry and upset that he thought he would be sick. Hatred and fury was coursing
through Harry, setting his blood on fire. He ground his back teeth as he marched his way
through Hogsmeade, wishing he could punch a wall or something. Anything to dissipate the
heavy weight of the outrage pounding in his chest…

Harry was so distracted that he didn't register the crunch of footsteps through snow until the
person running up behind Harry snatched the Invisibility Cloak from his body before harshly
grabbing him by the collar. Harry was whirled around and found his face mere inches away
from a truly livid Snape. He felt something inside of him wither. How had Snape found out
he was here? Harry had been so careful! Nobody had seen him but Ron and Hermione!

And then, Harry finally realised what he’d overlooked. It had been so many months now that
Harry had forgotten the slight, subtle pressure of the silver bangle around his wrist.

Snape had a tracker on him.

Harry would rather face a hundred Dementors than experience the oncoming explosion of
fury Snape was surely about to unleash upon him.
 Consequences

Harry stared into Snape’s furious face and swallowed hard. His mouth was like sandpaper.
"Sir, I -"

"Not. A. Word," Snape growled. Tightening his grip on Harry's collar, he began to
unceremoniously drag Harry down a side street that led in the direction of Hogwarts. Harry
found himself feeling incredibly grateful for the raging blizzard; the poor visibility meant that
no one was around to see him being roughly hauled along by one highly aggrieved professor.

Snape did not speak - not as they exited the village, not as they hurried up the path to the
castle gates, nothing. In fact, when the man barked, “Expecto patronum!” as they approached
the Dementors guarding the castle grounds, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

The silver doe circling the two of them was surprisingly good at staving off the Dementors’
effects; it meant that Harry didn’t feel their usual draining misery whatsoever. Of course,
Harry was so terrified of what was about to happen to him that he doubted even Dementors
could make him feel worse than he already did.

Snape was actually going to kill him. This was it - he was going to completely snap, lock
Harry in the darkest Hogwarts dungeon, torture him with thumbscrews and chop him into
potions ingredients. Every now and then Harry chanced a look at the man, and every time he
deeply regretted it. Snape’s face was a livid white, grim and drawn. His eyes were narrowed,
lips pursed, and his jaw was so tense that it looked as if it could crack walnuts. His hand was
like a vice on Harry’s neck, and it seemed as though he was barely restraining himself from
reaching over and throttling Harry.

Harry wished he would start lecturing, or yelling, or anything. The silent anticipation as he
waited for Snape to come down on him was positively hellish. As they entered the castle,
Harry actually considered trying to run away from Snape - anything to get away from
whatever was about to happen to him. Still, it was all hopeless. The man’s grip was too firm
to escape, and he only released his hold on the scruff of Harry’s neck when they were inside
Snape’s office. As the door slammed shut, Harry was filled with the overwhelming certainty
that he would not be seeing the outside world again for a very, very long time.

Snape did not sit. He whirled over to his desk in a flurry of black robes and examined Harry
with narrowed, furious eyes. He folded his arms and pressed his lips into a thin, bloodless
line. Harry gulped.

Several agonising moments passed, during which Harry struggled to think of what to say or
do. He had just opened his mouth to speak - what he would say, Harry wasn’t sure of - when
Snape finally broke his silence.

“I do not force you to obey an excess of rules, Harry.” His tone was soft, practically a
whisper. Somehow, that was more terrifying than Snape shouting at him. “And the ones I do
instate have a purpose, shockingly enough. We’ve had multiple conversations about where
you are and are not allowed to be… so imagine my surprise when I checked your location
and found you were not tucked away in some corner of the castle, which you claimed was
your day’s plan when you lied to my face this morning, but in the village. Are you allowed to
visit Hogsmeade village, Harry?”

He bowed his head and didn’t respond.

“Of course, you think you’re above such petty things as rules, don’t you?” Snape’s whispers
were edging more into growls. “You wouldn’t put much stock in such things as trust and
obedience. I suppose my desire to prevent your brutal murder is just the height of cruelty,
isn’t it?”

The reference to Black banished Harry's nervous anticipation in a moment. Burning fury
replaced it as everything he'd heard in the pub came flooding right back, as well as the
memory of Snape's role in keeping it from him.

I trusted you. I trusted you, and you lied to me!

Harry swallowed hard, trying to keep a handle on his temper as Snape continued his rant.

"I see now that we oughtn't even bother to install protections!" Snape said, the volume of his
voice climbing. "Perhaps we should hand Sirius Black a detailed list of instructions directing
him on how to find you, since you're completely incapable of fulfilling any basic
requirements set in place to keep you safe! Are you truly so daft that you snuck into
Hogsmeade?! Have you a singular intelligent thought floating around inside that waste of
space you call a skull?”

"I was under the cloak!" Harry protested, his anger with Snape only growing with every
passing moment. "I was hidden!"

"Black is intimately familiar with the ins and outs of this particular cloak, as a matter of
fact!" Snape shouted, waving the Invisibility Cloak around in the air before slamming it onto
his desk. "It is not the protection you apparently think it is, which is why you should have
stayed in the castle!"

Black would be familiar with it - the Invisibility Cloak was once James Potter's. James, who
had been best mates with Sirius Black, who had been betrayed by him…

"I cannot believe you would do something this stupid!" Snape yelled. "Did you even think
this through for a moment, Harry? Did you consider how dangerous it was for no one to
know where you were? Did you contemplate the immense dangers of trying to hoodwink
Dementors, especially given your heightened reaction to them? You're a damn fool!"

Harry glowered at the jars of floating dead things on Snape's office wall, his chest heaving
with heavy, fast breaths. He was so angry that he felt like he could explode at any moment -

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" Snape shouted. "Do you have anything to say for
yourself?"
Harry felt the last bits of his restraint snap, and he shouted, "I don't know! Do you have
anything to say, Snape?!"

By now, Snape was truly apoplectic. The muscles in his jaw were practically convulsing. "It
would be very unwise to cheek me at the minute, Potter -"

"I don't care!" he yelled. "You're a liar, you know that? A stupid liar!"

The furious expression on Snape's face became tinged with confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"How could you?" Harry shouted, hands clenched into fists. "You didn't think I deserved to
know Sirius Black betrayed my parents?! Even after I told you how much I hate being lied to,
you kept lying to me about him!"

Snape winced and rested his hands on his desk. "Harry -"

"He was my dad's best friend!" Harry yelled, blood pounding in his ears, heart hammering
like a drumbeat in his chest. "And I didn't know that, and I certainly didn't know that he’s my
fucking godfather, or that he sold them out to Voldemort, because no one ever bothered to tell
me! What, did it slip your mind or something? I’m the one he did this to, and none of you
told me! What the hell is wrong with you, Snape?! I thought I could trust you!"

"Harry, calm down."

"NO!" Harry screeched, his throat raw and scratchy. "I WILL NOT CALM DOWN! YOU
SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME! SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME HE WAS BEHIND
IT, THAT HE'S THE REASON THEY'RE DEAD, AND YOU KNEW! YOU KNEW,
YOU BASTARD!"

Harry seized a jar with something purple floating in it off a shelf and in a rush of fury, threw
it as hard as he possibly could at the floor, relishing the crunch and smash of broken glass,
hoping it would ease the cresting grief in his chest. It didn't, so he drove his fist into the wall,
imagining it to be Black’s smug, mad face -

Snape was on his feet in a flash. He shot over to Harry before he knew what was happening
and grabbed Harry’s wrists in a vice-like grip. Snape pulled Harry flush against him and
encircled his arms tightly around Harry’s body so that he was pinioned.

"LET GO OF ME!" Harry yelled, trying his hardest to writhe away.

"No," Snape said firmly. His grip was far too strong for Harry to struggle out of. "You’re
going to hurt yourself."

"I DON'T CARE IF I DO!" Harry screeched. He heard something shatter nearby, but paid the
sound no mind. "HE HURT ME! HE BETRAYED THEM, HE'S THE REASON I HEAR
MY MUM DYING EVERY TIME I GET NEAR A DEMENTOR, IT'S ALL HIS FAULT
AND I HATE HIM!"

"I know," Snape said softly.

"I hate him!" Harry shouted again, even though his voice was cracking from the despairing
sob he was barely suppressing. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him -"

And now Harry had completely gone and lost it again, and tears were burning in his eyes, hot
and furious tears that he refused to let fall but couldn’t quite stop, and his shouts dissolved
into ragged gasps as he struggled not to weep fully. Fighting off Snape suddenly felt like a
herculean effort, and Harry just didn’t have it in him. He slumped backwards into Snape,
going limp, barely able to hold his own weight up on his legs. Snape's grip loosened just
enough to allow him to turn Harry around so his face was buried in Snape's robes. His arms
wrapped around Harry's shaking shoulders, keeping him close. His grip was still too firm for
Harry to escape, but there was now a comforting element to being held in a time where Harry
felt like his entire world was crumbling.

"I hate him, too," Snape said bitterly.

"He was their friend!"

"I know. I understand."

And he did. He knew Snape felt that same sense of smarting betrayal because whenever he
spoke about Lily, the grief on his face was stark and striking. He missed her, too. Harry
wondered if the pain felt the same for Snape as it did for him; a mass of jagged broken glass
in the centre of his chest that cut a little deeper every time he gasped for air. He missed his
mother, he missed his father, and Harry wanted them.

All Harry wanted was his parents, and Black had robbed him of them.

He shut his eyes as Snape continued to hold him and tried to imagine his mother or father in
Snape’s place. He tried and tried, but they just felt so far away, and it was impossible to
imagine…

But maybe this was a good enough substitute.

“Breathe, Harry,” Snape instructed, carding a hand through Harry’s hair. “You need to calm
down.”

Harry gasped for breath through the lump in his throat, and tried to focus on the soothing
motion of Snape’s hand on his head to distract himself from the choking devastation. He
couldn’t work out if he was angry, or upset, or some horrid combination of both - all he knew
was that he felt awful. It seemed like every time Harry thought he understood what had
happened to his parents the rug was pulled out from under him, and he had to go through the
pain all over again.

Harry did his best to breathe, to blink back the tears in his eyes, and eventually managed to
calm himself down a little. He wasn’t going to cry over Black, he decided. That traitorous
bastard wasn’t worth his tears. He sniffled, and shook himself furiously. He needed to get it
together - he was being pathetic.
Harry tried to pull away from Snape, but his arms remained firm and unyielding. Harry
winced, and abruptly remembered why they were in this position. He’d just snuck out to
Hogsmeade, got caught, and had smashed up Snape’s office in the middle of a telling off. If
he’d been in trouble before, Harry was certainly in for it now…

Snape ignored the movement at first, but when Harry tried more insistently to get away, he
looked down and arched an eyebrow. “If I let go, are you going to control yourself?”

Harry felt his cheeks burn. “Er - yeah…”

“I know what you heard upset you, but you do not intentionally destroy my belongings, and
you certainly do not start punching things,” Snape said sternly. “You cannot allow your
temper to get away from you like that - it’s dangerous. You’ll injure yourself.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered.

Snape finally released him from the hold, but he quickly gripped Harry’s shoulder with one
hand. It was probably a good idea; Harry’s heart was hammering in his chest, and all he
wanted to do was run away and hide. Snape reached into his pocket with his free hand and
pulled out a Calming Draught, which he held in front of Harry. He would normally try to
brush Snape off when he came out with potions, but he still felt very raw and emotional, so
drank the Calming Draught without complaint. While the potion’s effects settled over him,
Snape took the hand that Harry had punched the wall with and carefully looked it over for
injuries. Something about that gesture - the fact that Snape still cared if Harry was hurt, even
after what he’d done - made his throat tighten.

“What you heard about Black is obviously distressing, but we still need to address how you
came to find this information.” Snape’s eyes looked oddly sympathetic, but his tone was stern
again. He whirled his wand and conjured up a wooden chair in the corner of his office, facing
the wall. He then proceeded to lead Harry over to it and firmly press him down so he was
seated.

Harry craned his neck to look at Snape. He felt confused, and slightly scared. “What are you
doing?”

“You are going to sit here, properly calm yourself down, and come up with a list of reasons
why what you did today was a very, very bad idea,” Snape said in a low, firm voice. “I want
at least four points.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“You are obviously in desperate need of some time to reflect on the consequences of your
actions,” Snape said, crossing his arms. “As you are clearly incapable of thinking things
through, perhaps this will provide you with a very necessary opportunity to learn how to
control your impulses. We will discuss Black later, if you have further questions regarding
what you discovered.”

He swept away, leaving a grimacing Harry to stare at the cobbled walls of Snape’s office,
cheeks burning with embarrassment at the childish punishment. He didn’t dare protest,
though, since he was in such a massive heap of trouble. Sneaking off to Hogsmeade and
smashing up Snape’s things tended to have that effect. He was obviously still furious with
Harry, even though the row they’d been having had tampered itself down slightly after he’d
gone to pieces like that… Harry couldn’t even begin to imagine the punishments he was
about to be subjected to.

Although being stuck to a chair in a corner - Harry quickly realised he was under the
influence of a Sticking Charm when he tried to shift in his seat and couldn’t move - well, it
was certainly a miserable punishment in and of itself. Nothing to do but to stare at the walls
and… and contemplate his actions, or whatever it was Snape wanted Harry to do. He was not
used to that. The Dursleys were more ‘smack Harry around’ type disciplinarians, and the
cupboard confinement was so they didn’t have to look at him or deal with him, not so Harry
could engage in any sort of reflection on his bad behaviour.

He didn’t think Snape had stuck him here so he was out of sight and out of mind, though. He
could still hear Snape shifting around in the background - there were muttered spells, and the
sounds of broken glass tinkling. Harry abruptly remembered that he’d smashed that jar, and
he was fairly certain he’d also broken some things with a wave of accidental magic. Harry
tensed on instinct, but forced himself to relax. He took a few breaths in through gritted teeth.
Snape was not going to flip out and hit him for accidental magic, Harry reminded himself.
The Dursleys would, but that was not normal behaviour. He remembered what Snape had told
him: accidental magic was expected in times of emotional distress, and he couldn’t control it.
He was not in trouble - for that, at least…

It sounded like Snape had taken a seat at his desk. Papers rustled. Harry sighed, his shoulders
slumping. He was not enjoying this. Even sitting around and feeling grumpy while Snape told
him off would be better than staring at a blank wall with nothing to do…

Considering how ticked off Snape was, though, Harry would still be getting a classic lecture
if he knew anything about the man. How great.

So. Contemplating. Harry couldn’t really think of four reasons - he only had one. Black. He
wasn’t allowed to go to Hogsmeade because Sirius Black, who was apparently his bloody
godfather, could pop out and finish him off. Harry swallowed hard, trying to ignore the anger
coursing through him. The Calming Draught did help - he felt less like smashing things now,
at the very least - but that didn’t mean Harry wasn’t furious about what Black had done to
him and his family, or that he wasn’t still very cross with Snape for not telling him that Black
was his evil godfather. Snape had an annoying tendency to keep things from Harry because
he thought they’d be… upsetting, or whatever. Harry didn’t like that.

Although, he thought reluctantly, maybe Snape had a half-decent reason for doing so. Finding
out about Black had sent him into something of a meltdown just then, and what did Harry
knowing even achieve? It just meant he felt even worse about his parents being dead. It also
meant he really, really wanted to hunt down Black and get revenge. Exactly what everyone
had been worried about Harry doing.

He hated when Snape had a point.

Harry ground his teeth and stared harder at the misshapen cobblestones. He didn’t know why
Snape had decided on four reasons. It seemed like a very arbitrary number, especially since
there was obviously just the one reason why he wasn’t allowed to go to Hogsmeade: Sirius
Black. Why else was there a problem?

Harry supposed it was because Snape had told him to do something and he’d deliberately
disobeyed, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to be in the village. That was why he
shouldn’t have done it. Maybe Snape saw it as a disrespect thing, so Harry should have
stayed in the castle because he respected Snape’s authority?

And no one had known where he was, either. There was probably some teacher-related
reason for there to be all the permission slips, as well as everyone having to get their name
ticked off by Filch as they went to the village. It was so the staff knew where they were. If
Harry had collapsed in Hogsmeade or something then no one would have known where to
find him, especially since he was hidden under the Invisibility Cloak. He supposed that also
wasn’t good…

Why else?

It took Harry a good few minutes to think it up: the Dementors. They had featured in Snape’s
rant. He thought Harry had snuck out through the front gates to get to Hogsmeade - an
assumption Harry wasn’t going to correct, because he’d quite like to keep ahold of the
Marauders Map - and that meant going past the Dementors. And Harry fainted whenever he
got too close to one, so Snape was probably worried he could have come into contact with
one and lost consciousness alone, in the snow, under the cloak.

He’d probably been very worried about Harry when he worked out where he was from the
tracker. Guilt squirmed in Harry’s stomach. He still wasn’t used to having people worry about
him, so it was a hard thing to remember to account for. Snape was always paranoid about
Black, so he’d probably been scared that Harry would be blown up at any moment while he
was out of school.

That wasn’t even including the Dementors. They both knew how bad the effect they had on
Harry was. When he’d been a crying wreck the other week over the Dementors and what he’d
heard, Snape had been the one to comfort him, after all. He probably hadn’t liked seeing
Harry like that. Because… because he cared about Harry’s wellbeing, so seeing him upset
had to be unpleasant. He’d actually said himself how horrible it was to see Harry struggling
without being able to help, and Snape never talked about things like feelings, so he must have
really felt bad about the whole situation. Then, Harry went and did something like this. It
must feel like a complete slap in the face…

Harry’s shoulders slumped, and he bit down on his lip. He didn’t feel angry anymore - he felt
deeply, horribly ashamed. As much as he wanted to go into Hogsmeade like everybody else,
he shouldn’t have taken matters into his own hands. He had been really, really stupid.

Just when Harry thought he couldn’t bear the weight of his guilty thoughts anymore, a hand
landed on his shoulder. Harry felt the Sticking Charm release, and he was tugged to his feet
and turned around. It was Snape, whose face had the relatively blank, slack look that
signalled the use of Occlumency. It suddenly occurred to Harry that the punishment he’d just
endured might have been so Snape could also have a minute to get control of himself and
calm down, too.

“Well? I assume you have your reasons?”

“Er - yeah.” Harry stared at the floor, feeling embarrassed and ashamed.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, please.”

Harry reluctantly lifted his gaze to meet Snape’s eyes, feeling very uncomfortable. Snape
raised his eyebrows. “Reasons?”

“I shouldn’t have gone because of Black,” Harry muttered.

“And?”

This was the worst. Harry sighed, feeling more and more embarrassed with every passing
second. He felt like a scolded child.

“Because you told me not to, and I should have done as you said,” Harry muttered. "And
because none of the professors knew where I was, which is bad. Um… oh, and because of the
Dementors, since I have a bad reaction to them and all. I’m really sorry, sir. I… I know it was
stupid.”

“You need to think before you act,” Snape said sternly. “And you need to treat your health
and life with the care it merits, Harry. Sirius Black is a very dangerous man.

“I know,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around himself. The guilt was gnawing at the
insides, to the point where he felt like he had a horrible stomach ache.

“Since I can’t trust you to behave yourself, you’re not to leave my sight for the foreseeable
future,” Snape said. “If you’re going to act like a heedless child when unsupervised, then I
don’t want you off on your own. You’re confined to these quarters for the remainder of the
Christmas holidays unless I am around to accompany you out, and while you’re inside you
will complete whatever tasks I assign to you in my laboratory.”

Harry winced. He was probably going to be gutting Flobberworms and getting lectured well
into January, then… and not leaving Snape’s sight? What a nightmare!

Snape noticed his reaction and scowled. “You ought to consider yourself very lucky that’s all
you’re dealing with - I’d have sent any other student directly to the Headmaster for breaking
the school rules so flagrantly!”

“Sorry,” Harry said miserably. The note of disappointment in Snape’s voice was making him
feel far more awful than any amount of anger could.

“You ought to be,” Snape said sternly. “Because of all this, I am also going to confiscate your
Invisibility Cloak.”

A surge of anger rose in Harry. “What? No! You can’t do that!”

Snape’s eyes flashed. “I can, and I will. I knew it was a bad idea from the start to allow you
to keep it after you used it to run away in August, and this shows that you obviously cannot
be trusted to use it appropriately -”

“It’s all I have of my dad!” Harry shouted. “I don’t have anything else, you can’t take it away
from me!”

Snape paused for a moment, a clear conflict of emotions flitting over his face. After several
moments, he tightly nodded to himself. “Then I will keep it in my room and show you where
it is, so you can come and see it as you please if it’s genuinely that important to you. Do not
abuse that privilege and steal it away to use, or I will take it away and put it somewhere you
won’t find until you’re of age. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded vigorously. That was a far better compromise than he’d been expecting. It did
mean he couldn’t sneak out of Snape’s quarters at night if the urge struck him, but at least he
wasn’t losing the only bit of James Potter he had this way…

Snape suddenly reached out a hand and placed it on Harry’s shoulder. His face turned from
stern to sympathetic. “I… I regret that you had to find out about Black this way.”

Harry swallowed, and nodded.

“I simply wished to protect you, Harry,” Snape said quietly. “I was concerned you might
react - well…”

Exactly like I did, Harry thought with a grimace. He sort of wanted to stay angry at Snape,
but couldn’t manage it properly. As much as Harry hated being lied to, he thought he sort of
lost the right to be cross when he’d reacted so explosively to the truth, which was exactly
what Snape must have been worried about. And, in a way, it was sort of nice to have someone
worry about preserving his feelings. Harry had never experienced that before.

“And you’re not going to do anything stupid with this newfound knowledge, are you?” Snape
squeezed Harry’s shoulder sharply, his fingers digging in. A warning.

Harry bit his lip and looked away, not wanting to lie. Snape seized his jaw and pulled Harry’s
face up so he was forced to look into the man’s eyes. “Harry. Answer me.”

“Azkaban isn’t a punishment for him.” Harry jutted his chin out. “I heard Fudge talking. He
doesn’t get affected by the Dementors like normal people do - he doesn’t have to hear her -”

“Black is not worth dying for, and let me be clear - if he finds you, he will kill you easily,”
Snape said bluntly. “Promise me that you’re not going to go after him, Harry. No matter how
angry you are, no matter how entitled you are to revenge, do not take matters into your own
hands. Give me your word.”

Harry almost refused on principle, but Snape’s face looked oddly pained, and so worried, and
as annoyed as Harry still was with the man, he hated that. He didn’t want Snape to worry
about him…
“I promise,” he said reluctantly.

“I trust you,” Snape said, finally dropping his hand. “Do not break my trust once again, or I
will be sorely disappointed.”

He began to walk through to his quarters without another word, and Harry followed,
scowling. Trust Snape to whip out the emotional blackmail…

Snape quickly made his way through the living room and into his bedroom, where Harry had
never been before. It was a fair bit larger than Harry’s bedroom, and filled with bookshelves
and a few intricate-looking tapestries. Snape led Harry to his wardrobe and opened it. It was
filled with at least a dozen pairs of black robes, to Harry’s amusement.

Snape took the Invisibility Cloak out, folded it deftly and placed it on the top shelf of his
wardrobe. “You can come and get it as you wish, but keep it in this room. I will be checking.”

“Since when am I allowed in here?”

“I see no issue with it, unless you take it upon yourself to rifle through my drawers.”

Harry was now very curious as to what Snape kept in his drawers, but nodded his agreement
not to anyway.

“We’ll eat dinner down here tonight, since you’re grounded to my quarters,” Snape said.

Harry sighed. He’d really wanted to go to the Great Hall and see his friends after running off
like that - they were probably really worried about him. It was the last day before the
holidays, too! He wasn’t going to get to tell them goodbye! Still, considering how much
trouble he was in, Harry didn’t dare ask Snape if he could seek Ron and Hermione out. He
supposed he could always write to them…

Except he couldn’t get to the Owlery. Harry grimaced.

He made to go out of the door, but Snape remained in the way. He looked hesitant.

“Sir?”

Snape watched him closely for several moments. “Harry, if I ever encounter Black… I will
make sure he is punished. Personally.”

Harry couldn’t resist a shudder. Snape’s eyes had gone dark and furious, filled with a
dangerous sort of fire that Harry instinctively shied away from. No disobeyed rule or cheeky
remark could ever make Snape look this angry, Harry thought. There was only one way to
describe his expression: murderous.

And in that moment, Harry knew that if Snape ever found Black, he’d kill him.

Harry didn’t know if he wanted Black dead, precisely - he didn’t know what he wanted,
really. All he wanted was something, some sort of proper punishment. He might not be able
to get justice for himself, but if Snape did it for Harry…
“I promise you, I will avenge her. Them.” Snape’s face grew pained. “Do not place the
burden of murder on your own conscience.”

“What about your conscience?”

“Do not feel the need to concern yourself with such things.” Snape looked away from Harry,
who found his eyes darting down to Snape’s left forearm. Always kept hidden. Bearing the
Dark Mark.

Severus was a Death Eater. Draco’s words from last month echoed in Harry’s mind. He
knows how to fight dirty, the same way Black would. He’s more willing to cross some moral
lines.

Harry found himself suddenly wondering just what Snape had done as a Death Eater, while
the other part of him instinctively shied away from such questions. He knew the answers
would disturb him greatly, and that scared Harry. He didn’t want to taint his image of Snape -
he didn’t know if he could bear it.

“I really do hate him,” Harry said again, hugging himself with his arms. “How could a person
betray their friend like that?”

A look of dark and twisted pain crossed Snape’s face. He pressed his lips together and stared
at the wall, not responding to Harry’s question. Something about his reaction felt off, but
Harry couldn’t put a finger on why. Well, it wasn’t like there was an answer to why people
did such things…

“Er - I’m gonna go change,” Harry said, gesturing to himself. His clothes were damp and
cold, soaked with half-melted snow.

Snape shook himself, and his face lost some tension. “Wise - you must be freezing. Door
open once you’re done, please.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Come on, why? What, do you think I’m going to tunnel through
the wall to Hogsmeade or something?”

“Harry, you have quite frankly destroyed any modicum of trust I had in you, so I cannot
possibly fathom what you’ll do unsupervised,” Snape said icily. “And seeing as you just lost
a fist fight with my office wall, you’ll forgive me for being the slightest bit worried about
what unhealthy coping mechanisms you will choose to employ next. It is abundantly clear
that I need to keep an eye on you right now.”

Harry felt something in his chest twinge painfully, and the shame rose again, hot and
choking. Snape couldn't trust him. That made Harry feel a million times worse than any
shouting match could…

“If you behave with the impulse control of a toddler, then I will treat you like one,” Snape
said coolly. “Independence is a privilege, one which you have lost today. I’m very
disappointed in you, Harry.”
He would have preferred it if Snape struck him. The words stung worse than any slap, that
much was certain. Harry hugged his midsection and stared at the floor.

“I - I really am sorry,” he said softly. “Honest. I didn’t mean - I just… I feel so left out when
everyone gets to go and I don’t.”

“And I understand that must be unpleasant, but it’s just not safe,” Snape stressed. “He broke
into the castle barely a month ago, Harry; we know he’s in the area, and we know he’s after
you. I also know that you understand exactly why I’ve put these rules in place, so you don’t
get to disobey me just because you don’t like them.”

“It's not fair,” Harry muttered.

“Life isn't fair,” Snape said bluntly. “Believe me, I would also prefer it if a homicidal maniac
wasn’t after you, but as this is the situation we find ourselves in, I must act accordingly. That
includes implementing consequences for you disobeying me, as much as you may dislike it.”

“I'm sorry.” Harry didn't know what else to say. He squeezed his eyes shut - they were
prickling with a horrid dampness, and he didn’t want Snape to see.

Snape sighed. “I know you are. Go and change now, before you catch your death.”

Harry nodded and took himself off to his room, where he quickly changed into non-snowy
clothes. He reluctantly opened the door a smidge, then scowled as it flew open fully. Snape
really meant it when he said he wanted Harry under constant supervision, apparently.

I’m very disappointed in you.

Harry, struggling very hard against the dark thoughts at the edge of his mind that were telling
him Snape hated him forever now, sat cross-legged on the floor and took out his photo album.
He flicked through the pictures of his smiling parents, before coming to a halt at the one of
their wedding day. The laughing man with chin-length black hair and smiling eyes at last had
a name. Sirius Black.

Hatred rose in Harry, hot and choking. Had Black been working for You-Know-Who even
here? Had he stood at James’ side at the wedding knowing he was going to betray his best
friends? If he hadn’t, what had changed? What made him go bad?

He stared at the photo for a very long time, almost entranced. He was so occupied with his
own thoughts that he didn’t notice Draco had walked in until the other boy was practically on
top of him.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

Harry scowled at his unbearably smug tone. “Snape told you?”

Draco shrugged. “I put it together. Granger and Weasley kept following me around and
asking if I’d seen you on the way back to the castle, Severus had his angry face on when I got
down here, and you look miserable. What did you do?”
“Snuck into Hogsmeade,” Harry admitted reluctantly.

Draco looked a mixture of horrified and thrilled. "Merlin's beard, you have balls!"

"It was stupid," Harry muttered, setting the photo album to one side and wrapping his arms
around his knees. "I'm in so much trouble…”

Draco's excited expression faded, to be replaced by a look of worry. His eyes flicked to the
open album. "Those are your parents?"

"Yeah."

Draco padded through the room and settled down at the foot of his bed next to Harry. He
looked at the wedding photo closely. "They look happy."

"Yeah." Harry stared at his knees, feeling thoroughly miserable. "And see their best man?
Sirius bloody Black. Apparently, he sold them out to Voldemort, which no one bothered to
tell me…"

A strange flurry of emotions flitted across Draco's face. He bit his lip anxiously, but didn't
look nearly as surprised as Harry would have expected. He stared at Draco suspiciously, and
several things abruptly fell into place.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Draco hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. A rush of outrage struck Harry.

“And you didn’t tell me?!” he said angrily. “What sort of friend are you? I had a right to
know!”

“I couldn’t!”

“Why?” Harry demanded. “I would have told you if we were in the same position! How
could you lie to me like that?!”

“I didn’t tell you because Severus forced me to keep it secret!” Draco said, voice pained. “He
told me you might go after Black if you found out, and it would be my responsibility for
telling you!”

“Oh.” Harry winced, some of his anger dying away. Draco looked incredibly anxious.

“You aren’t going to try and find him, right?” he whispered.

Harry shook his head. “Snape made me promise not to.”

Draco sighed. "Good."

Harry stayed silent for several moments, then finally admitted it. "I still wish I could make
Black pay for what he did myself. Azkaban isn't a proper punishment - the Dementors don't
even affect him, you know. He sits in his cell and does the bloody crossword! He should be
punished properly, and I wish I could do it."

Harry could hear what Ron and Hermione would say to him in response to that. It's a bad
idea, Black is too dangerous, don't do it…

Draco said none of these things. He stared at Harry and said, "I'd want to do the same thing.
You deserve revenge, after what he did to you."

Harry didn't quite think that smiling was the appropriate response to a consensus on
vengeance, but he did it anyway. It felt good to be understood.

"Just please don't go out of your way to hunt him down or something, Harry," Draco pleaded.
"He's a maniac. I… I don't want anything to happen to you."

Something twisted in Harry's chest. "I won't do anything stupid. Snape would kill me if Black
didn't manage it first, after all."

"Right."

Harry sighed and sat back against the bed, running a finger over his parents' faces. "How'd
you find out, anyway? Did Snape tell you?"

Harry couldn't help the rapidly rising feeling of bitterness that accompanied his statement. He
didn't like the idea of Snape telling Draco things about Harry's life that Harry himself didn't
know… it really bothered him for some reason.

"No. I was researching my father and what he did in the war in some old papers from the
library, and Black ended up as a footnote a fair few times, considering our unfortunate
relation," Draco explained. "Quite a few of them mentioned him betraying your parents,
which is when I went to Severus and he forced me to keep quiet. I didn't know about the
godfather thing, though. That's pretty rubbish."

"Yeah…"

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment. “You have a really shit time of things, you know
that?”

Harry grimaced. “Believe me, I know.”

Draco hesitated for a moment, then reached out a hand and squeezed Harry's shoulder.
Somehow, that little gesture helped him feel the tiniest bit better.

“Draco?” Snape called through the quarters. “A word?”

“I’ll be back," Draco said.

“You don’t have to -”

“I’ll be back,” he said firmly, getting to his feet and retreating from the room. He and Snape
began to have a quiet, murmured conversation that Harry probably could have listened in on
if he bothered to pay attention. He was too preoccupied with maudlin thoughts of his parents
and the process of repeatedly flipping through the album…

When Draco returned to the room at last, his demeanour had completely changed. His eyes
were wide, his face was ashen, and he was holding onto a piece of parchment with slightly
shaky hands.

Harry shut the album and placed it to one side, alarmed. Draco looked so grim that Harry
immediately thought someone must have died. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Draco didn’t reply. He took a seat next to Harry and passed him the letter without a word.
Harry looked down at the elegant, curling calligraphy that filled the page. Curious as to what
could have invoked such a reaction in Draco, he began to read.

Dear Draco,

I hope you are well, and that your studies at Hogwarts are proceeding nicely. While we have
never formally met, I would like to introduce myself - I am Andromeda Tonks, your mother’s
sister and your aunt.

As you are in all likelihood aware, Narcissa and I have not communicated with much
frequency over the last decade. Despite this, I would be delighted to have an opportunity to
become properly acquainted with you, if you are willing. I shall be in London on December
the twentieth, so if you are available and have the permission of your guardian, it would be
my pleasure to meet you in Toffit’s Tearoom at ten o’clock to chat.

I hope you have a pleasant Christmas holiday, and cordially anticipate your reply.

Yours sincerely,

Andromeda Tonks
 Lessons within Lessons
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“So Andromeda Tonks - this is your aunt,” Harry said slowly. “The one that you’ve never
spoken to?”

“Indeed she is,” Draco said in a hoarse voice.

“Er - do you mind me asking what happened?” Harry asked hesitantly. “You’ve never really
said specifically…”

“Of course.” Draco shook himself. “She’s a blood traitor. She ran off to marry a Muggleborn
and brought shame on the whole Black family name.”

That’s it? Harry wisely didn’t voice this thought. That would be a big deal to someone like
Narcissa Malfoy, obviously…

“So, are you going to see her?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know!” Draco said, running his hands over his face. “I don’t know what to do.
Mother never spoke to her, or even about her, but sometimes Mother told me childhood
stories - I think she always preferred Andromeda to Aunt Bella, but of course she could never
say such things bluntly, especially in front of Father…”

Harry nodded along, doing his best to make sense of Draco’s ramblings. It was rather
difficult, given that he’d never met half of these people.

“I have no family left apart from her!” Draco’s face was pained. “And - well, I don’t
particularly care about the blood traitor thing anymore, but the act of eloping alone would
bring shame to the Blacks, but what choice would she have with their beliefs? And is it a
betrayal of my mother to try and reconnect with someone who she refuses to have any sort of
contact with? Does it make me a bad son?”

“It does not.” Harry looked up and saw that Snape had materialised in his doorway. “Do not
concern yourself with what Narcissa and Lucius would think, Draco. This is between you and
your aunt - the choice to forge a connection with her is yours alone.”

Draco chewed on his lip and didn’t answer immediately. Harry tentatively reached out a hand
and squeezed Draco’s shoulder while Snape took a seat at Harry’s desk, watching the two of
them closely. His expression was carefully cleared.

“Her daughter’s nice,” Draco said abruptly. “I met her the day my parents got arrested. I
didn’t catch a first name, though; she just went by Tonks. She snuck my mother’s necklace
out of her holding cell to me. It was kind of her…”

“That is pretty nice,” Harry agreed.

“If her daughter’s nice, she probably is too,” Draco said, mainly to himself. “But what if - oh,
I just don’t know! I’ve never spoken to her before! What if it’s awkward? What if she hates
me?”

“If she hated you, she wouldn’t have written you a letter asking you out for tea,” Harry
pointed out. Snape nodded his agreement.

“But what if I say something bad?” Draco asked anxiously. “I might say something anti-
Muggle or Muggleborn, and she’s obviously not going to like that, given her connections!”

“I highly doubt Andromeda will engage you in a discussion about blood purity on your first
meeting,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow. “She is also certainly aware of the way you were
raised - a minor faux pas will not irreparably offend her.”

Draco nodded absentmindedly, his eyes darting back and forth as he reread the letter. After a
few moments of silence, he glanced over to Snape, still sitting at the desk. “What do you
think I should do?”

“This choice cannot be made for you,” he said. “This is your family, and your decision.”

“But you think I should go and meet her, don’t you?” Draco said. “I can tell you do.”

Snape paused for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve spoken with and written to Andromeda
several times since your parents’ arrests, and found her to be a pleasant woman. I see no
reason for you not to see her.”

Draco nodded and turned to Harry. “What about you?”

He hesitated for a moment, surprised that Draco would even ask him. After considering the
matter, Harry nodded firmly. “Look, if I had an aunt I didn’t know about that reached out to
me, I reckon I’d go for it. Besides, it’s just one meeting. If she’s really horrible, you can just
not talk to her again.”

“Good point,” Draco said slowly. “I… I think I’d like to try. I can go, can’t I, Severus?”

“Of course.” Snape frowned. “I would never keep you from your family, Draco. At any rate, I
was intending to make a trip into Diagon Alley to do some Christmas shopping.”

“And you’ll both come?” Draco looked over at Harry a little desperately, and he winced. He
was certain Snape wouldn’t let him out of these quarters anytime soon after everything that
had happened…

But to Harry’s shock, Snape nodded his assent. “We will both accompany you.”

“Wait, really?” Harry said.

“I can’t think of any mischief you’d manage to find under my strict supervision,” Snape
pointed out. “One outing will be fine.”
“Thank you.” Draco looked at them both gratefully. “I’m going to write her back, then. I need
some time to think on what exactly I should say…”

He withdrew from Harry’s bedroom, muttering to himself. Snape also left without a word,
and Harry was left alone to muse over his photo album again, lost in thought. Jealousy was
coursing through his bloodstream like burning poison. It wasn’t fair that Draco had an aunt
who actually cared about him and wanted to get to know him. Why didn’t Harry have any
relatives who wanted that?

Don’t be an arse, Harry told himself furiously. You should be happy for him.

And Harry was, but that didn’t help prevent the bitter tang of envy tainting it all.

After the letter, the mood in Snape’s quarters became downright depressing. Harry spent the
remainder of the day lying on his rug and staring at his photo album dejectedly, only
surfacing for a painfully quiet dinner with Snape and Draco. He had elected to stay with them
instead of going to the Great Hall to eat. Harry, who still felt ashamed, and upset, and angry,
swirled his fork through his mashed potatoes until Snape forced Harry to drink yet another
Calming Draught to settle his stomach. That coupled with the one from earlier meant that
Harry ended up numb to everything, except for the general feeling of grumpiness hanging
over him like a raincloud. He ended up going to bed early to avoid everyone, but could only
sleep fitfully.

When Snape roused him the following morning, Harry’s eyes felt horribly heavy from a lack
of proper rest. He reluctantly ate his cereal, not wanting to be forced to drink yet another
potion, all while Snape watched him closely.

"Miss Granger and Mr Weasley send their regards."

Harry dropped his spoon in shock. "What? When did you see them?"

"They showed up at my office shortly before you awoke," Snape said. "They were rather
concerned about your wellbeing."

"You could've gotten me," Harry complained.

Snape's eyebrows rose. "I wonder why I didn't fetch you, Harry. Could it have something to
do with the reason you're grounded to my quarters for the entirety of the Christmas holidays?
Is there honestly any reason you deserve to see your friends at this current moment?"

Harry winced and returned to his cornflakes, doing his best to look contrite and apologetic.

After a few moments, Snape relented slightly. “I did reassure them that you were fine. Now,
once you’ve finished eating, fetch your potions kit. We'll be spending the majority of the
morning brewing."
Harry grimaced. Snape was surely going to force him to prepare a wide variety of disgusting
ingredients, then…

But when he entered the laboratory in Snape’s quarters, Harry was surprised to see an extra
cauldron set up to the side of the room. He stared at it for a moment, then looked back at
Snape. “What’s this?”

“A cauldron.” Snape shook his head. “I’d have hoped you would be familiar with the device
following two and a half years of Potions instruction, but I suppose I shouldn’t continue to be
surprised by your ineptitude…”

“But what’s it doing here?”

“You’re in a laboratory, Harry. Where else would it be?” He rolled his eyes. “We will be
brewing today, as I informed you. Take a seat.”

Harry sat down at the workbench the cauldron was set up next to, feeling slightly confused.
“Er - why are we brewing? Isn’t there something horrid you want me to chop up?”

“I have been doing some thinking, and decided that we might as well use this time
constructively to improve your Potions skills,” Snape explained, heading over to a small
cupboard at the back of the room.

“So it’s basically Remedial Potions?” Harry complained, wrinkling his nose. “But I swear my
marks improved this year!”

“They still leave something to be desired - if you have a Potions Master for a guardian, there
is no reason not to take advantage of that,” Snape said, rummaging through the storage
cupboard. Several jars of ingredients flew out and landed on the desk next to Harry. “I expect
sme level of academic success from you, Harry. I know you’re capable of great things, with a
little push in the right direction.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that. The Dursleys hadn’t cared about academic
success of any kind from either Dudley or Harry - when Dudley inevitably failed all of his
subjects, Uncle Vernon would simply declare how he didn’t want a swotty nancy boy for a
son anyway, while Aunt Petunia bought him some sort of game or toy as a reward no matter
how bad his marks were. Harry, meanwhile, had always been average at best in school, since
it was nearly impossible to do any homework after his mountain of chores were complete, in
the dim light of his cupboard. Besides, Aunt Petunia always binned his school reports without
actually reading them. Harry, who had been told he was useless long enough for it to start
ringing true, didn’t see the point of trying in school when no one cared how he did, and when
he was doomed to fail anyway.

But Snape wasn’t like that. Snape wanted - even expected - Harry to be successful. It did
make him feel a little nervous, since Harry wasn’t used to any kind of standards, but not
much. Harry was too happy that someone cared at all to worry too much about the
expectations that came with being someone’s ward.
“Consider this exercise killing two birds with one stone,” Snape said. “I am perfectly aware
of your dislike for my subject, but I still want you to succeed at it. Therefore, I think this is
the ideal punishment, hmm? Now, you will be redoing the Dizziness Draught you attempted
for the end of term exam.”

Harry grimaced. He remembered that exam - his potion had ended up a dirty yellow instead
of the brilliant crimson it was supposed to be. Snape’s expression had been absolutely grim
that day…

He slid a textbook onto Harry’s desk and flicked his wand at it. The book fell open to the
corresponding page of instructions. “Your potion, as I assume you are aware, was dismally
ineffective. Can you identify where in the process you went wrong?”

Harry, who had completed that test almost a week ago and couldn’t entirely remember what
he’d even done, was completely stuck. He stared at the ingredients for several minutes,
hoping they’d reveal some hidden secret he’d missed, before finally admitting defeat. “I
swear I put all of this in! I can’t work it out!”

“Brew it again, then.” Snape gestured to the jars on Harry’s desk, which he suddenly realised
were the ingredients for a Dizziness Draught. “Begin.”

Harry frowned. “Aren’t you going to tell me where I went wrong last time?”

“No,” Snape said, heading over to a cauldron and workbench of his own. “Figure it out.”

Harry groaned but began to prepare his ingredients while Snape started chopping things of
his own. Harry was almost certain the man was still watching him closely, though, even if his
attention appeared to be elsewhere. Harry was frequently checking his textbook to make sure
he had all of the correct ingredients, and he sometimes noticed Snape’s unwavering gaze
focused solely on him. It was slightly unnerving, but Harry did his best to ignore it.

Halfway through the process, when Harry had nothing to do except wait for his potion to
finish simmering and hope for the best, he turned to Snape with a frown. “Sir?”

“Mmm?” Snape didn’t look up from the cauldron, forehead furrowed with concentration.

“About Draco’s aunt,” Harry said hesitantly, daring to ask the question he’d been wondering
since last night. “Do you know if it’s going to be okay when he meets with her?”

“If it went catastrophically, I would be very surprised,” Snape replied, sliding some sort of
powdered root into his cauldron. He stirred it twice and finally looked up at Harry.
“Andromeda is a very pleasant woman, and she is perfectly aware of the way Draco was
raised as she was brought up similarly. They’ll get along with time, I believe.”

“Do you know her, sir?” Harry asked.

“Not well, but I have had occasion to meet with her since becoming Draco’s guardian,”
Snape explained. “She tried to take him in after the Malfoys were arrested, but Narcissa had
specifically stipulated that wasn’t to happen, which is how he ended up with me instead of
with a blood relative. Still, she wants to be a presence in Draco’s life. Andromeda and I have
been in correspondence for several months - she’d wanted to reach out sooner, but I
suggested she wait until his new situation had settled before involving herself.”

“That’ll be nice for him.” Harry looked sadly into his bubbling cauldron. What he’d do for an
aunt who actually bothered to get to know him…

“May I make a request?” Snape said abruptly.

“Hmm?” Harry looked up again.

“Will you at last cease with the constant honorifics and simply call me Severus?” Snape
asked. “I am your guardian, you know. We don’t need to observe such stringent formalities.
Being constantly referred to as ‘sir’ in my own quarters makes me feel like nothing more
than a professor.”

“Oh. Um, okay.” Harry shifted in place, surprised by the request. “What if I slip up in class,
though?”

“I doubt you will, but if you do, I’ll make a great show of things and give you a fake
detention,” Snape said, waving a hand dismissively. “Will you at least give it a go?”

Harry nodded. “Okay, er - Severus.”

He returned to his potion, feeling slightly awkward. As he stared into the bubbling cauldron,
Harry suddenly realised that saying Severus didn’t feel as horribly unnatural as it had back in
August, when Snape had originally said they could switch to first names. At the time, the
idea of calling Snape by his first name had been absolutely horrifying, and Harry felt like he
could get in trouble at any moment for it. Now, though? Harry felt a lot more comfortable
with Snape in general, so it wasn’t as weird anymore. It was like the man said; he was
Harry’s guardian, not just his professor. Maybe Harry needed to remember that.

Moments later, disaster struck. Instead of turning to the crimson he was supposed to have, the
potion returned back to the dirty yellow of his final exam. Harry groaned. “I swear I put all
the ingredients in right! I triple checked, and everything, I’m sure I did that properly!”

“I can confirm that you did.” Snape vanished the contents of Harry’s cauldron. “Try again.”

“But I don’t know where I’m going wrong!” Harry complained. “Why won’t you just tell
me?”

“Because I am trying to teach you critical thinking as well as Potions.” Snape gestured to the
cauldron. “As I said, you put the correct ingredients in. Use that, work out where else you
might have gone wrong, and do it over again.”

Harry muttered irritably under his breath and glowered at the ingredients. “Maybe the
cauldron hates me?”

“It’s an inanimate object.”

“I knew that,” Harry grumbled, shooting a glare at Snape before returning to the ingredients.
He had to give it to Snape - this was an ingenious punishment. Very teacher-y, to make Harry
do something he hated over and over while simultaneously making him learn some sort of
lesson…

He sighed and stared at the textbook. What else could possibly be going wrong if Harry had
put all of the correct ingredients in? Maybe it was the way he was preparing the ingredients
or something? Harry knew he could sometimes be a bit sloppy with his slicing and dicing,
but that was mostly when he was under time pressure - he was going to be stuck brewing the
stupid Dizziness Draught until January if Snape had his way, so Harry might as well redo it
with careful attention to how he prepared the ingredients…

But another hour later, the Dizziness Draught wasn’t red. While the shade of yellow it had
turned was a tiny bit brighter, Harry didn’t think his ingredient preparation was the issue
here…

“What’s the problem, then?” Harry asked, turning back to Snape.

“Figure it out.” He vanished the contents of the cauldron. “Again.”

“Please, just tell me!” Harry said, slumping forwards and leaning his head against the
workbench. “This is so frustrating!”

“Use a process of elimination,” Snape said. “Rule out the things you know haven’t interfered
with the potion, and eventually you’ll discover the issue.”

“I don’t want to wait for eventually, though!” Harry complained. “This is torture!”

“You know, patience is a virtue, and it is one you certainly do not possess in any quantity,”
Snape said, raising his eyebrows. “The reason behind this so-called torture is because your
behaviour yesterday has shown me that you completely lack the ability to sit and reflect on
cause and effect. I am going to correct that, as much as you may dislike the process, and I
believe this lesson will help immensely. Start brewing again.”

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how Potions, of all things, was supposed to teach him to be less
impulsive, but he certainly wasn’t happy about it. Still, he clearly wasn’t getting out of this
until he figured out where he could be going wrong…

So it wasn’t the ingredients he was putting in, and it wasn’t the way he was preparing them…
what else could be involved that Harry was screwing up? Could he be putting them in the
cauldron in the wrong order?

One ruined potion later confirmed that he was not. Perhaps it was the amount of time he left
it on the heat?

Nope.

Harry was onto his fifth Dizziness Draught when the problem at last dawned on him. “I’m
stirring it wrong, aren’t I?”
“If I was going to tell you, I would have done so earlier,” Snape said, not even bothering to
look up from his cauldron.

Still, Harry just knew he was onto something. He was sure he was doing the prescribed five
counterclockwise and ten clockwise stirs - he’d counted them enough bloody times over the
last few hours to be certain - so Harry thought it had to be a timing thing. He stirred his
cauldron carefully and attentively, taking great care to keep his stirs even and precise and to
count things down to the exact second. Harry could have cried with relief when his potion at
last turned the deep crimson required.

Snape came to the side of his desk and nodded approvingly. “You worked it out. Well done,
Harry.”

Harry actually found himself smiling, something he didn’t think he’d ever done in a Potions
lesson before. Solving the problem after so many hours of struggling was immensely
satisfying, and Harry felt rather proud of himself.

“We’ve been at this for several hours - let’s break for lunch,” Snape said.

As they travelled out of the laboratory and into the kitchen, where food was already waiting
for them on the table, Snape turned to Harry with a thoughtful look on his face. “I have some
notes on your general stirring technique.”

“Yeah?”

“You tend to stir too quickly or unevenly,” Snape said, pulling out his chair at the kitchen
table and taking a seat. “You more or less corrected it on that last attempt, but even then you
were slightly too hasty. A more delicate potion wouldn't respond well to that.”

“Oh.” Harry sat down opposite as Draco wandered into the room. His hair was mussed, like
he’d only just woken up recently - he’d clearly had a lie in today. “I guess I’ve kind of
noticed that, because Hermione always finishes stirring after me. I sort of lose track while
I’m doing it. I don’t know how to keep it in time like she does.”

Snape’s expression turned rather wistful. “You know, your mother had the same issue.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “But I thought you said she was brilliant at Potions!”

“She was,” Snape said. “Lily had ways around it - helpful methods to maintain appropriate
rhythm. I use her technique myself for trickier potions, to help me keep track of the seconds.”

“What methods?” he asked eagerly. “Can I use them, too?”

“Yes. Lily used to hum,” Snape said. “‘Waterloo’ was her preferred song…”

After mulling over that nugget of information, Harry had an abrupt realisation. “Wait - you
just said you use her methods. You’re not humming ABBA while you brew stuff, are you?”

Snape scowled at his food but didn’t deny it. Harry grinned, delighted. “Oh my God, that’s
amazing!”
“Pull yourself together,” Snape snapped. Harry didn’t let the man’s ire put him off.

“But you’re so…you!” he exclaimed, gesturing to Snape rather giddily. “And you listen to
ABBA!”

“I do not choose to listen to them!” he said exasperatedly. “Everyone knows them, Potter!”

“I doubt that,” Harry laughed. “Hey, Draco. Do you know who ABBA are?”

Draco, who had spent the entire conversation looking quite confused, slowly shook his head.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“See?” Harry smirked. “You had to try to know them.”

“Are you forgetting that I’m a half-blood?” Snape inquired icily. “Do you not think I’d have
more reason to be exposed to Muggle music than Draco would be?”

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, but it’s not like you spent much time dancing to music in Muggle
nightclubs, is it?”

Snape didn’t bother to look at him. “There were a few occasions.”

Harry began to choke on his food. He honestly couldn’t tell if Snape was having him on or
not.

“Do make an effort to actually chew your lunch, please.” Snape looked remarkably
unimpressed as Harry hit a hand against his chest and gasped for air. “Honestly…"

“I’m going to listen out for you humming the next time you teach me Potions,” Harry
announced once he’d recovered himself.

Snape scowled at him furiously and stabbed his fork into his food with a vengeance.

Harry had been expecting his Potions punishment to continue that afternoon. Instead of
taking him back to the laboratory, though, Snape actually led Harry into his office. Strange -
maybe he wanted Harry to do lines, or something?

Snape sat down at his desk, and gestured for Harry to take a seat directly opposite. He did so
slightly nervously, while Snape examined him with an exacting gaze.

“I think this afternoon would be a good time to begin your Occlumency lessons,” he said,
lacing his fingers together.

“Wait, really?” Harry said. “Even though I’m in trouble?”

“I did promise you in November that I’d begin your lessons during the Christmas break,”
Snape reminded him. “Your behaviour does not change that.”

“Oh.” Harry had sort of expected it to change everything, in all honesty. He kept finding
himself surprised by how normal Snape was being with him today, even though Harry was in
a ton of trouble. He’d have thought Snape would be absolutely horrid to him until Harry
somehow earned back his favour.

“We are doing these lessons so you have better coping mechanisms for your emotions, if
you’ll remember,” Snape added. “Your reaction to what you discovered about Black
yesterday shows me we need to get on with that a lot more urgently than I’d anticipated. I
want you to have a better way to deal with extreme emotional upset that doesn’t require
constant Calming Draughts - it’s unsustainable.”

Harry broke eye contact and stared at the desk, certain his face was bright red. He still felt
horribly embarrassed about how spectacularly he’d lost control over Black yesterday, even
more so since Snape had seen him like that. It was strange; Harry had to maintain exacting
control over his emotions with the Dursleys, and always felt like he was walking on eggshells
around Uncle Vernon to avoid setting him off. Whenever he was with Snape, though, Harry
found himself increasingly losing more and more of his carefully constructed composure.

“Now, let’s begin with what you already know about Occlumency,” Snape prompted.

“Er - not a lot,” Harry admitted, trying to remember what Snape had told him about it in
November. “I just know it’s the thing that you do when you get really angry. It’s for
emotional control, right?”

“Yes, and no,” he said. “You’ll have mainly seen it within the context of emotional control,
but the primary purpose of Occlumency is to protect oneself from Legilimency - mental
attacks from another wizard, that is. In order to do that, however, you need to have careful
control over your thoughts, memories and emotions. While I don’t anticipate you being the
victim of a slew of Legilimency attacks, the techniques you need for Occlumency are just
generally useful when it comes to relaxing your mind in the face of emotional distress.”

“Okay.”

“Now, we’re going to start with the most basic technique - a mindscape,” Snape said. “This is
simply a place you feel calm. Picturing it will help you clear your mind of all emotions and
other memories.”

“What sort of place?” Harry asked.

“Do you recall the night I Occluded for you?”

He nodded. “It felt like I was on an ocean or something, floating around.”

“That was because I brought you into my mindscape, a place I feel calmest,” Snape said.
“And for me, that is a beach. The specific beach is a place I visited when I was young for a
holiday, which is one of my happier memories. It has a calming influence on me, and by
utilising that tranquillity I can hide my memories and emotions beneath the water from
myself and from intruders.”

“How does that work?” Harry asked curiously. The knowledge that Snape could
hypothetically extract any secrets of Harry’s still set his teeth on edge, so he’d dearly love to
be able to properly hide them. He could get away with so much more, then…

“That is a slightly more advanced technique you don’t require just yet,” Snape said. Harry
slumped back in his seat, disappointed. “We will get to it eventually as it is a rather useful
skill, but for now, you are just using Occlumency to control your emotions.”

“Okay.” Harry shifted in place. “So, do I think of a beach or something? I’ve never actually
been to one, but -”

“Then it won’t work,” Snape interrupted, holding up a hand. “Techniques that I use will not
work for you, necessarily. It needs to be a place that makes you feel calm, not me. Once you
come up with it, you will then recreate it as vividly as possible in your own head. If you’ve
never been to a beach, you won’t be able to picture it with the level of detail required for this
all to work.”

“Er - would you mind if I looked at your mindscape again?” Harry asked tentatively. “Like
we did before, if that’s even a thing you can do again. It helps me to figure out how to do
stuff if I can see what I’m meant to be doing.”

“I should be able to manage that. Try to relax,” Snape said, moving forwards so his dark gaze
filled Harry’s vision. He got his wand out of his robe pocket. “I’m going to pull you into my
mind, like we did in November, and it’ll be easier if you don’t tense, or fight me.
Legilimens.”

In moments, Harry felt like his surroundings had melted away. The darkness of the dungeons
was replaced by a warm, golden light, and Harry became aware of the sound of hissing. It
turned out to be an ocean - blue and powerful, sending a rolling rush of water up the yellow
sand to soak Harry’s ankles. His socks and shoes didn’t feel wet at all as the tide receded,
though.

Harry took in his surroundings and let out a small sigh of happiness. The place was beautiful,
like something out of a postcard. Rolling green hills turned into yellow sand, and beyond that
stood the blue-green sea, stretching all the way to the cloudless horizon. Harry had never
been somewhere that felt so utterly vast.

“This is my mindscape.”

Harry jumped at the sound of Snape’s voice, which sounded strangely distorted. It almost
seemed to reverberate and fill the whole space, which was odd, since the cool breeze tousling
Harry’s hair should have chopped his voice and carried it away without any sort of echo.

“It’s so pretty,” he said, still marvelling at his surroundings.

“I’ve had a lot of practice in maintaining it,” Snape said, taking a step forward. Harry thought
his usual black robes seemed a little out of place on a beach, but when Harry tried to picture
him in more appropriate gear, like shorts and a floral shirt, the mental image was so
horrifying that he immediately needed to banish it.

“So, where are we?”

“Cornwall,” Snape said. “Your grandparents invited me on their family holiday here when I
was thirteen.” He smirked. “Your mother and I put a crab in Petunia’s bed.”

Harry laughed. “She must have flipped!”

“There was rather a lot of screaming involved, as I recall.” Snape was still smiling to himself.
“We denied it vehemently, of course, but she certainly knew we were behind it.”

Snape began to walk along the beach, while Harry followed next to him. “Now, typically you
would not block off all outside stimuli to enter a mindscape as I have done now, but as a
beginner, it can be rather helpful to bring your full presence into the memory to nail down the
finer details. With time, you will be able to use the mindscape while concentrating on matters
outside of your head. Now, let’s return to the real world.”

The beach began to melt away, and the familiar stone walls of Snape’s office replaced it. He
himself moved back slightly, and gave Harry a thoughtful look. “Now, think about what sort
of place would work for you. Somewhere you find calming.”

“Okay.”

Harry sat back and thought hard about what sort of place would do. Places he’d felt calm…
he didn’t have a place from his childhood he could draw on, really. The best place Harry
could think of was the park in Little Whinging, but even that was tainted - Dudley and his
gang had found him there way too often for impromptu games of Harry Hunting.

The Burrow had always been a source of comfort to Harry, but he wasn’t quite sure if that
was right. He couldn’t imagine it with enough detail. Spinner’s End? No that didn’t do it,
either. There was an element of anxiety that underlaid Harry’s memories of Cokeworth
because of everything he’d been going through while living there, as well as the original
hostility between himself, Snape and Draco. It was happier than Little Whinging, certainly,
but it still wasn’t calming.

Hogwarts seemed right, to a degree, but Harry got the feeling it was too big, somehow. He
knew he needed something more precise.

In the end, the answer came to him: the Quidditch pitch. He always felt calm and relaxed
when flying and training with his team. Flying was better than anything else in the world for
him.

“You have an idea?” Snape prompted.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “The Quidditch pitch, I’m thinking.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Snape looked mildly amused. “Now, onto the Occlumency
process. Close your eyes and relax.”

Harry obeyed, and wrung his hands in his lap nervously. After a moment, he reopened his
eyes. “This feels weird.”

“Concentrate,” Snape ordered sharply. Harry squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to relax,
but he wasn’t sure what relax meant. Was he particularly tense? How did someone relax,
anyway? He couldn’t manage it now he was thinking about it. At any rate, sitting in a silent
room with his eyes closed did not relax Harry in the slightest - the opposite, in fact. He liked
being able to see what was going on around him, but being trapped within the darkness
behind his eyelids left Harry feeling uncomfortably vulnerable to attack.

“Focus on your breathing.” Snape’s voice in the silence made Harry jump. “Breathe in as
deeply as you can manage, then expel all the breath from your lungs. Count if you must, and
keep doing it.”

Harry obeyed, focusing on the way his chest felt as it rose and fell. He was concentrating so
hard on maintaining a rhythm that he managed to forget some of the weirdness of the
situation.

“Continue to breathe, but start trying to picture the Quidditch pitch,” Snape instructed.
“Imagine any details you can: the colour of the sky, the forest and the mountains in the
distance, the sound of the wind through the air, and the feeling of it on your skin. Every
detail, remember. Draw on each and every sense.”

Harry did so. He painted as vivid of a picture in his mind as possible: the crunch of the grass
beneath his feet as he walked, the wind on his face, the towering golden goalposts, the castle
and jagged mountain peaks it was nestled upon, Hagrid’s hut expelling a plume of smoke at
the edge of the forest… it was almost like he was there.

“That’s enough. Open your eyes.”

Harry did so, and noticed Snape observing him with satisfaction. “A very good first try.”

“Is this all sort of like Muggle meditation?” Harry asked.

“In a way, but the Occlumency part is linked to your magic,” Snape explained. “Shielding
thoughts and retreating into your mindscape fully requires you to tap into your powers.”

“Hmm.” Harry tilted his head. “So now what?”

“This is something of a slow process,” Snape said. “We’ll do a lesson every day to reinforce
the image of your mindscape, and in a week or so, I’ll try and draw you into it using
Legilimency. You will repeat this exercise every night before you go to sleep, in order to
build up detail and make this habit.”

“Okay, will do.” Harry smiled. “Thanks for helping me with all this.”

“There is no need to thank me.”

 But there was, Harry thought. Thank you didn’t even begin to sum up all of the things Harry
wanted to say to his guardian that he couldn't ever quite find the words for.

Chapter End Notes

To anyone waiting for Andromeda, she'll be straight in next chapter! This ended up
going a lot longer than I expected and it made more sense if it was all split in half.

Another note - these Occlumency lessons were a bit different to the ones in canon for
quite a few reasons. In my mind, OotP Snape from the books hated Harry so much by
that point in canon that he just assumed he was lazy, not that he simply didn't have the
skills to clear his mind. This Snape is more in tune with Harry and realises that Harry's
brain is a highly chaotic place so he needs more help sorting things out and relaxing.
This Occlumency also doesn't involve Snape repeatedly attacking him with Legilimency
at this point, because Harry is learning Occlumency for emotional control here, and not
for protection from Voldemort like in Ootp.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! :)

 Tea with Andromeda
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Even though Harry now spent the majority of his days being tortured with horribly difficult
Potions challenges, he found he didn’t mind the new routine of the Christmas holidays that
had formed. While brewing with Snape inevitably left Harry with a tension headache by
lunch, it was strangely satisfying when he finally managed to work out where in the process
his potions were failing.

The daily Occlumency lessons were going well, even if they could be a bit boring at times.
As much as Harry loved the Quidditch pitch, it could get a little tedious picturing it over and
over twice a day, every day. Still, Snape had promised that he’d be able to let Harry advance
soon, so that spurred him on.

The most rapidly approaching excitement Harry had awaiting him was the trip to Diagon
Alley on the twentieth of December. As Harry was quite literally locked up in a dungeon at
the moment, he was really looking forward to actually going outside and escaping the
confines of Snape’s laboratory. Harry also had a fair bit of Christmas shopping to do once he
and Snape left Draco and Andromeda to their own devices.

Harry was growing rather curious about Draco’s infamous aunt. What would Andromeda be
like? Was she nice? From the tidbits he’d put together, Harry thought she’d led quite an
interesting life, running away from Pureblood society in the way she had. Either way, Harry
really hoped that she and Draco would get along.

Draco spent the night before his meeting with Andromeda on tenterhooks, moving from room
to room and snapping at Harry and Snape if they so much as looked at him funny. He’d been
in a sullen mood ever since the letter had been delivered, and it was beginning to become
unbearable. In the end, Harry admitted defeat and locked himself up in his bedroom early to
avoid the constant sniping.

Harry was hovering in that fuzzy space of half-sleep when he heard movement. He squinted
his eyes open, and saw a golden beam of light slicing through his bedroom - someone had
opened the door. Harry's first assumption was that Snape had come in for something, but
when he looked more closely, Harry realised that it was actually Draco.

“Are you awake?” he whispered.

“Sure,” Harry muttered. He was now, at least. “What is it?”

“Er - nothing, really…”

Harry quickly realised that Draco wouldn't have come knocking if there wasn't something
going on, so he stuck an arm out from under the covers and gestured vaguely at the other boy.
“Come in, if you want.”
Draco quickly complied. He shut the door behind him, plunging both of them into darkness,
and plopped himself on Harry's bed. The lack of proper light meant he ended up also sitting
directly on top of Harry's legs.

“Hey! Watch it!” Harry complained.

“Sorry.” Draco shifted slightly, and Harry was able to free himself. He was too tired to come
up with any sort of proper conversation, so was content to lie in silence until Draco spoke.

“It's tomorrow. I'm seeing her tomorrow.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I'm scared,” Draco whispered. Harry could just about make out the anxious hunch of his
shoulders through the gloom. “All I can think about is everything that might go wrong…”

“I bet it's way less than you're expecting,” Harry said, trying his best to sound reassuring.
“And anyway, she's your aunt - she's family. It'll be fine.”

“But… well, what if she's like your aunt?” Draco said softly.

“Unlikely,” Harry said with a small sigh. “You know it’s different. Think about it - your aunt
reached out and wrote you a letter asking to meet up. And remember, she wanted to take you
in and everything after the stuff with your parents, even if she wasn’t allowed in the end. My
aunt always hated me for being dumped on her doorstep, and couldn’t get shot of me quick
enough. It’s a completely different situation - Andromeda is nothing like Petunia.”

Luckily enough for you, Harry thought bitterly.

“I suppose.” Draco lapsed into silence again. Harry felt his eyes begin to drift close…

“Mother used to cry over her,” Draco said suddenly. Harry heard him shift - he was lying
perpendicular to Harry at the end of the bed, now. “I heard her once. I must have been eight.
Andromeda had sent us a Christmas letter that day - she did it every year. And every year,
Mother would throw it into the fire. She said she didn't want anything from a filthy blood
traitor, and three hours later she's sobbing to my father about how she just wants her sister
back. I still don't get it…”

“There's nothing to get, I reckon,” Harry said honestly. “Families are weird.”

“Got that right.” Draco's breath hitched in his chest. “And here I am, going behind Mother’s
back and meeting with Andromeda, knowing how things are between them… I’m a terrible
son -”

“You can't think like that," Harry interrupted. “If your mum really cares about you, she won't
want you alienated from the one blood relative you've got."

“I… I suppose, but… I can't come back from this, Harry." Draco's voice was shaking. “If my
parents knew I was doing this tomorrow, that’s a massive line I’ve crossed. I don't know if
either of them would ever forgive me - if they'd even want anything to do with me, once
they're out of Azkaban. I'll just be another blood traitor to them. This is it - my point of no
return.”

Harry thought that Narcissa and Lucius were truly ridiculous people, then, if that was all it
would take for them to permanently cut off their son. Contacting his own aunt was really that
much of a sin? They were just plain stupid, then…

Harry also knew that it probably wasn't wise to voice such thoughts to Draco. He stayed
silent, trying to gather the right words.

“I actually think you went past the point of no return a while ago, Draco,” Harry said softly.

Draco made a choked sort of noise. "I think I did, too.” He furiously swiped his hand over his
face. “I want to do the right thing from now on, but… but it’s so hard when they’ll never
understand.”

Harry reached out and squeezed Draco’s shoulder, lost for words. Draco's breathing was
harsh and shaky for several minutes, and Harry was sure that if the lights were on, he'd see
tears. Finally, he could understand why Draco had spent the last few days being so irritable.
This meeting was really weighing on him - not just because he was seeing an aunt who he'd
heard nothing but bad things about, but because of everything that meeting represented. By
spending time with Andromeda, Draco was truly shaking off the bigoted beliefs his parents
held so dearly - beliefs they might even put over their own son. Draco was facing the
prospect of losing his parents to more than just Azkaban. It has to be gutting.

Draco sniffled, wiped his eyes again and turned to look at Harry.

“Even if everything that I'm doing means I lose my blood family… you'll be here?” Draco's
voice was thin and vulnerable in a way Harry had never heard it before.

"I will be.” Harry knew he needed to say more than that, though. This wasn’t enough. So, he
decided to say something he'd never, ever admit in the light of day.

"You know… one time, Professor McGonagall said to me that you and I are pretty much
stepbrothers now. I think… well, I think she was right about that.” He swallowed, hard. “And
I’m glad we are.”

“Stepbrothers.” Draco made a humming noise. “I always wanted a sibling, you know.”

“Same here. Dudley really didn't count.”

“Obviously,” Draco scoffed. When Harry really squinted through the gloom, he thought he
could see a smile on the other boy’s face.

“Brothers,” Draco said softly. “I like it, too.”

Harry smiled, even as a shudder of trepidation rocked through his body, one that he did his
best to shove down. Harry hadn’t dared to put any of this into words before tonight - not with
Snape, not even with himself, and certainly not with Draco. Brothers were people in a family,
and the idea of Harry being linked to Draco and Snape with that sort of tie frightened him
unlike anything else. The words made it real.

But it was real. Friendship simply didn't cut it when describing Harry and Draco’s
relationship. The shared experience of being under Snape's care, coupled with the intense
highs and lows of the last few months, the good natured bickering, the shared fun, the things
they'd endured side by side… brothers was the only word that fit properly, whether they were
related by blood or not.

Harry had an inkling that Draco might feel just as frightened by all this as Harry did himself,
but it was alright. They were frightened together. That made everything seem the slightest bit
more manageable.

Harry wasn’t sure how long he and Draco stayed in silence together - he fell asleep before the
other boy went anywhere, but Draco was gone when Harry woke up the next morning. He’d
partially convinced himself the whole thing was a dream, but Draco’s behaviour had changed
too drastically for that to be the case. He was far less short with Harry as they headed into
breakfast together, at the very least.

Still, just because he wasn’t in a particularly foul mood didn’t mean Draco was quite himself
yet. He was anxious and withdrawn; Harry didn’t think Draco’s knee stopped bouncing once
during breakfast, which he barely touched. Snape watched all of this with a frown, but didn’t
comment. Harry, who had put up with months of Snape’s nagging at mealtimes by now, felt
slightly resentful that the man wasn’t having a go at Draco for not eating when he was
anxious… double standards like that always got on his nerves.

“I want to Floo,” Draco said abruptly.

Snape frowned. “Draco, I really don’t think that’s a good idea, given -”

“I don’t care!” Draco snapped. “I’m not a coward, and I have to just get over it already!”

“There is nothing cowardly about a normal emotional response to what you’ve been
through,” Snape said sharply. “You’ve got a stressful day ahead of you, so don’t upset
yourself before it even starts.”

“I’m doing it,” Draco said. He crossed his arms and jutted his chin out, defiant expression
unwavering.

Snape sighed, and rubbed his temples. “Then you’ll take a Calming Draught before you go
through.”

Draco scowled. “I don’t need -”

“You take a Calming Draught, or we walk out of the grounds so I can Apparate you both to
Diagon Alley,” Snape interrupted. “Those are your options, and I will not be argued with.”

“Fine!” Draco snapped, shoving his chair back and jumping to his feet. “I’ll drink your stupid
potion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to do my hair.”

Harry, who couldn’t see anything wrong with Draco’s usual groomed and gelled locks,
simply shook his head with confusion as Draco left the room. He turned to Snape. “Is there
any reason he can’t use the Floo Network? What, does he just not like the ash on his fancy
clothes or something?”

“He nearly died in a house fire, as you’ll recall,” Snape said sharply.

“Er - yeah. Sorry, I didn't think.” Harry grimaced, then frowned as Snape’s words sounded
alarm bells in his mind. “Wait he nearly died? I knew he was there, but I thought his mother
got him out!”

“She did, but that doesn’t negate the danger he was in,” Snape said in a low voice. “Fiendfyre
is very dangerous Dark magic, and spreads incredibly quickly. He was covered in soot when I
picked him up from the Ministry, and suffering from the aftereffects of smoke inhalation. I
believe the experience was a lot more traumatic than he prefers to let on, so keep that in mind
as we set off.”

“I will,” Harry said.

He found himself thinking back to the incident at the Cokeworth fair all those months ago.
Seeing a bonfire had struck absolute terror in Draco, hadn’t it? Harry supposed it was similar
to the way he reacted to doing accidental magic. It was a very specific vulnerability that you
wouldn’t know about unless you were intimately involved in Harry’s life.

They set out to leave soon after, bundled up in cloaks and scarves to brave the winter chill.
The three of them gathered around the crackling fireplace, the jar of Floo powder awaiting
them on the mantelpiece above. Draco looked between the dancing flames and the jar, his
face paler than usual even after taking the Calming Draught that Snape had forced upon him.

After several long moments of inaction, Snape cleared his throat. “If you don’t -”

“I just need a minute!” Draco snapped. He squeezed his eyes shut and took several breaths.

Harry watched the tension fade from his face gradually, in a manner that reminded him
greatly of Snape when he was Occluding. Of course - Snape had taught Draco Occlumency,
too. Harry remembered Draco mentioning it to him all the way back in August. It took Draco
significantly longer than Snape to push his emotions away, but Harry supposed Snape was a
lot more experienced than Draco in that area.

When Draco finally decided to act, he was swift. He rushed forwards, grabbed a fistful of
Floo powder, and threw it into the fireplace with unnecessary vigour. “Diagon Alley!”
With barely a moment of hesitation, he jumped into the whirlwind of green flames and
vanished from view. Snape turned to Harry. “I oughtn’t leave him for long - I trust you know
the way?”

“Yep - see you there.”

“Diagon Alley.”

Snape vanished from view, while Harry stepped forwards and grabbed a handful of Floo
powder himself. He ensured he pronounced Diagon Alley properly, unlike the disastrous trip
from the Burrow where he’d ended up in Borgin and Burkes. Harry could only imagine the
sort of telling off he’d get from Snape if he wound up in Knockturn Alley…

After a nauseating journey through a maze of fireplaces, Harry landed face first onto the floor
of the Leaky Cauldron. He pushed himself up just in time to see Draco roughly shoving
Snape away from him. “I said I’m fine!”

“Very well.” Snape took a step back from Draco, who had his arms wrapped around himself
and his eyes squeezed shut. When he noticed Harry getting up from the floor, Snape frowned
and quickly hauled Harry up the rest of the way, then dusted the soot from his cloak with a
few swift pats.

Draco remained to the side for several moments, visibly anxious. Harry shifted from foot to
foot, wondering if he should do or say something to help. Before he could make up his mind,
Draco took a deep breath and reopened his eyes. “Let’s go.”

“Well done,” Snape said quietly.

Draco glared at him, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. They quickly made their way
into the back of the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley beyond, where Snape briskly led
them along the narrow street. The whole place was imbued with Christmas spirit, from the
twinkling Christmas trees in the shop windows to the bright lights strung up above. They kept
changing shape - Harry made out baubles, Christmas puddings and prancing reindeer in the
time it took them to arrive at Toffit’s Tearoom. It was a small but cheery place, with lacy
curtains adorning the frosted windows and great stacks of teapots and finger foods sitting at
every table.

As they approached, Harry reached out, squeezed Draco’s arm, and whispered, “It’s going to
be okay.”

Draco looked at him, face a mixture of gratitude and fear. The three of them pressed forwards
and through the door, and a small bell tinkled above them.

The tearoom was moderately busy. Harry scanned the room, looking for somebody bearing a
resemblance to Draco. After glancing over several groups of gossiping middle-aged witches,
he spotted a woman with long curly brown hair sitting alone at a table near the window. She
was fidgeting and folding her hands in lap in a way that suggested nervousness. When she
glanced over to the door, Harry got a better look at her face: high cheekbones, and heavy-
lidded grey eyes. They were the exact same colour as Draco’s, Harry realised with a start. He
knew instantly that this had to be Andromeda Tonks.

She seemed to realise a moment after Harry did who she was looking at. A smile spread
across Andromeda’s face, and she got to her feet and moved over to them. Harry looked over
to Draco - he was also smiling slightly, but his eyes were still filled with fear.

Andromeda came to a halt before the three of them. She made an odd, jerky sort of
movement, like she’d gone to reach out to touch Draco’s shoulder but had thought better of it
at the last moment.

“Draco - it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“And you, Mrs Tonks,” Draco said politely. He held himself stiffly, back ramrod straight.

“Please, call me Andromeda if you’d like!” she said quickly. “I trust you’re well?”

“I am - and you?”

“Splendid, thank you.”

They fell into silence. Andromeda was staring at Draco, and Harry was almost certain there
were tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. After a moment, she shook herself and turned
to him and Snape. Andromeda outstretched a hand. “Severus - it’s good to see you again.”

“And you.” Snape shook her hand. “How is Ted?”

“Well, but busy - St Mungo’s always increases his shifts in the run up to Christmas,”
Andromeda said with a small shake of her head. She looked to Harry and smiled. “And you
must be Harry. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, Mrs Tonks,” Harry said. Unlike most people upon their first time meeting him, she
actually looked him in the eyes instead of ogling his scar. Harry instantly decided he liked
this woman.

“Harry and I have some Christmas shopping to attend to, so I’ll leave the two of you to get
properly acquainted,” Snape said, taking a step back. “I’ll return in an hour, shall I?”

“Okay,” Draco said, the tightness in his voice indicating his panic. Snape went to leave the
shop, while Harry took the time to shoot Draco a furtive thumbs-up before going to follow
him outside.

The winter air stung as it hit his face, and Harry drew his scarf more tightly around his throat.
The husky voice of a busker singing Christmas songs floated over the wind as Harry and
Snape walked down the bustling street, packed almost shoulder to shoulder with shoppers.
Harry took one last look back over his shoulder through the foggy window and into the
tearoom. Andromeda was talking to Draco at their table, her head tilted to one side
inquisitively.

“He’ll be fine without us there, right?” Harry asked.

“He will be,” Snape said confidently. “At any rate, this is something Draco has to deal with
himself. I doubt our presence would help him significantly.”

“She seemed nice,” Harry said. “She and Draco have the same colour eyes.”

“Draco always took after his mother in that regard.” He swiftly glanced over at Harry, a
wistful look on his face that vanished within moments. “Now, I have some potion ingredients
to purchase - follow me.”

Harry proceeded to spend a ridiculous amount of time in Slug and Jiggers while Snape
restocked on ingredients. As a general rule, Harry hated the foul-smelling apothecary and
aimed to spend as little time in it as possible. Snape, however, seemed to enjoy the process of
browsing and picking out products, and went over all of them individually to carefully
examine the quality. The only highlight of the experience was watching Snape haggle over
the priceswith the poor owner, who looked like he was about to wet himself by the end of the
interaction. They exited the shop at last, Snape looking terribly pleased with himself.

“Sir - er, Severus, I thought you said we were doing Christmas shopping,” Harry pointed out.

“We are,” Snape said. “You may pick the next place.”

Harry ended up heading to Flourish and Blotts next door in a vain attempt to try and find a
book that Hermione hadn’t yet bought or read. Snape was surprisingly helpful in that area,
and managed to point out a book about brewing that Harry would have rather stuck pins in
his eyes than read but thought Hermione would enjoy.

He also discovered a small and neglected-looking shelf of Muggle novels shoved in a

deserted corner of the bookstore. Harry quickly headed over, and picked up the Lord of the
Rings trilogy for Draco’s gift. He knew the other boy liked reading fiction, and thought he’d
enjoy haughtily insulting Muggle fantasy tropes.

Harry then dragged a displeased Snape into Quality Quidditch Supplies to buy Ron a moving
figurine of the new Chudley Cannons Seeker, and spent quite a while staring longingly at the
Firebolt in the shop window. It had to be ludicrously expensive, but Harry did need a new
broom -

“No,” Snape said from next to him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m obviously not going to try and buy it,” Harry complained. “It would clear my vault out!”

“I am glad you possess that level of self-awareness, because I would happily lock your vault
key away until you reached seventeen if you attempted to purchase that astronomically
overpriced contraption,” Snape said pointedly.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever.” He sighed. “I miss my Nimbus - Oliver’s been going
on at me to get a new one for weeks now…”

“Don’t fret,” Snape said. “These things have a way of working themselves out.”
Harry wasn’t sure if Snape thought his broom could magically become un-smashed by the
Whomping Willow, but didn’t try to argue the point further.

“Are you at last done obsessing over racing brooms for the day?” Snape complained. “I’d
prefer to leave this place before I die of old age.”

“Fine. You’re the one who insists on stalking me around all the shops, you know,” Harry
grumbled, heading over to the till.

“And you’re the one who insists on using any unsupervised time to flagrantly break
important rules,” Snape said sharply.

“But I have things I need to do without you here!” Harry said. “Like - like secret shopping
and stuff.”

Harry dearly hoped Snape realised that 'secret shopping' was actually code for ‘buying Snape
a Christmas present’ and didn’t assume Harry was about to tear off into Knockturn Alley to
buy wizard drugs, or whatever it was that he imagined Harry did while unsupervised.

“Very well,” Snape said eventually. “You have half an hour - meet me outside of the Magical
Menagerie, and if you are so much as a second late, you will regret it dearly.”

Harry snapped his head around, shocked. “Wait, really?”

“You could say I have some secret shopping of my own to do,” Snape said, turning to leave
the store. “I will see you soon - don’t go anywhere near Knockturn Alley, or I will have you
scrubbing cauldrons until you’re thirty.”

Harry shuffled forward to the front of the queue and paid for the figurine, wondering what on
earth Snape could be doing that had to be secret. Maybe he was going into Knockturn Alley
to get some potions stuff he didn’t want Harry knowing about…

While Harry made his way to Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop to pick up some sweets for his
friends, his mind was working overtime trying to think of what he could give Snape. He’d
drawn the man a fairly decent sketch of his Potions laboratory for a gift, but that just didn’t
feel like enough, somehow. What else could he find?

Harry also ended up buying a mug with ‘World’s Greatest Potions Master’ written in
curlicues above a moving, bubbling cauldron image. Snape’s usual blue mug was chipped
and faded, so it couldn’t hurt for him to have another one to add to the rotation. Was that
enough, though? Harry wasn’t sure what else Snape would even like. The man’s main
interests were concentrated around brewing, but he had everything he needed for that… this
was impossible!

But on his way out of the sweetshop, Harry spotted a record shop nestled nearby, and an idea
suddenly struck him. He recalled a conversation he’d had with Snape a few days earlier while
they were brewing, about a certain song that Snape sometimes used to keep time while
stirring…
An evil grin spread across Harry’s face as he headed into the store.

Harry, who was surprised to learn wizards even had record shops, was doubtful that he’d find
what he was looking for. Luckily for him, the owner of the shop was a cheerful Muggleborn
wizard who had apparently expanded into Muggle music as well as wizard. Harry quickly
found a vinyl with all of ABBA’s greatest hits on it, and smirked to himself. He could already
imagine the irritated look on Snape’s face when he unwrapped it. This was going to be
amazing.

“You’re Muggleborn?” the wizard queried as Harry handed over his money.

“Er - sure,” he said, carefully flattening his fringe over his scar.

“Then just a warning - don’t use that on a regular turntable,” the shopkeeper warned.
“Magical records are a bit different - tap it once with your wand, and it’ll start playing to
you.”

Harry nodded, and smiled at the man. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

He left the shop and trotted over to the Magical Menagerie, his pockets considerably lighter
and arms weighed down with shopping bags. He found Snape waiting for him by the Magical
Menagerie with several extra bags of his own, staring at his watch and at the tracker
connected to Harry’s bracelet sitting beneath it. He looked up at Harry as he approached and
nodded. “Good - you’re on time. Shall we meet up again with Draco?”

“Alright,” Harry said, blinking rapidly to try and clear the snowflakes from his eyelashes.
They’d started falling in the last ten minutes, and were building into a considerable flurry.

He and Snape fought their way through the downfall and re-entered Toffit’s Tearoom. Harry
immediately looked over to Draco, and was relieved to realise that the other boy looked
considerably more relaxed than he had when they’d started the day. He actually had a smile
on his face, and was listening attentively to Andromeda as she spoke.

“...Cissy wouldn’t have that, of course. There I was, crying over Rabastian’s answer, more
embarrassed than I’d ever been, when she stepped up to confront him. Eleven years old, she
stormed over to Rabastian, kicked him in the shins so hard he started howling in front of the
whole Slytherin common room, and informed him that he’d be lucky to have a girl like me!”

Draco laughed. “I can’t believe Mother would do something like that!”

“Oh, Cissy was fiery at that age - you had to be, growing up with our eldest sister,”
Andromeda muttered the last part, a hint of darkness colouring her tone. “Your mother and I
fought like cats and dogs when we were younger, I tell you… when I was seven I cut all the
hair off her favourite doll, and Cissy was so furious that she - oh, hello, you two!”

“Severus, Harry!” Draco’s eyes were bright and cheerful, and darted immediately to the
shopping bags they were holding. “Anything in there for me, perchance?”
“Yes - I thought it was a perfect day to stock up on coal,” Snape said dryly. He intentionally
shifted the bags so that Draco was unable to peer in and see their contents.

“Do sit down!” Andromeda said, gesturing to the extra chairs at their table. Harry and Snape
quickly settled down. “Draco’s been telling me all about the two of you. I hear you’ve got
quite the rematch coming up between your Quidditch teams?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Our Captains can’t agree on a date yet, though.”

“Well, good luck to the both of you,” she said. “I’ve always enjoyed Quidditch, although I
never had the balance on a broomstick to play it myself.”

“I was much the same,” Snape said, lips quirking with amusement. “Although enjoying
Quidditch would be a significant overstatement of my interest in the sport…”

Andromeda laughed. “You and Ted would certainly get along, then.”

“She’s told me so much about Mother that I never knew, Severus,” Draco said excitedly. “Did
you know she botched an attempt to become an Animagus when she was fifteen?”

Snape made an amused sort of noise. “I’d forgotten. Yes, Lucius used to tease her about it
mercilessly…”

“Oh, our father was furious when it happened!” Andromeda laughed. “He made Cissy go
around with a fox tail and whiskers for two weeks that summer as a punishment… it certainly
put her off Animagus Transfiguration for good.”

Harry watched as the three of them smiled at each other, feeling a little left out. He did his
best to hide the continual waves of envy coursing through him and sat back, fidgeting with
his hands. Still, someone ended up noticing him withdrawing - and shockingly enough, it was
Andromeda.

“You know, Harry, I met your parents a few times myself,” she confided.

Harry turned back to her, his heartbeat instantly quickening. “You did?”

She nodded. “Ted and I were non-active members of the Order of the Phoenix - that was what
we called the old crowd of us fighting against You-Know-Who. Your parents were full
members, of course, out on the front lines fighting, and they’d end up in our home sometimes
after battles. We were one of the Order safehouses, you see.”

Harry stared at her, wide-eyed, hoping against hope that Andromeda would continue
speaking. To his immense delight, she did.

“One particular occasion I remember is back in early 1980, when your mother was pregnant
with you,” Andromeda said. “The Potters came to us after an unexpected attack on the
original safehouse they were doing Curse Research in. Lily Potter was quite the spitfire - four
months pregnant, and she escaped a Death Eater ambush outnumbered five to one with barely
a scratch on her!”
“Wow,” Harry breathed.

“Your father wasn’t one to be overlooked, either,” Andromeda added. “He disabled some of
You-Know-Who’s most lethal Death Eaters that night, trying to make sure you and your
mother got out safely. He came to us with his arm half hanging off, but wouldn’t even let Ted
look at him until he’d checked over Lily. His wife and the baby were more important than
any little flesh wound, he said.” She shook her head fondly. “Ridiculous man. Foolish, but
braver than anyone else I knew.”

Harry stared at Andromeda, borderline entranced as she finished off. He could really
understand why Draco had looked so fascinated by his aunt’s words when they’d arrived a
few minutes ago; Andromeda was a truly brilliant storyteller. She put dramatic emphasis in
all the right places, and Harry couldn’t believe the recall for detail she had of events that had
occurred over a decade ago.

“Now, I unfortunately must be rushing off soon, but I’d love to do this again,” Andromeda
said earnestly. She turned to Draco and fondly patted his shoulder. “It has been an absolute
pleasure to finally meet you, Draco.”

“And you, Aunt Andromeda,” he said, beaming up at her. It was a far sight from the nervous
wreck Draco had been just hours earlier. He was as comfortable with his aunt as if he’d
known her for years.

“If Dora isn’t too busy with her Auror duties, I’ll bring her along the next time we meet,”
Andromeda promised. “I hope the three of you have a very happy Christmas.”

“You, too,” Snape said, rising to his feet. “I’ll be in contact to arrange a weekend meeting
while Draco is still at Hogwarts.”

After a final few exchanged pleasantries, Harry and Draco followed Snape out of the tea shop
and into Diagon Alley. It seemed that Draco had just been waiting to be out of the presence of
his aunt to explode into chatter. When they were a little way down the street, Draco spun
around to face Harry and Snape, face split wide with a grin.

“So?” Harry prompted.

“She’s great!” Draco said happily. “So nice. She told me so much about my mother that I’d
never heard before, it was amazing! I felt like I saw a completely different side of her.
Andromeda’s going to properly introduce me to her husband and daughter the next time we
meet. I’ve already met Nymphadora - that’s my cousin’s proper name, apparently - but it will
be nice to do it again in a more pleasant situation, of course. Oh, that was better than I could
have ever imagined!”

“I’m pleased for you, Draco,” Snape said.

Harry did his best to smile at the other boy while he continued to talk, because it was the
right thing to do. The jealousy had reared its ugly head yet again, vicious and choking, but
that wasn’t Draco’s fault. There was absolutely no point in feeling upset about Aunt Petunia,
just because Andromeda was so different to her in every possible respect. He had accepted a
 long time ago that Petunia would never want anything to do with him, so he had to bloody
well start acting like it, Harry told himself fiercely. He was being ridiculous.

But knowing that didn’t change how Harry felt. It didn’t stop Harry from staring at his
bedroom ceiling late that night, wishing he was Draco. Wishing things could be different.

Chapter End Notes

Harry this chapter is brought to you by the immense struggle of trying to buy Christmas
presents for your father. My solution, employed by Harry here, is to buy stupid and
slightly funny gifts! :)
 Merry Christmas
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“Harry, what are you -”

“Don’t come in!” Harry shouted. “I’m wrapping presents, you can’t see!”

“Oooh!” Harry heard his door handle rattle, and had to throw his entire body weight at his
bedroom door to stop Draco from barging in and seeing his gifts.

“Come on!” Draco’s muffled voice complained. “Just give me a peek -”

“Nope,” Harry said firmly. “You have to wait for tomorrow.”

He twisted the door lock, hurriedly finished taping together the wrapping paper, then shoved
gifts under his bed. He had to rush - Harry wouldn’t trust Draco not to cast Alohomora on his
door just to be annoying.

“I don’t get why you’re doing it yourself!” Draco said disdainfully. “Just ask the house-elves,
that’s what I always do…”

After confirming that the presents were properly hidden, Harry unlocked his door again and
finally met Draco in the outside hallway. He glared at the other boy. “I do it because I want
to!”

“Why?” Draco said with a frown. “Why would you want more work?”

“Cause I never got to do any of it before,” Harry shrugged. “I never had anyone to give gifts
to until two years ago.”

Draco’s face fell. “Oh. I - er…”

Harry gently shoved him. Draco had started to look quite despondent. “Stop it. I get to
celebrate properly now, don’t I? All of the Christmases I’ve had at Hogwarts made up for the
Dursleys, easy.”

Draco’s crestfallen expression was not cleared up by this, either. Harry, who didn’t like the
pitying looks he was being sent, decided to leave Draco to it and walked into the main part of
Snape’s quarters. It was decked out with tinsel, garland and a modest Christmas tree stood in
one corner, which Harry and Draco had covered in baubles a few days ago while Snape
watched on with grinch-like derision. Still, at Draco’s insistence, he had set aside time to
conjure up an enchanted, twinkling star for the top of the tree. It certainly outdid the ugly old
angel Aunt Petunia always topped her tree with.

Harry swiped a gingerbread man from the plate Draco had ordered to their quarters from the
kitchens and sat down on the sofa with a contented sigh. Nowhere in the dungeons was ever
quite as warm as their living room, with its bright and crackling fireplace. Harry bit off the
gingerbread man’s head, and smiled as the flavour of the spices fizzled on his tongue. Draco
quickly followed him in and grabbed a gingerbread man of his own. Luckily, he’d stopped
looking at Harry like a kicked puppy in the time it had taken for him to leave the hallway.

“Fancy a snowball fight?” Draco suggested.

“Still not allowed out,” Harry mumbled through a mouthful of gingerbread. Draco gave him a
thoroughly disgusted look, and Harry hastily swallowed.

“Severus!” Draco called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Can Harry go out in the snow
with me?”

A moment later, Snape stuck his head through the office doorway and scowled. “Must you
shout through my quarters instead of walking the short distance to this door to ask politely?”

“So?” Draco pressed. “Can we go onto the grounds?”

“You certainly can,” Snape said, with a sharp look in Harry’s direction. “I believe you are
perfectly aware of a certain incident he’s being punished for?”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” Draco complained. “You can't be in trouble on Christmas! Besides,
it won't be any fun without him.”

“He is in the room right now, you know,” Harry grumbled. “So you can stop talking about
me in the third person.”

“Come on! He’s a deprived orphan, Severus!” Draco said. “Think of all the snowball fights
he missed before with the Muggles! How are you going to say no after all of that?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Are you seriously -”

“And I’m the child of the punitive system, you know,” Draco added. “A social outcast. I need
the interaction, really, so I don’t tumble down a dark path.”

Harry wasn’t sure if Snape was purposely ignoring Draco, or if he was so utterly shocked by
those outlandish statements that he’d been stunned into silence.

“Come on, Severus!” Draco pleaded. “Please?”

Snape stared at Draco for several long moments, then sighed very loudly. “I suppose that it
wouldn’t do me any harm to break from my marking to take in the fresh air… and since
Harry’s punishment is to remain under my supervision at all times, he must therefore
accompany me outside.”

“Thank you!” Draco said gleefully, already reaching for his cloak and scarf. Harry was too
busy staring at Snape in shock to react.

“Stop gawking at me and go before I change my mind,” Snape said. He waved his wand, and
Harry’s cloak flew off the coat hanger and directly at him so he barely had time to grab it
from the air before it smacked him in the face. “I’ll meet you outside in a few minutes, once
I’ve finished up what I’m doing.”

“Thanks, Severus,” he said with a small smile, barely believing his luck. Apparently, Draco’s
transparent attempts at manipulation were more effective than he’d thought.

“And don’t even think about going out of bounds!” Snape warned them sharply.

“We won’t,” Harry promised. At any rate, he was all too conscious of the weight of his
tracker on his wrist now to dare think he could do something without Snape knowing about
it.

While he bundled into his winter clothes, Harry smiled to himself and leaned over to Draco.
He whispered, “I think the Christmas spirit is actually getting to Scrooge…”

Snape shook his head and waved a hand at them. “Cease with the Dickensian comparisons
and go already!”

There was a special kind of magic about Hogwarts at Christmas, Harry thought, especially
when it was so empty. The situation with Black meant that just four students were staying for
the holidays: Harry, Draco, an older Slytherin and a Gryffindor first-year. Their footsteps
echoed as they sprinted through the silent halls, lined with tinsel and heady with the smell of
Christmas cooking wafting up from the kitchens. They burst out onto the twinkling white
grounds, untouched snow stretching all the way from the castle steps to the forest. It had
stormed last night, but the sky was crystal clear now, leaving plenty of snowdrifts for Harry
and Draco’s amusement.

Harry didn’t think he stopped smiling the entire time they were out there, pelting each other
with snowballs until their fingers went numb and droplets of icy water dripped from their
hair. Even Snape seemed to be in an unusually good mood, a single smudge of black against
the icy blues and whites of the winter world. Every now and then, a snowball that couldn’t
have come from Draco would hit Harry in the back, and he’d turn around to find Snape
smirking with his arms crossed. Try as he might, though, Harry could never quite catch the
man in the act. It didn’t help that every time Harry tried to watch Snape, he was letting his
guard down to offensives from Draco.

At Harry’s insistence they even built a snowman, something he'd never been able to do while
living on Privet Drive. He’d tried a couple of times, but Dudley would always kick it into
mush before it could go anywhere. They fetched sticks for arms, stones for eyes, and Harry
rushed into the Great Hall to pilfer a carrot from the lunch leftovers for a nose while Draco
attempted to Transfigure a hat out of his his glove. It was rather wonky, and looked more like
a tea cosy than the top hat he’d been going for, but Harry thought that those little
imperfections were the best part.

“The Muggles have a Christmas song about a snowman that comes to life,” Harry told Draco.
“Frosty the Snowman. I always used to hope that the snowmen in Little Whinging would
come alive like he did.”
The other boy sighed suddenly. “My father always used to enchant my snowman to wave and
dance around… I thought it was the most brilliant thing when I was younger.”

Draco’s expression had grown horribly wistful, so Harry tried to intervene. “Well, do you
know any of the spells? Why don't we try them?”

After a moment, Draco furiously shook himself. “Yes, we should. That would be fun,
wouldn't it? Let me show you…”

It didn't go entirely as anticipated. They managed to make the snowman's twig arms wave a
bit awkwardly with some nifty charmwork, but when they tried to make the snowman nod its
head, the snowball abruptly took on a life of its own and started chasing them around the
grounds. Harry let out a rather undignified shriek as it barrelled right at him, and was forced
to run as fast as he could from his attacker while Draco took an exceedingly long time to
cancel the spell. He teased Harry about it all the way back to the dungeons, alongside one
irritatingly amused Snape. Still, Harry couldn’t be too annoyed. At least Draco was smiling,
now.

After they'd been ordered into dry clothes and plied with warming drinks, Harry and Draco
settled around the fireplace with Snape. For the last week he'd been marking constantly, but
the man had at last set his work aside. Harry, sipping on his hot chocolate, realised that Snape
was staring at him thoughtfully. He frowned. “What is it?"

“I was simply wondering if you had any particular Christmas traditions you'd like us to do,”
Snape said. “I hadn't asked. Is there anything special you’ve done in previous years to mark
the occasion?”

“Yeah, if you're asking me how I celebrated Christmas with the Dursleys that's going to kill
the mood pretty fast,” Harry said darkly. He shook his head and tried to think back. “I always
liked the music, I guess?”

Aunt Petunia liked to start preparing Christmas dinner the night before, so Harry would get to
listen in on the radio by proxy while he cleaned or cooked. He was never a fan of the
traditional Christian carols his aunt favoured, but sometimes Dudley would barge into the
kitchen for food and would switch the station to pop, which Harry preferred.

“That can certainly be arranged,” Snape said, gesturing to a device on the mantelpiece that
greatly resembled a radio. “Are you familiar with the Wizarding Wireless?”

Harry frowned. “No?”

“It's essentially a magical radio,” he explained. “Some of the songs will be ones you're
unfamiliar with, but certain stations favour Muggle songs as well.”

“Cool!” Harry had never heard a wizard's Christmas song before, apart from a few magical
parodies of traditional carols the enchanted suits of armour sometimes sang.

“We ought to make some of our own traditions, I think,” Draco said, going over to fiddle
with the knob on the Wireless. “We could all do a round of Christmas Eve karaoke, perhaps -
give us a bit of ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’, will you, Severus?”

Snape scowled fiercely. “I have a better idea for a tradition - one that involves poison being
force-fed to irritating little boys.”

“Bit of ABBA, then?” Harry suggested. “‘Dancing Queen’, maybe? That’s your favourite!”

“The death by poison is becoming infinitely more painful with every passing comment.”
Snape glared at Harry and Draco, who were laughing amongst themselves. “I have already
had to endure staff karaoke this year - I cannot cope with more…”

“You actually went to staff karaoke?” Harry asked, immediately interested. “You? Why?!”

“It was during a mandatory faculty Christmas party,” Snape said grimly. “I assure you, I did
not voluntarily decide to listen to the Headmaster’s rendition of ‘Santa Baby’.”

Harry, stunned into silence by a rather horrifying and vivid visual of Dumbledore singing, did
not respond as Draco asked what that song was. Once he’d recovered his wits, however, a
spirited discussion about the joys of Muggle Christmas music quickly began, until Snape
managed to find a way to tune the Wizarding Wireless into a Muggle radio station. The sound
quality was a little distorted, but Draco listened with interest, and seemed to take a particular
liking to ‘Fairytale of New York’ and ‘Last Christmas’.

Despite his general grumpiness when it came to all things festive, Harry couldn't help but
think that Snape wasn't as Christmas-averse as he'd like them to think. He'd been remarkably
indulgent those last few days, like allowing Harry out despite the terms of his punishment,
and he had actually helped in tiny, unidentifiable ways while Harry and Draco decorated his
quarters. In fact, while they all sat down for dinner, Harry was almost entirely certain he
caught Snape subtly nodding his head in time to a particularly catchy Celestina Warbeck
track. He immediately stopped when he noticed Harry watching, though, and fixed him with
a withering glare.

Snape’s indulgence even extended to post-dinner activities, where Harry and Draco managed
to persuade Snape to join them for a game of Monopoly for the first time since August. While
Harry fetched the board from where it was stored, Draco crouched down next to him.

“Hey - I have a plan.”

“Yeah?”

“We both want to beat Severus, don't we?” Draco said in a low voice. “So why don't we team
up?”

“What?” Harry whispered. “How would we even do that?”

“Simple - give each other lower deals and don't buy properties the other will definitely want,”
Draco said. “We just need to stop him winning again - any means necessary, eh?”

“Sure,” Harry said with a grin.

“Precisely how long does it take to locate a Monopoly board?” Snape called. Draco hurried
back into the room, closely followed by Harry, and the two of them did their best to look
innocent.

Despite their best efforts to band together in the face of a common enemy, it seemed that
Draco and Harry were destined to fail. They both did their best to give the other decent
property deals - some of the low offers made Snape's eyebrows rise into his hairline - but
unluckily for them, the man quickly caught onto their strategy and played accordingly. It was
certainly a longer, closer game than last time, but Snape eked out a victory over Draco in the
final hour.

“I will never understand how you do that,” Draco grumbled. “Harry and I have been playing
together for months now - we should be better than you! What's the trick?”

“Ah, but if I told you, it wouldn't be a particularly useful strategy anymore, would it?” Snape
arched an eyebrow. “Cunning, Draco.”

“Whatever,” Draco muttered moodily. He tended to be a bit of a sore loser.

“Now, it's getting late - should we light the candle?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, let's do it.”

“The candle?” Harry said curiously.

“A Yule Candle - it's a tradition practiced by a fair number of wizarding families,” Snape
explained.

“You light a candle, and place it on the windowsill - it has to burn all night long," Draco
added. “It’s how you welcome the light for the coming year.”

Harry, who was very interested in all of this now, followed along as Snape took a long white
candle with some pretty, swirled carvings on it, and placed it in a sconce on the kitchen
windowsill. By now, the murky green light from the lake was replaced with uniform
darkness.

Harry had assumed that they'd light the candle with a wand, but Snape actually lit a match,
which he handed to Draco. Slowly, carefully, he lowered the flame to the wick. In all
manners it appeared to be a regular candle, but when Harry looked closely as Draco blew out
the match, the flame on the wick flickered between colours aside from orange. This was
certainly enchanted - something in the air felt heavy with magic. A heady, cedar smell filled
the room.

Draco sighed, and wrapped his arms around himself. "Mother always used to say this was
how you brought lost loved ones near - a candle in the window, to let them know where to
find you, wherever they are."

He bowed his head, lost in thought. Harry stared into the flickering flame, surprisingly
melancholy in his own way. He had his own lost family to think about - namely, his mother
and father. Long before he could remember, he'd had a Christmas with them. If they'd lived,
what would this night have been like? Would his mother have introduced him to Muggle
Christmas songs? Would his father have taught Harry about the Yule Candle? What would it
be like to spend Christmas Eve with his family?

As Harry glanced around the room, though, he thought he had an answer to that final
question. A day full of gingerbread, snowball fights, board games and playful teasing.

As his eyes landed on Snape, who also seemed absentminded, Harry wondered what lost
loved ones he was thinking about. He knew that Snape hadn't gotten along with his father, but
did he still think of the man at times like these? What about his mother?

Draco coughed, interrupting Harry from his musings. “I… excuse me a moment, please… “

He hurried away down the hallway. Draco's bedroom door clicked shut a moment later.

Snape sighed heavily. "I'm sure you can understand that this is a difficult time for him.”

Harry nodded. "I bet it is. I'm a bit surprised he's been doing well at all, honestly… “

"Christmas is his favourite time of year,” Snape said quietly. He was still watching the
candle, and the flame danced in his dark eyes. "He said he doesn't want the actions of his
father to ruin things for him. However, what we want and what we actually feel are not
always synchronous. Christmas is the time for family, and it’s his first year without them.
He’s bound to be thinking of Lucius and Narcissa.”

Harry nodded his assent. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to confide something in
Snape he'd have normally pushed to the back of his mind.

"I keep thinking about the Dursleys today,” he confessed. "Just little things - like how
obsessive Aunt Petunia was about the tree, and all the stuff Dudley wanted to eat I wasn't
allowed, and - well, normally I try not to think about them at all. I can't help it for some
reason today, though. If I'm thinking about people I don't really like, then - well, I’m not
surprised he is.”

“It is normal to think about them," Snape said quietly. “You know, I spent nearly every
Christmas at Hogwarts from the age of eleven onwards, and I still think of childhood
Christmases which weren't, ah… entirely enjoyable for me."

Harry, who had spent most of the last month thinking of Snape as an unreasonably grumpy
Christmas-hater, cringed as he abruptly realised the man must have his reasons for disliking
the holiday. He sometimes forgot that Snape also had a difficult family, and how that was
bound to affect him.

“Today has been about a billion times better, you know," Harry whispered. “I used to spend
Christmas Eve hoovering the living room and staring at Dudley’s present mountain knowing
I wasn't going to get anything. This - all I ever wanted was this."

A family. Harry's mind finished the words he couldn't quite voice yet.
Snape smiled, then reached out to briefly squeeze his shoulder. "It's been rather pleasant for
me as well, I will confess. I generally tend to spend the holidays locked away alone. This
was… far more enjoyable. You're looking forward to tomorrow, I presume?"

Harry grinned back. “Of course." He glanced over to the Christmas tree, then to the corridor
Draco had disappeared down. “Should I go see him, d'you think? Is that okay?”

"I actually think it would be precisely what he needs at the minute,” Snape said. “Call for me
if he wants more company.”

“I will,” Harry promised. He hurried down the corridor and hesitated for a moment outside of
Draco's door before softly knocking. When he received no response, Harry gently pushed the
door open. The room was mostly dark, but as Harry's eyes adjusted, he noticed Draco curled
up on his bed. Harry walked in and sat down next to him.

“Hi,” he said. “Erm - I just wanted to see how you are after - yeah…”

There was a brief silence, then rustling movement. “I'm sorry,” Draco whispered. “I don't
want to spoil things.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. “You're not spoiling anything!”

“I just - I don't want to be miserable, I want to be happy - it's Christmas!” Draco said,
pressing his hands over his face. “And - well, I know you've had your share of really horrid
Christmases, and I don't want to make this one bad, too -”

“Draco, no!” Harry said, dismayed. “Come on, you can't help being sad! Bloody hell, you're
not a robot!”

Draco at last looked at Harry, deeply confused. “A what?”

“Never mind,” Harry said hastily. “But yeah, it's okay to miss them. If you wanted to spend
all of tomorrow locked in here you'd have every right, I reckon.”

“No - I don't want that,” Draco said after a moment. “I love Christmas, you know. I want to
enjoy it, but these random things keep making me so dreadfully sad…”

“Not much you can do there. But you being sad doesn't ruin Christmas, I promise.” Searching
for a way to lighten the mood, Harry added, “My Aunt Marge’s dog knocking a glass of red
wine on Aunt Petunia’s new cream carpet is what ruins Christmas, let me tell you… you’d
have thought the dog killed someone, the way she was looking at it!”

Draco let out a small snort and turned to face Harry properly. “Can you take my mind off it
all?” he asked softly. “Tell me about some Muggle Christmas nonsense, maybe?”

“Okay.” Harry shuffled back against the blankets so he was lying next to Draco. “Er… do
you remember when I called Snape Scrooge earlier? Did you know what I was talking
about?”

“Not a clue.”
“Right - let me tell you about A Christmas Carol, then,” Harry said. “I always see you
reading, so I'd bet you'd get a kick out of it. So we're in Victorian London, and there's this
grumpy bloke named Ebenezer Scrooge…”

He spoke for hours and hours, talking about anything and everything from the books and
songs he was familiar with to the Nativity play his primary school would put on. He talked
until both of their eyes grew thick and droopy with exhaustion, and they both drifted off to
sleep.

The next morning, when Harry woke up and realised what day it was, he felt a shiver of
excitement that had nothing to do with the cold. Of course, he was still rather chilly, since
Draco was hogging the entire duvet. He decided to wake the other boy by yanking off the
covers and roughly shaking his shoulder.

“Wake up!”

Draco didn’t open his eyes, but Harry knew the other boy was awake as he was roughly
kicked in the thigh.

“It’s Christmas morning, get up already!” he said. “Presents, Draco!”

That got Draco’s attention. He finally sat up while Harry rushed back into his bedroom,
donned a dressing gown over his pyjamas, and made a beeline for the Christmas tree. As he
emerged into the living room, Harry saw Snape was also up and about. He was carrying a
long, thin package, wrapped in brown paper.

“Happy Christmas, Severus!” Harry said. He craned his neck. “Who’s that for?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Snape said, his voice growing muffled as he entered his bedroom. “It was
unlabelled - I’m disposing of it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s highly suspicious - I’m concerned it’s hexed.”

“It might be from Dumbledore,” Harry said. “He sent me the Invisibility Cloak for Christmas
in an unlabelled package back in my first year.”

“I assure you, that item would certainly not have come from the Headmaster,” Snape
muttered, emerging from his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

“What was it, then?” Harry asked curiously.

“None of your business,” Snape said a little sharply. He gestured over Harry’s head. “And
anyway, haven’t you got enough presents to concern yourself with?”
Harry turned around, and his face lit up at the sizable gift pile he found himself facing. Draco
was already crouched at the base of the tree, pulling out a green-wrapped package with his
name on. Harry hurried over to join him, while Snape followed at a more relaxed pace and
took a seat on the sofa. Harry tore into his first package and quickly slipped on a jumper from
Mrs Weasley, red with a Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, and took a bite out of one of the
homemade mince pies she’d sent him. The tins must be enchanted - it was still piping hot.
The crumbly pastry practically melted in his mouth.

“Want one?” Harry asked, offering the tin up to Snape.

He shook his head. “I have been sent food and a jumper of my own, as a matter of fact.”

“Really?”

Snape nodded and revealed a soft package to his side which turned out to contain a jumper -
plain black, naturally. Harry smiled to himself, and mentally thanked the infinite kindness of
Mrs Weasley.

“Ooh, what are these, Harry?” Draco asked, holding up the books Harry had gifted him.

“It’s a Muggle fantasy series,” Harry explained. “Lord of the Rings. I thought you might
enjoy seeing what they think of our world.”

Draco did something he’d have never done just six months earlier after being handed
something Muggle - he grinned. “Oh, that should be very interesting! Thanks, Harry - have
you opened mine yet?”

Harry shook his head while Draco shoved a package at him. The wrapping paper was covered
in tiny buzzing snitches, so Harry carefully unstuck it to avoid ruining the beautiful
enchantments. Within he found the latest edition of Seeker Weekly, as well as a card stating he
had a six month subscription in his name to the magazine.

“Now you can stop stealing all of mine,” Draco declared.

“Wicked - thanks, Draco.”

Harry went to reach for another package, but was interrupted by an outraged cry from his left.
“How rude!”

“What is it?” he asked, turning to face the outraged Draco. He held up a package of
Toothflossing Stringmints, scowling fiercely. “Is this Granger’s idea of a joke? What, is she
trying to say I have bad teeth or something?”

“No, no, no!” Harry said quickly. “She sends those to everyone! Look, I’ve even got some.”
He held up his own package of sweets. “Her parents are dentists, so she thinks they’re cool.
Don’t ask me why.”

“What on earth is a dentist?”

“A Muggle profession specialising in tooth care,” Snape explained. Harry noticed he was
drinking coffee out of the mug Harry had bought him, and smiled to himself.

“How odd.” Draco continued to stare at the package with a frown on his face, although his
expression brightened considerably a few moments later. “Oh, she’s sent me the caramel
Honeyduke’s chocolate, too! That was nice of her, I suppose…” He looked up at Harry again,
clearly confused. “But why would Granger send me anything?”

“Why not?” Harry said. “She doesn’t mind you, now - told me so herself. Same with Ron.
There should be something under there from him, too.”

“I see,” Draco said softly. He stared into the fire, clearly lost in thought, but the ghost of a
smile curled up at the edge of his lips.

Olive branch accepted, Harry thought victoriously as he reached for a gift. Maybe in the new
year, he could try to get Ron and Hermione in a room with Draco to see if they’d get along.

Harry couldn’t help but be surprised by the sheer number of presents he had received from
Snape. Part of him had been scared to even hope that Snape would get him anything at all,
but he’d actually gotten Harry a multitude of things. New Quidditch gloves, a fur-lined
winter cloak with built in warming enchantments, a selection of Honeyduke's chocolates, and
his favourite gift of all - a handsome leatherbound sketchbook with a set of proper art pencils.
Harry beamed at Snape. “I always wanted some of these! Thank you so much!”

“I’m sure you’ll put them to good use,” Snape said. He had just unwrapped the sketch of the
laboratory Harry had made him, and a smile crossed his face. “This is rather well done -
thank you, Harry. It must have taken a while.”

Harry, who had been particularly nervous about that gift, felt a warm glow spread throughout
his chest. He turned back around and reached for a long, thin package. Draco was just tearing
into one that looked similar, and he beamed once it was open. “Severus, thanks!”

“Now you won’t be flying on a borrowed broom for the rematch,” Snape said with an
approving nod. Harry glanced over and realised that Draco had opened up a package
containing a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. He frowned, and was just about to ask Draco
what had happened to the old one his father had bought last year when he remembered the
fire - it must have been destroyed. He winced and turned back to his own gift, feeling a little
sad about his trusty old Nimbus Two Thousand. Harry really missed having a functional
broomstick…

But that feeling of sadness instantly evaporated when he opened his own package and found
a Nimbus Two Thousand and One. Harry gasped. “You didn’t!”

“Well, you certainly needed one after what happened to your old broom,” Snape said with a
grimace.

Harry couldn’t even be put down by the memory of that disastrous match. He ran his hands
over the smooth, polished handle of his new Nimbus. He could feel it thrumming with power
beneath his fingertips.
“I can’t believe you, of all people, bought two racing brooms,” Draco laughed. “How did you
bear it, Severus?”

“Badly.” Snape suddenly let out a very loud groan. “You evil, evil boy.”

Harry turned around and saw the ABBA’S Greatest Hits record sitting in Snape’s lap. He
snickered. “I got your favourite!”

“Evil.” Snape sent him a truly withering glare, but Harry noticed a slight twitching around
his lips. Normally that was a sign of an incoming explosion of rage, but Harry had an inkling
that Snape was actually trying very hard not to laugh.

“Oh, this is that Muggle band you like!” Draco said, peering at the cover.

“I do not like -”

“Put it on, Severus!” Draco interrupted.

Snape, who seemed to have accepted defeat, removed the vinyl from its case while Draco got
out his wand and tapped it. The opening notes of ‘Dancing Queen’ drifted over the room. By
the end of the song, Snape had given up on trying to scowl at the music. Harry could tell by
the slightly absent look in his eyes that Snape was lost in memories from a time long ago.

“Merlin’s beard, I would not expect you to listen to this sort of thing,” Draco said, eyebrows
furrowed as he stared at Snape. “Really, Severus?”

“Lily Evans was a very hard person to say no to,” Snape said with a sigh. He stared at Harry
for several long moments as the next song started up, hesitated, and then reached into the
pocket of his robes. “I have one last thing for you, Harry.”

“Wait, really?” Harry said. “But you’ve got me loads already!”

“This is something different,” he said, handing Harry a small stack of yellowing letters, all
tied together with a length of blue string. There looked to be just under a dozen. For some
reason, Snape was looking on rather anxiously, so Harry quickly untied the string. He pulled
a postcard from the top of the pile. There was a rather pretty print of a sandy beach, captioned
neatly as ‘St Ives, Cornwall’. Harry flipped it over to read the curling handwriting on the
back.

Hi, Sev!

Cornwall’s been absolutely brilliant. I’ve been out on the beach every day, and it’s so sunny
that my nose is peeling. I’ve found the most lovely sea glass and shells on the shore - I can’t
wait to show you when I’m back!

I wish you were here with us. Mum and Dad want to come back next year, and I said that if
Tuney’s allowed to bring her weird boyfriend along, I should get to take a friend. They
seemed open to it, so fingers crossed!
Best of luck with that Babbling Beverage adjustment. I’m sure you’ll work out the
substitutions soon.

Love,

Lily

She wrote some of her letters the same way Harry did… he ran his fingers over the postcard
reverently, then slowly looked up at Snape.

“These are from my mum,” he said softly, barely believing the words. For the first time in his
life, Harry was looking at his mother’s handwriting.

“I - I know there aren’t many,” Snape said haltingly. “Lily and I mainly saw each other in
person so we didn't write often, but I had a few letters that I thought you might like to -”

Any further words were cut off as Harry threw his arms around Snape’s neck and hugged him
tightly. After the man had recovered from the shock, his arms came up to return the embrace.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered. “Thank you.”

After a moment he pulled away, feeling slightly embarrassed. He had just realised that he’d
never actually initiated a hug with Snape before. The man in question didn’t seem to mind,
though. In fact, this might be the happiest Harry had ever seen Snape. Not for the first time,
Harry was struck by how different Snape looked when he wasn’t scowling at everything.

“It is my pleasure,” Snape said eventually. “If you need any context, I’ll do my best to fill
you in.”

Harry looked down at the neatly stacked letters, and hesitated. These had to be precious, if
Snape had kept them for all these years. As much as he desperately wanted to read them, they
weren't his. “But are you sure? I shouldn’t - I can’t -”

“They’re yours to keep,” Snape said in a tone that beggared no argument. “You deserve them.
After all, she is your mother.”

She’s my mum. Angry words he’d once spat at Snape, five months ago in a stuffy laboratory
at Spinner’s End. How far they’d come since then… if Harry could have known at the start of
August that he’d be sitting here and spending Christmas with Snape and Draco, he’d have
never believed it.

And he’d certainly never have believed how happy two people he’d once despised could
make him.

For once in his life, as he stared around the room full of family and music, Harry felt truly
content with the people he had. The loss of his parents and the cruelty of the Dursleys wasn’t
smarting nearly as much as it often did, if at all. He had Snape, he had Draco, and it really
was enough.

This was turning out to be his best Christmas ever.

Chapter End Notes

Merry Christmas everyone!

Fun behind the scenes fact: my entire upload schedule since July has been entirely
dictated by me trying to make sure this Christmas chapter came out on Christmas day
haha. Don't ask me why because I don't even really know, I've just wanted to get one out
in the correct season since I started writing fanfiction! I hope you all enjoyed this, and
that you have a great day! :)
 Sick Days

After Christmas day, it was back to business as usual. Snape carried on with his punishing
regime of Potions tutelage, while Harry continued to spend every morning feeling like his
head was about to explode. He could very, very reluctantly admit that Snape’s miserable
teaching methods were actually helping him learn something - Harry found himself more
instinctually understanding the processes of brewing, at any rate - but those methods didn’t
manage to cultivate an interest in Potions. Snape would need to be a miracle worker for Harry
to suddenly start loving brewing.

Afternoons were better, even if they were a little dull. Snape had continued with Harry’s
Occlumency lessons, which mainly just involved him picturing the Quidditch pitch over and
over while performing some sort of rhythmic breathing exercise. Harry didn’t want to admit
it to Snape in case the man got cross, but he was becoming so bored of it. He felt like he was
never going to progress into the more advanced, interesting Occlumency things…

Luckily for him, the days before New Year’s Eve, Snape sat down with Harry in his office
and announced that they would be entering Harry’s mindscape.

“Really?” he said eagerly. “That’s brilliant! How are we going to do it?”

“Legilimency,” Snape said, steepling his fingers.

“Oh, so the mind reading?”

“How many times do I have to tell you it is not mind reading?!” Snape huffed exasperatedly.

“Fine - the ‘subtle and exact art of entering the mind’.” Harry mimicked Snape’s low,
dramatic tones and smirked. It was very funny how much the oversimplification annoyed
Snape, whose glower had only intensified.

“I don’t know why I bother,” he muttered. After a moment dedicated to haughty derision,
Snape continued on. “Yes, I will be entering your mind. You need to ensure your focus isn’t
broken - clear your mind of all other thoughts but your visualisation of the Quidditch pitch. If
you’re concentrating properly, your Occlumency shield will prevent a full-scale intrusion. We
will find ourselves in the Quidditch pitch as you’ve pictured.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” he asked.

“We will just end up cycling through your memories until I end the spell.”

Harry gulped - that didn’t sound particularly pleasant.

“You’ll have to keep your eyes open this time, and focus on the techniques I taught you,”
Snape instructed. “I will enter your mind in a few minutes.”
Harry nodded and started with the breathing techniques, all while he pictured the Quidditch
pitch, with its golden hoops, mountainous backdrop, the wind blowing through his hair…

He wondered when Snape was going to cast the spell. Harry had experienced Legilimency
with Snape a couple of times now, and it had never actually hurt, but it did sometimes feel
quite uncomfortable to have someone probing around your head.

Could Draco do all of this yet? Harry knew he’d done Occlumency with Snape, too, but
they’d never discussed it properly, which Harry was regretting now. Maybe that way, he’d
have known what to expect, so when -

“Legilimens.”

Harry, whose focus had completely crumbled, was dismayed to find that he could not recall
the image of the Quidditch pitch with the clarity required. Instead, he rapidly found himself
being dragged through a whirlwind of memories.

He was seven, trying to clean his bloodied nose with the edge of his shirt after Dudley had
repeatedly pelted him with dodgeballs at school… He was sitting in the living room at
Spinner’s End with a grouchy Draco, Monopoly money floating through the air… Uncle
Vernon was tearing great clumps from his moustache, surrounded by a hurricane of flying
letters… He was pressed against the back wall of a London alleyway, heart in his throat as
Snape loomed over him -

“Harry?”

Harry abruptly came back to himself, and discovered that he was crumpled on the floor of
Snape’s office. He must have slipped out of his chair during the Legilimency. With a slight
wince of pain - his knee would definitely have a nasty bruise on it later - Harry pulled himself
upright to face a visibly irritated Snape.

“In what universe was that supposed to be a cleared mind?” he snapped.

“You left it too long before you cast the spell!” Harry complained. “My focus just slipped a
bit!”

“If your focus is slipping that easily, then you certainly won’t be able to maintain the level of
concentration required after I cast the spell!” Snape said with a shake of his head. “You
clearly need to practise some more before we progress."

“No!” Harry protested. He couldn’t bear to go back to the original lessons after things had
just started to get interesting! “That’s not even going to help me anyway - I learn better from
actually seeing stuff and trying it out! Besides, that was only my first time. Can’t I have
another go?”

“Fine,” Snape agreed begrudgingly. “But put more effort in this time - do not let your
thoughts wander.”
Harry sullenly thought to himself that he had been putting in a lot of effort last time, but
squared his shoulders and concentrated hard anyway. He thought of nothing - nothing, of
course, but the Quidditch pitch, stretching out before him, the trees in the distance, the
winking lights in the castle, the feeling of the wind on his body…

“Legilimens.”

The vague sounds of the dungeon vanished, to be replaced by the sound of the wind, the cool
air on his cheeks, the unmistakable tang of snow in the air… gradually, the dungeon morphed
into the features and surroundings he’d been picturing. Harry found himself standing in the
Quidditch field as it currently looked, blanketed in a layer of crisp snow. He barely resisted
the urge to let out a whoop of joy.

“It worked!”

“Well done.”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice behind him, strangely echoey
for such an open space. He turned around and saw Snape was watching him from behind, an
approving expression on his face. Still, something seemed… off. There was a pervasive sense
of danger surrounding Snape, which Harry supposed had something to with the fact that the
man was technically invading his mind right now. Something also felt wrong with his
appearance, something that Harry couldn’t put a finger on for several moments. Then, he
spotted it - Snape didn’t have a shadow. As soon as Harry noticed that detail, though, one
seemed to sprout out of his feet. Odd. He found himself suddenly remembering the story of
Peter Pan and Wendy, who had sewed Peter’s shadow back onto his heels when it had gotten
separated from him -

“Concentrate!” Snape’s sharp admonishment brought Harry back to reality, and he abruptly
realised the Quidditch pitch had turned hazy, like he’d forgotten to wear his glasses. As soon
as Harry’s attention was returned to his surroundings, however, the whole place snapped back
into focus.

“Even though we’re in here now, you still need to dedicate a portion of your concentration to
maintaining your surroundings,” Snape said. “Otherwise, we’ll end up in the same situation
we found ourselves in earlier.”

“Right,” Harry said, ensuring he thought hard about what his surroundings were supposed to
be. “How are we here, not in your office? I still don’t get it.”

“Magic,” Snape said simply. “Occlumency draws on a wizard’s magic. It means that when a
wizard Occludes, he draws both himself and the Legilimens into the surroundings and cuts
off outside stimuli. It’s as if you’re actually there, excluding some minor discrepancies.”

Like the lack of shadows, Harry thought. There were a few other minor oddities in his
surroundings, like a slight lack of detail in the tree leaves or on the lake’s surface, but all of
them corrected themselves as soon as Harry paid conscious attention to them.

“Now, tell me again what developing a mindscape does for you,” Snape prompted.
"It acts as… as a concrete representation of my mind, right?" Snape nodded, and Harry
ploughed on. “And when I'm focusing on it, it hides my memories and emotions."

"Correct,” Snape said. “Because of that, using Occlumency techniques therefore helps you to
control yourself in times of emotional turmoil. It means you can put your emotions to one
side, to be dealt with at a later, more appropriate time. If you employ these techniques when
you find your feelings getting out of hand, you won't have to take Calming Draughts so
frequently.”

Harry grinned. "Brilliant.”

"But, as I have also informed you, the primary use of Occlumency is to protect yourself from
mental attacks,” Snape added. "You are not yet at the level where you would be able to do
this, but I still think it would be a good idea for you to advance to the point where you could
resist a Legilimens."

“Really?" Harry tilted his head to one side. “Why?"

“Well, for one thing, it is certainly not ideal to leave your mind open to potential attack,"
Snape said. “Occlumency is a highly useful skill. Also, I found in Draco's case that you may
be more likely to actually use the techniques I have taught you with more advanced training.”

"Draco can Occlude properly already?” Harry asked, feeling a tiny twinge of jealousy.

"Somewhat,” Snape replied, "and I am perfectly happy to teach you more, if you are
willing?”

"Yes,” Harry said immediately. “Let's do it. Where do I start?"

Snape gestured to his side. “Walk with me."

Harry followed Snape along the snowy pitch, ensuring the whole time that they remained in
Harry's mind without being kicked out. As they travelled, however, Harry began to notice
something rather odd. Every now and then, the blanket of snow was marred by a great,
jagged crack, rather like what you'd see on a rocky cliff face. That was odd - why would the
Hogwarts Quidditch pitch look like that? He certainly hadn’t been picturing it like this…

Harry stared at one particular crack, his footsteps slowing, and was even more confused when
it stubbornly refused to disappear, no matter how much he tried to imagine it away.

"So… what's going on with this?" Harry asked, gesturing to the crack.

Snape examined it thoughtfully. "This is a problem faced by many who seek to learn
Occlumency - the chinks in your armour, I suppose. That is how an intruding Legilimens
would try to break through this mental defence.”

Harry frowned and tilted his head to one side, confused. "Really? But there's only a memory
down there."

"And would I be right in assuming that it is a traumatic memory?"

Harry’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure. Anyway, how would I even check?”

"Look over the edge." Harry shuffled through the snowdrift and peered into the darkness.
Gradually, images and voices began to swirl around him…

"HOW DARE YOU, AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE DONE FOR YOU! I USE MY HARD-
EARNED MONEY TO PUT A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD AND FOOD IN YOUR
UNGRATEFUL MOUTH, AND YOU REPAY US BY -"

Harry jerked his head back with a gasp, and Uncle Vernon's voice cut off in an instant. Snape
was watching him closely, concerned. "Well?"

"Er - yeah. Not a nice one." Harry's brow furrowed. "What's it doing here? Why isn't it buried
like the rest of my memories?"

Snape grimaced. "Traumatic events tend to have a large impact on the psyche, particularly if
you've tried to repress them. The memories manifest as physical blemishes on your
mindscape.”

Harry gave the crack a deeply disgusted look. “I’m not traumatised, though.”

Snape regarded him for several, long moments. “As much as you may hate to admit it, Harry,
the way you were raised impacts you and your mind. Just because you wish things were
different does not make them so.”

Harry very intentionally avoided looking at Snape. He really, really didn’t want to think
about this. “Back to the Occlumency stuff, then. These cracks ruin the shield? How?”

"Unresolved traumatic memories significantly impact you," Snape explained. "A potential
invader will know this and pounce upon it. They will pull you into a difficult memory in an
attempt to upset you, and if you find yourself unable to escape it, your mental defences will
crumble, leaving the rest of your memories unprotected.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Am I just stuck like this, or can I do something about it?"

"Yes - you go through these cracks to address and resolve the memories instead of
continually attempting to repress them like you have been," Snape explained. "And you
practise pulling yourself out of the memory and returning to your mindscape. Practice will
make it easier for you to resist during an actual attack.”

"How?" he asked. “How can I get out of a memory?”

Snape frowned. "You just do it."

"What does that even mean?" Harry complained. “Explain it normally!”

"I am not quite sure how else to explain things…" Snape examined Harry for a long moment,
expression contemplative. "You learn best through example though, is that correct?"

"Yeah."
"Then I suppose I ought to give you one." Snape's face grew rather grim and pinched. "We
will observe a memory of mine so you can see how I pull myself out."

"But, er - wouldn't it be a traumatic one?" Harry asked nervously.

Snape nodded rather jerkily. "Yes."

"You don't have to do -"

"My mind is made up." Snape reached out a hand. "Come with me."

Harry tentatively complied. A moment after his hand met Snape's, he felt a strange tugging
sensation in his gut, and the snowy surroundings faded in a whirl of white light. Harry found
himself back on the sandy beach Snape had taken him to in order to explain mindscapes.

Snape released Harry's hand and crooked a finger. Harry followed him along the shore, but
they didn't go a very long distance before Snape came to a halt next to a small, jagged crack.
He knelt down next to it, paused for a moment, shook his head and carried on walking. Harry
watched on curiously, but didn’t dare to ask in case Snape needed to concentrated.

They reached a second crack rather quickly, this one closer to the edge of the water. Unlike
last time, Snape nodded after kneeling down next to it. "This should do."

"Um… if you don't mind me asking - what's it of?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"This is a memory of my father."

Harry felt an odd churning sensation in his gut. "Severus, you really don't have to show me, I
know it’s personal -"

"You are already aware that I had issues with my father," Snape said briskly. "This is not new
information - you will simply be witnessing a specific scenario. Now, when I place my face
in the water, it will bring you with me, so brace yourself for what you may see. Keep in mind
that nothing within the memory can actively harm us - you will simply be a viewer, unable to
interact or be perceived. We’ll be inside for a minute at the most. Now, are you ready?"

Harry slowly nodded.

Snape hesitated for the briefest moment, then bent down and plunged his head into the pool.
The beach dissolved into darkness.

The world came back into focus in a far more familiar location - the living room of Snape's
house in Spinner's End. It felt strangely off, which Harry quickly realised was due to a
difference in decor. The floor to ceiling bookshelves were gone, replaced with ugly,
yellowing wallpaper and an old-fashioned television, playing a black and white clip of some
angry, unfamiliar politician on the news. Harry didn't have much time to take in the
difference in scenery, though; it seemed that this memory immediately went into action, and
his eyes were instantly glued to the two people in the centre of the room.
There was a hook-nosed man, who bore a striking resemblance to Snape - if Snape had been
slovenly, unshaven, and reeked of alcohol, that was. The man was using one hand to clutch
onto an empty beer bottle and the other to shake his fist at a small, cowering woman. Her
dark eyes glittered with fear as she shrank away from the man, who was spewing a stream of
vitriol.

“-fucking useless, you know that?!”

"Please, Tobias -"

"SHUT IT, EILEEN!"

Tobias threw the bottle in his hand at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. Even though
he knew it was just a memory, and he knew nothing here could hurt him, Harry cringed back
on instinct and bumped into Snape. He glanced up to the man, who barely seemed to have
noticed the contact. Snape’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut. There was tension on his face,
gradually fading in the familiar Harry had come to associate with him Occluding his
emotions.

Harry watched for a moment, fascinated, but quickly stopped paying attention to his guardian
when Tobias struck Eileen hard across the face. She staggered back against the wall, an arm
raised to shield herself. Tobias grabbed her wrist roughly and wrenched her arm against the
wall, eliciting a pained gasp. There was another sound, almost inaudible amongst the fighting
- a small whimper.

Harry glanced down to his feet, where the sound was coming from. He’d never have guessed
that a dark-haired boy would be crouching half-hidden behind the sofa, watching his parents
fight from between the gaps in his fingers. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he
didn’t make another sound. He seemed afraid - terrified of being noticed by the furious
Tobias, but simultaneously too scared to leave his mother alone with him.

The minute Harry realised who this had to be, he thought he might be sick. This could only
be a young Snape, who he was hiding from his father the same way Harry used to hide from
Uncle Vernon.

The parallel was striking.

"Toby -" Eileen tried.

"You're nothing without me, you know that?" Tobias growled, and his wife fell silent. "Can't
work, can't cook or clean, sitting around here all day doing fuck all while I slave away in that
ruddy factory! Why the hell do I put up with -"

But Tobias’ voice abruptly cut off, like he’d been muted by a remote control. Spinner’s End
began to dissolve, and Harry was back on the beach. The fight was gone, far away. Harry
watched the waves fizzle into foam on the shore, filled with a mixture of admiration and
something else he couldn’t quite name. Seeing that memory had been awful, of course, but
Snape’s reaction… seeing the way in which the man maintained his calm, Occluded, and left
what had happened behind…
Snape always told Harry that he understood how it felt to be raised by people like the
Dursleys, and after seeing that, Harry could truly believe it. Something strange twinged in his
chest. Snape had gone through something very similar to what Harry had, but he’d made it
out the other side. Maybe, just maybe, Harry would be okay in the end, too.

Snape was to his left, still crouched over the crack, long hair hiding his face. He remained
motionless, even as Harry sidled up to him.

"Severus? Are you…"

"I am well." Snape got to his feet and shook himself. Harry got a glimpse of a pained
expression before all evidence of emotion was slammed away. Harry almost felt like he
should do or say something, but he was just lost for words. He wondered if this was how
Snape felt trying to figure out how to speak to Harry about the Dursleys…

The man seemed very keen to move on from the whole thing, however, and Harry certainly
wasn’t going to press.

“Did you see how I brought us back here?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded. “You were doing whatever it is you do to Occlude.”

“I was utilising the techniques we discussed when we were first constructing your
mindscape,” Snape reminded him. “Breathing, relaxing your muscles, imagery - you need to
calm yourself, remind yourself that it’s just a memory, and bring yourself back to the
mindscape by staying relaxed.”

"Right," Harry said. "Thank you - that has actually helped. Er - and, well, I know it was
probably hard to go there -”

“Oh, you certainly aren’t the worst witness I’ve had in that memory,” Snape said darkly.
“Compared to the Dark Lord, it was a walk in the park…”

Harry shivered. He didn’t know what he’d do if Voldemort started poking around some of the
memories of the Dursleys. That must have been terrible for Snape.

"Would you like to give things a go in your mind?" Snape suggested.

“Wait, you’re giving me a choice?”

“I’m not going to force you to trawl through traumatic memories if you don’t feel ready,”
Snape said.

“But I can’t learn how to truly Occlude unless I sort the cracks out,” Harry said. He felt
something inside him deflate. “So any mind reader could see those memories and break my
defences.”

“They aren’t called mind -” Snape cut himself off and exhaled loudly. “No. You would not be
protected from mental attacks unless you learn to Occlude inside of these memories."
Harry weighed up the options. On the one hand, he knew that the memories he and Snape
would be looking at would be rather unpleasant. Still, it couldn’t be any worse than actually
being there the first time around, right?

And Harry really, really wanted to learn to Occlude properly. He certainly didn’t want Draco
to be better at something than he was, for one thing, but Harry also knew how important it
was for his mind to be protected. Snape’s brief comments about Voldemort invading his worst
memories made Harry feel a little frightened. The idea of having him in there, tormenting
Harry with his relatives, was far more unbearable than the idea of a far more sympathetic
Snape helping him sort through some pushed-down memories that Harry probably ought to
deal with anyway.

“Well… there’s no point in doing stuff halfway,” Harry said with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

Snape hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll go now. Close your eyes and picture your
mindscape again…”

Harry did so, and heard the sounds of the ocean slowly melting away. When he opened his
eyes again, they were back at the Quidditch pitch.

Snape gave him an approving look. “You’re improving at that. Now, let’s go over to one of
the impact points.”

He and Harry walked over to the nearest crack, and stared into its dark depths.

Harry’s throat bobbed. “So there’s no way for me to know what memory’s down there?”

“No,” Snape said with a shake of his head. “Your mindscape isn’t advanced enough to
specifically catalogue and examine memories - that would take an Occlumens years of
practice to achieve.”

Harry wrinkled his nose and went back to staring at the crack. A horribly familiar tightness
was beginning to build up in his chest.

“No one would think less of you if you aren’t ready to do this yet,” Snape said quietly.

Harry shook his head firmly, and that feeling of anxiousness was immediately replaced by
determination. “No. I want to do this, I just need a minute.”

“Of course.”

After a moment of trying to muster up the strength to get on with it already, Harry turned to
Snape and bit his lip before speaking. “I don’t know if I can Occlude without you talking me
through it -”

"I will walk you through the whole process," Snape promised. “Just be prepared to not find
immediate success, especially since this is your first attempt. Go in whenever you’re ready.”

Harry exhaled loudly. “Okay.”

“Tell me if you want to leave at any point,” Snape said seriously. “And if I think it’s
becoming too much, I will sever the mental link and we will return to my office.”

Harry nodded and took several deep breaths. He was admittedly very nervous, but tried to
push it to one side. Snape had been willing to show him such a deeply personal memory to
help him with this, and if Snape could do it, Harry could, too.

And, most importantly of all, he wouldn't be alone there. After a moment of bone-chilling
anticipation, Harry stuck his face into the darkness.

Quickly, his surroundings clicked into place. They were at Number Four Privet Drive,
standing in the downstairs hallway, and Aunt Petunia was walking down the stairs. Her
blonde hair lacked its usual perfect curl, lying lank around her face, and there were dark,
purple bruises under her eyes. She looked more miserable than usual.

Aunt Petunia was holding a syringe and a bottle of medicine in one hand, acrylic nails
tapping rhythmically against the glass. Harry stared at her for a long moment, then realised
with a surge of horror what he was about to witness.

"Bloody hell, did it have to be this?" he muttered, stomach twisting itself into knots.

Snape reached out and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Remember - it's just a memory.
You can ask me to leave at any time. If not, remember to breathe. Picture the Quidditch pitch,
and we will return there.”

Harry nodded and tried to focus on his breathing, which had quickened significantly. Snape’s
hand was a grounding weight on his shoulder… he tried to picture the Quidditch pitch…

But just as he was about to shut his eyes to properly concentrate, Aunt Petunia roughly
yanked Harry out of the cupboard under the stairs. His hair was messier than usual, and his
eyes were overbright with fever. Harry wondered how it was possible that he could have ever
been this small…

Harry made to run, but Aunt Petunia grabbed him by the back of his oversized shirt and
dragged him towards her. She forced him onto his back.

Harry made a small whimpering noise. "Aunty, please no -"

"Don't you dare start fighting me again!" she snapped. "You've kept us up for days with your
crying, and I'm sick of you!”

"But I don't like it!"

"I don't care."

Aunt Petunia pinned Harry down with her knees and free arm, her horsey face twisted with
dislike as she started moving the syringe towards Harry's face. He twisted his head away, but
she grabbed him by the hair and pulled him forwards. Harry could still remember with
painful clarity how much it had hurt his scalp…
It's just a memory, he reminded himself as Aunt Petunia reached out with her free hand and
pinched his nose shut. Just a memory, just a memory, just a memory…

But with every passing moment, that distinction became blurrier and blurrier.

Little Harry struggled for a while, but eventually gave up and opened his mouth for a gasp of
air. Aunt Petunia seized his moment of weakness to shove the syringe into his mouth. She
pressed down on the plunger and clapped her hand over his mouth as Harry coughed - the
awful medicine had hit him right in the back of his throat. Tears trickled down his face.

"Stop whining," Petunia muttered, digging her nails into Harry's cheek until he swallowed.
"Or I'll give you something to cry about."

Just when Harry thought that he could bear it no longer, when he thought his chest might
actually explode under a great and agonising pressure, Privet Drive abruptly vanished. All he
could see now were Snape’s eyes, dark with intermingled fury and concern.

“I thought it best for us to leave,” he said softly.

Harry didn’t respond. He opened his mouth fruitlessly for air that would not pass the boulder
crushing his chest.

“It’s fine,” Snape said levelly. He reached out and squeezed Harry’s wrist gently. “Take a
look around - we’re back in the office.”

Harry moved his head and took in the sights, so fundamentally different to those on Privet
Drive. He could see a desk, the fireplace, jars, bookshelves. The Dursleys had a lot of empty
bookshelves - none of them were readers…

“Breathe, Harry.” Snape squeezed his wrist again, bringing Harry back to himself. “Do it
with me.”

Harry obediently copied the rise and fall of Snape’s chest. At first it felt impossible - he kept
making those awful, shallow gasping sounds that didn’t actually allow any air to enter his
lungs. Eventually, though, the knot in Harry’s chest began to loosen, and his breathing evened
out enough to match Snape’s. The gallop of his heartbeat slowed to more of a trot, and there
was no longer a strange rushing sound in his ears.

When Harry had been calm enough to breathe properly for about two minutes, Snape placed
a vial of Calming Draught in Harry’s palm. “I’d recommend you take that.”

Harry stared down at it and frowned. Normally, Snape didn’t give him a choice after he
panicked like that… Harry was glad he’d not forced the Calming Draught for once. In a time
like this, it would just remind Harry of that awful memory, and he was almost certain that
even a Calming Draught wouldn’t have been able to stave off the panic attack which would
surely ensue if something medicinal was forced down his throat right now…

And Snape had probably realised that. Harry grimaced, then reluctantly drank the potion. It
settled over him like a heavy blanket, pressing away the last twinges of lingering anxiety.
Snape sighed. “I should have realised this would be too much.”

“No!” Harry said quickly. “No - I still want to do this. I have to.”

“Even so, I don’t know if it’s a good idea -”

“I want to try,” Harry insisted. “I need to, even if it’s hard. It’s like you said - wouldn’t
Voldemort being in there be worse? What if he comes back someday, and tries to force his
way into my mind? I need to be prepared!” Snape looked like he was considering it, so Harry
pressed on. “I’ll take a Calming Draught every time we do it - whatever you want me to do, I
just want to try. I can handle this.”

Snape finally broke. “Fine. We’re done for today, though.”

Harry quickly nodded his assent. Even if Snape had allowed him to continue with the
Occlumency lesson, Harry certainly wouldn’t have wanted to.

“You know,” Snape said slowly, “One way to make it easier to Occlude when you’re dragged
into these memories is to talk about what happened.”

Harry made a disgusted face. “Yeah, no."

“You cannot keep ignoring all of this, Harry,” Snape said bluntly. There was a flash of
frustration in his eyes. “I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve discussed your
relatives with me since we returned to Hogwarts. I understand that you don’t want to, but if I
am agreeing to continue Occlumency lessons with you, I am going to have to insist.”

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Of course you are.”

“I think I’ve been remarkably restrained since August in regard to the Dursleys, as a matter of
fact,” Snape said pointedly. “I’m not oblivious - I can tell when you’re thinking about them,
but you never end up speaking about it with me. It's not good for you to bottle it up.”

Harry continued to prop his head up with his hands as he stared at the floor, wondering when
Snape had become so attuned to his body language.

“I know I should probably talk about it,” he admitted after a moment. “I remember what you
were saying about how if I ignore things, then everything just explodes out at bad moments,
and I know that happens to me… but I’m just not used to saying most of the things I’m
thinking.”

“Would you be willing to start trying?”

“Er… I guess…” Harry frowned. “You won’t be all weird and dramatic about what I say,
right?”

Snape scowled. “Since when have you known me to be overly dramatic about anything?”

Harry often thought that Snape was one of the most dramatic people he knew, and had the
examples to back it up, but decided not to argue the point. He was quite decent and level-
headed with things like the Dursleys, at least, and that was what was important. Besides, a
small part of Harry actually wanted to talk about them. Snape said it would help, and Snape
understood what it was like to grow up like that, so he would know. More than anything, that
spurred Harry on.

“Um… that memory you saw is why I was being so fussy about the Hospital Wing earlier in
the year,” Harry admitted. “Me and Dudley were like four, maybe five? Anyway, we both had
ear infections, and Uncle Vernon was annoyed I kept waking him and Aunt Petunia up when
I was crying, so she took us both to the doctor.”

Snape’s expression was gradually darkening, but he didn’t speak. Harry nervously pressed
on. “Well anyway, we got prescribed those antibiotics. All I remember is that I really hated
them. They’re the worst thing I’d ever tasted, all bitter and nasty. Aunt Petunia… well, she
was really nice with Dudley when he had to take his doses, but by the time she got to me,
she’d be really sick of it all so she’d just do… that. I hated it.”

“Many children would, presumably.” A muscle in Snape’s jaw was ticking.

“I just remember how powerless I felt,” Harry said quietly. He wrapped his arms around his
midsection. “That was what bothered me.”

Snape abruptly reached out and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “And you realise how wrong such
callousness was?”

“Yeah… still, though.” Harry trailed off, lost in thought.

“Nasty old cow,” Snape muttered.

Harry turned to the man in disbelief, and to his surprise, actually ended up laughing. He’d
never really heard Snape talk about someone so… ineloquently. It was strangely amusing.

“I must say, Harry, I am surprised by your determination to continue with the more advanced
Occlumency lessons following that experience,” Snape said slowly. “May I ask why you’re
still interested?”

Harry thought for a moment, and found his answer. “I just really don’t like that those
memories have that much power over me, without me even realising it. I need to be able to
protect myself if it comes to it, even if it’s hard. I know it’s an important skill, like you said -
I want to be able to do it. I know I can, if I try hard enough.”

“That’s very determined of you,” Snape said. He gave Harry an approving nod, and he
managed to muster a thin smile.

“I think we ought to get on with other matters now,” Snape said, adopting a brisk, business-
like tone. “It’s been a while since we last played chess, you know.”

Harry could see exactly what Snape was trying to do, and grimaced. “Severus, you don’t
have to. I can just get on with something else.”
“Nonsense,” Snape said dismissively. “And, as you’ll recall, part of your punishment for the
Hogsmeade escapade is to remain under my strict supervision, is it not? Consider this a part
of that, if you must. Come along.”

For the first time during the whole of the Christmas holidays, Snape’s voice lacked a lot of
the bite it had held whenever he brought up the Hogsmeade incident. Harry couldn’t help but
feel a little relieved by that as he and Snape entered the living room without any more fuss on
Harry’s part. Maybe he was finally being forgiven for the whole fiasco…

They exited through the hidden door in Snape’s office and entered the sitting room, where
Harry was immediately met with the sight of Draco lying face-down on the sofa. Noticing
their approach, he lifted his head and made a sad groaning noise.

"I'm dying," Draco proclaimed.

"Shame," Snape said dryly. “That will be an awful lot of paperwork…”

"I really am, Severus. Look at the state of me!" Draco gestured limply to himself before
sneezing four times in quick succession. He groaned again and hid his head under a pillow.

Snape frowned and walked over. "You're ill?"

"I have the plague," Draco's muffled voice said.

Snape briskly pulled the pillow off Draco's face, felt his forehead with the back of his hand
and tutted. "Black cat flu's been going around. You must have caught it."

Harry frowned. "Black cat flu?"

"A wizard's flu," Snape explained. "The only difference between this and the Muggle ones
you’ll be familiar with is that there is no magical cure. You just have to treat the symptoms
and wait it out."

He pulled his wand from the sleeve of his robes and summoned several potions, which he
forced upon the reluctant Draco.

"Merlin's beard, these are dreadful," Draco muttered, wiping his mouth and scowling.

“Well, the hallucinations would be worse,” Snape said, vanishing the bottles with a flick of
his wand.

Harry jerked his head around, alarmed. "Hallucinations? What kind of flu is that?!"

"A magical one." Snape vanished the empty bottles. "The difference between a magical
disease and a Muggle one is that it attacks your magical core as well as your immune system.
Without treatment, you can experience hallucinations, extremely high fevers, accidental
magic, rashes…”

Harry shivered. "I don’t like the sound of that.”

"It’s really not fun," Draco muttered. “Ugh, I remember when I had Pixiepox when I was six,
and it was awful… I thought there were rats crawling in through my windows…”

“You should go back to bed,” Snape said, helping Draco to his feet. “Harry, stay away from
him so you don’t catch it.”

Harry nodded vigorously, and made a beeline for the sink to thoroughly wash his hands.

Unfortunately enough, it was a futile effort. The following morning, Harry woke up feeling
like death warmed over. His entire body was clammy, his nose was simultaneously blocked
and running, and his attempts to get dressed were punctuated by constant sneezes. Harry
eventually managed to drag himself to the loo, splashed some cold water on his face, and
staggered into the empty dining room.

Snape was absent, as was Draco. He was probably too sick to emerge, Harry realised. Draco
had spent most of the previous afternoon and evening periodically calling for Snape from his
room, voice raspy and thin, and Harry was fairly certain he’d heard someone retching in the
middle of the night.

With a sigh, Harry collapsed at the table and struggled through his breakfast. It was no easy
feat - every time Harry swallowed, it felt like razor blades were ripping open his throat. Still,
it wasn’t like Snape would care. Breakfast wasn’t ever optional in their household, no matter
what was going on. Harry groaned and leaned his head against the mercifully cool wood of
the table. This was going to be a truly miserable day…

He'd just lifted his head again when a harried-looking Snape walked out of Draco's room. He
ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Is everything okay?" Harry asked. “You look terrible.”

"Well, I haven’t slept much," Snape said ruefully. He walked over to the kitchen cupboard
and pulled out the mug Harry had bought him for Christmas. "As I’m sure you’ve noticed,
Draco is rather unwell.”

"Oh," Harry said softly, feeling a pang of sympathy. “Does he need the Hospital Wing?”

“Not for a flu - I’m perfectly capable of managing this without Madam Pomfrey’s aid.”
Snape tapped the kitchen counter, and the mug was instantly filled with steaming coffee. He
drank from it deeply for several seconds before speaking again. "Speaking of the Hospital
Wing, the Hogwarts medicinal stocks are in desperate need of replenishment, so I ought to
start brewing soon. I've left some ingredients out - I presume you can prepare them
unsupervised while I look after Draco?”

Harry struggled against a grimace. Potions was the last thing he wanted to do when he was
feeling this ill. He was in trouble, though. He supposed this was just a part of the punishment.

"Yeah, I can do it."

"I'll be with you soon,” Snape promised, sweeping back in the direction of Draco’s room.
Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek and watched his guardian leave. He wasn't entirely
sure if he should mention how sick he felt or not. While he was fairly certain that Snape
wouldn't be horrible about it, all of Harry's unpleasant childhood memories surrounding
illness were hovering in the forefront of his mind after yesterday’s Occlumency lesson.

In the end, Harry decided that it just wasn't worth making a fuss. Really - Harry could handle
a little bit of a flu! Besides, Snape had enough on his plate, between how sick Draco was and
all those Hospital Wing potions he needed to get done. Harry would just fight through like he
always did…

Although fighting through quickly became rather difficult as Harry stationed himself at a
workbench and got started on chopping. His whole body felt hot and cold all at once, his eyes
were bleary and oddly sticky, and his limbs felt like they were made of lead. All of Harry's
ingredients were badly sized, and he knew that Snape was going to make him redo
everything. He pressed his lips together, fighting back a groan of displeasure. He hated
brewing…

It was nearly an hour before Snape joined Harry in the laboratory, looking remarkably
exhausted. The fact that he wasn’t even hiding that with Occlumency like he usually did
meant that Snape really wasn’t himself. It all only solidified Harry's decision to just get on
with things. Snape already had enough to contend with.

As the morning progressed, however, it became more and more difficult for Harry to hide the
fact that he was ill. They'd been in the laboratory for barely twenty minutes, and Harry had
probably sneezed about a dozen times.

When the force of one particularly violent sneeze caused Harry to knock a root onto the floor,
Snape finally looked up from his cauldron and frowned. "Are you quite alright?"

"Fine, fine, just got something up my nose," Harry lied. Snape stared at him for a long
moment before returning to his cauldron. Harry rolled his aching shoulders and rubbed his
eyes, woozy with exhaustion. Doing Potions for another moment, especially with someone as
strict as Snape, felt like an impossible task.

So maybe… maybe he should just tell Snape he wasn’t feeling well.

It went against everything Harry's instincts were telling him, but he did feel really poorly. If
he said something, Snape could give him a potion and Harry would be able to get back to
work and concentrate properly.

Snape wasn’t like his relatives, Harry reminded himself. He wouldn't be angry with Harry for
being sick. He hadn't been angry with Draco, right? And besides, Snape was always going on
at Harry about how he didn’t go to people when he was in pain, or when he was struggling
with a problem. It wouldn't hurt to just ask, right? Even if he got cross, then Harry would
know what reaction to expect in case of future illnesses…

He stared at the man contemplatively, trying to decide what to do, until the decision was
made up for Harry when Snape noticed his unwavering gaze.
“Is there a reason why you’re ogling me?”

Harry hesitated. “If I tell you something, do you promise you won't be angry?”

Snape frowned. “I don't particularly like where this is going…”

“Well, I don't want to tell you now,” Harry muttered.

Snape threw his hands in the air, clearly exasperated. “Fine, then! What is it?”

“Er… could I have some kind of pain potion or something, please?”

The annoyance instantly turned to alarm, and Snape rose to his feet. “You're hurt?”

“No, I just have a sore throat,” Harry said quickly while Snape began to hurry over. “I think
I've caught Draco's thing. It's fine, though, I can just get on with it -”

Snape had reached him by then, and he pressed the back of his hand to Harry's forehead. His
eyebrows contracted. “You obviously have a fever. Why are you only just mentioning this to
me?”

“I wasn't even going to say anything, you know,” he grumbled. Recalling their conversation
from the day before about communicating things, Harry also admitted, “The Dursleys
weren’t ever good about this stuff, so…”

Snape sighed, and his jaw became rigid with the same anger he’d displayed after witnessing
Harry’s memories yesterday. “Well, thank you for eventually bringing this to my attention.
Progress is progress, I suppose… now, you should be in bed.”

“It's fine!” Harry protested. “Honestly, I'm good at powering through -”

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said irritably. “You shouldn't be anywhere near a cauldron in this
state. Go.”

Without further ado, he firmly took Harry by the arm and half-dragged him to his bedroom.
Snape flicked his wand at the wardrobe and summoned a pair of pyjamas. “I'll be back in a
moment with some potions.”

Harry quickly changed while Snape was outside. It was admittedly quite the relief to crawl
back into bed when he was feeling this wretched. As promised, Snape returned with an
armload of potions. Harry drank them down, with no small amount of coughing and
spluttering. They tasted bitter, and gritty, and left a horrid film over all of Harry’s mouth.

“Those are properly grim,” he said, wiping his mouth to try and get rid of any residue. “God,
what's in there, tar?”

“I highly doubt you want to know,” Snape said. “Did it help?”

He nodded.
“Good.” Snape sat on the end of Harry's bed and looked closely at him. “How long were you
unwell before you told me? Don't lie - I'll know.”

“Since I woke up,” he admitted reluctantly.

Snape sighed. “In future, tell me when the symptoms start. As I mentioned to you yesterday,
this is an illness of magic - if you’d left it much longer, you’d have become far sicker than
you are. I highly doubt you want to spend days seeing and hearing things that aren’t really
there while your magic repairs itself!”

Harry glared at him. “You promised you wouldn’t have a go at me!”

“I am not doing that. I am trying to shake some sense into you,” Snape said rather sharply.
After a moment, though, the irritation in his features softened. “Was there any other reason
you didn’t say something?”

Harry sighed and leaned his head back against the pillows. “Well… you're kind of busy with
Draco, aren't you? I didn't want to be a bother.”

Snape frowned. “Draco being sick does not magically cure you of your illness.”

“But I don't get to be sick,” Harry insisted. “I can get on with stuff while I'm ill, I always
have -”

“If you don't rest while you're unwell, all you’ll do is cause more damage to yourself,” Snape
interrupted. “There's nothing honourable about soldiering on - if you're sick, I expect you to
come to me when your symptoms start, no matter what else you believe I have going on. I…
I give you my word, I will never be angry with you for being unwell.”

Harry pulled a face and didn't meet Snape's eyes. He knew precisely why the man had tacked
that last sentence on - both of them were surely thinking of the memory from his Occlumency
lessons.

“Now, try and get some rest,” Snape instructed as he got to his feet and headed for the door.
“If you need anything, you will come and ask me, yes?”

“I will,” he promised, pulling the covers up under his chin.

“You’d better,” Snape said ominously, shooting him a sharp look before crossing the
threshold.

Harry felt a little bit of the ache dissipate from his muscles as he relaxed against the mattress
and let out a sigh of relief. Even though he probably could have struggled through a brewing
session, Harry was still glad he didn't have to. Even though Snape had been ever so slightly
scolding, it wasn't because Harry was sick, but because he hadn't told Snape about it. All in
all, it was worth it for the potions to feel a bit better. After a couple of minutes, his eyes
fluttered closed, and sleep claimed Harry.
When Harry woke, he discovered there were new depths to the pain he was feeling. His body
ached all over, he was clammy, shivering and drenched in cold sweat, and there was a
horrible churning sensation in his gut. As soon as Harry noticed it, his stomach contracted,
and hot bile rose in his throat. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth and sprinted to the
bathroom, and made it to the toilet just in time. Vomiting felt like torture on his sore throat,
which had evolved into a sharp mass of constant pain while he slept. His head was pounding,
his skin was covered in gooseflesh, and the icy cold bathroom was only making his shivers
more violent. Harry gasped for breath as the retching stopped, hugged his midsection, and
desperately willed the room to stop spinning.

A hand suddenly came to rest on his shoulder, and Harry started rather violently. Snape had
silently materialised within the bathroom.

“Are you alright?"

Stupid bloody question, Harry thought grumpily. He glowered at Snape for a moment. Harry
felt absolutely dreadful, and it had put him in a foul mood. He placed a hand to his pounding
head and wiped his nose, which was running like a waterfall. When Harry realised that Snape
was still watching on, he pulled a face.

“Sorry,” Harry rasped, voice hoarse and ragged. “This is all disgusting.”

“Don't even start with that,” Snape said exasperatedly. He reached into his pocket for a
handkerchief and handed it to Harry. “I've been the Head of Slytherin for twelve years - I've
seen it all. This certainly doesn't faze me.”

Harry, who still felt rather self-conscious, tried to get up on wobbly legs before he was hit
with another wave of nausea. He crouched down again and retched, cheeks still hot with
embarrassment. He wished Snape would just go away and leave him to it, but the way he had
started to rub Harry's back in soothing circles was surprisingly helpful…

Once the vomiting stopped again, Harry rested his head on his arm. He didn't think he had the
strength to leave the side of the toilet, even if it was so dreadfully cold in the bathroom.

“Evil flu,” he mumbled. “Evil, stupid, flu…”

“It is infamous for being a miserable illness,” Snape agreed. “Particularly, I imagine, since
your immune system wasn't exposed to many magical ailments as a child."

“Ugh. I wish I was a Muggle right now,” Harry muttered.

“I can imagine.” Glass clinked in Snape’s pockets. “Here - drink this.”

Harry finally lifted his head to stare at Snape, aghast. “You’re mental!”

“It's a Stomach Soother,” he explained. “It will prevent any further vomiting.”

Harry’s stomach had already started to churn again. “Yeah, that's not staying down.”
“Trust me, it will. Drink.”

Harry didn't have the energy to fight any further, and was slightly annoyed to realise that
Snape was right - after he drank the Stomach Soother he didn't feel like being sick anymore,
and the pains in his stomach had eased slightly. Harry still felt like he was dying, but he'd
take the small mercies…

He got to his feet on shaky legs and leaned heavily on the sink while he brushed his teeth to
get the taste out of his mouth. Snape marked him closely, like some sort of ominous shadow.
He appeared to be ready to grab Harry at any moment, which he could reluctantly admit
wasn't that bad of an idea. He really didn't trust his legs to work right now, especially when
they started the journey back to Harry’s bedroom and his knees almost gave out, forcing him
to lean heavily on Snape for support. Harry crawled back under the covers and pulled them
over his head, overcome by the desire to hide from the world. Snape tapped his shoulder
through the fabric.

“You should drink some water,” he said.

Harry groaned and poked his head out. “Why are you always so obsessed with me drinking
stuff?”

“In this case, it’s because I don't want you to become severely dehydrated.”

“Hmmph.” Snape handed Harry a glass of water, which he reluctantly sipped and placed on
his nightstand.

“All of it,” Snape said firmly, picking up the glass and pressing it into Harry’s hand.

He shot Snape a truly withering look, but didn’t have it in him to disobey. Once he was done,
Harry asked, “How's Draco?”

“About the same as you,” Snape said. “He had just fallen asleep when I heard you down the
hallway.”

“Oh.” Harry grimaced. “Sorry.”

“If you do not stop apologising for stupid reasons, then I will actually start ‘having a go at
you’, as you so eloquently put it earlier,” Snape said, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

Harry, who sensed he was in troubled waters now, nodded vigorously. The last thing he
wanted right now was another telling off. He pulled his duvet closer as another shiver
wracked him.

“Would you like another blanket?”

Harry nodded, and one was placed over him. Something strange and painful twisted in his
chest at that affectionate motion. This wasn’t something Harry was used to at all. He couldn’t
imagine Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon even noticing his discomfort, let alone doing
something to alleviate it… Harry thought again of that long-ago ear infection and hugged
himself with his arms.
None of that mattered now, Harry reminded himself. At last, things were different - he had
Snape.

“Can you die of this?" Harry asked.

“At your age? No,” Snape said. “Black cat flu is only lethal when contracted by pensioners.”

“Are you sure?" Harry muttered. “If this isn't what dying feels like, I don't know what is… "

Snape waved his wand, and Harry’s desk chair flew across the room to the side of his bed.
“Your mother felt similarly when she was in your position.”

“Wait, what?” Harry snapped to attention.

“One of her roommates' cats gave the black cat flu to half of Gryffindor Tower in our second
year,” Snape explained, settling into the chair. “I visited her in the Hospital Wing a few times,
and Lily’s illness had left her in high dudgeon. Every ten minutes, she vowed to send her cat
after McKinnon’s to exact vengeance…”

“I didn’t know Mum had a cat!”

“I must have abstained from mentioning him - after all, the blasted thing despised me.” Snape
scowled. “His name was Claudius. He bit, scratched, and had a strange knack for knocking
inkpots onto my assignments and ruining them moments after their completion… we had
something of a feud.”

Harry snorted. “He sounds like Crookshanks.”

“Granger’s cat?” Harry nodded. “Oh, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn they’re related.
Claudius was just as ugly… Merlin and Morgana, that face haunts me. You know, I once saw
Miss Granger’s familiar in the hallway, and I thought Lily’s evil cat had come back from the
dead for the sheer purpose of tormenting me!”

Harry laughed, but after a few moments his chuckles turned into wracking coughs that made
his throat burn and smart. Snape wordlessly conjured more water into Harry’s glass and
handed it to him. He sipped it cautiously, then laid back while Snape continued speaking.

“I used to think it was just myself whom Claudius had it out for, but Professor McGonagall
recently informed me otherwise,” Snape remarked, smoothing the covers over Harry’s
shoulders as he spoke. “As you know, her Animagus form is a cat. Well, Claudius did not
take kindly to Minerva’s presence, particularly when she was transformed. There was one
particular occasion where Claudius had taken to breaking into Minerva’s office nightly, and
no matter how many wards she put up, the confounded thing would always find a way to slip
through and attack her. Lily defended that feline fiend vehemently, of course...”

Harry’s eyes began to slowly flutter closed as Snape’s quiet, even voice washed over him. He
always loved to hear things about his mother, so much so that the stories Snape was telling
helped him feel just the tiniest bit better. Harry couldn’t help but reflect on how nice it was to
be looked after without being made to feel guilty. He laid there and allowed the continual
stream of stories to lull him to sleep, grateful to at last have someone who cared.
 Unexpected Company

Spending most of New Year’s sick with the flu was certainly not ideal. Draco and Harry, who
had originally been planning to stay up until midnight together to celebrate, were instead
stuck in the throes of fever and sickness, and it was a good five or so days before either of
them were well enough to surface from their beds.

Harry was still rather shocked by how accommodating Snape had been about the whole
thing, actually. Since he wasn’t the most sympathetic or demonstrative of people, Harry had
expected to be generally ignored or left to his own devices while he was unwell. To the
contrary, Snape had actually gone to great lengths to look after him. He would check in on
Harry every hour or so to see if he needed anything, or to coax potions or food into him
despite his protestations. Sometimes, it left all left Harry feeling a little bit like Dudley, but
Snape certainly didn’t fuss over him like Harry’s aunt tended to coddle his cousin. Snape was
still his no-nonsense self, even if his general strict and focused demeanour was now switched
to ensuring Harry’s recovery.

Once he was well enough to function again, though, Harry’s mind was focused on one thing,
and one thing alone: Occlumency lessons. He practically had to beg on bended knee to
convince Snape to give them to him again, especially after his bout of flu, but the man
eventually caved, and agreed to spend the weekend before the spring term started at
Hogwarts teaching Harry to escape his bad memories. It wasn’t an instant process - Snape
kept having to pull Harry out to calm down when he was unable to manage it - but Harry
liked to think he was getting a bit closer. So, on the morning of the day the Hogwarts Express
would arrive back with all of the holidaying students, Harry found himself plunging into a
great, dark chasm.

By now, it was growing familiar.

They were in the hallway of Number Four Privet Drive, nearly a decade ago. Aunt Petunia
was walking down the stairs with a bottle of medicine and an exhausted look on her face.
Harry was locked away in the cupboard under the stairs, just four years old.

He squeezed his eyes shut, Snape’s hand firm and steadying on his shoulder.

“Aunty, please no -”

“Don't you dare fight me again!”

Harry pictured the Quidditch pitch, trying to ignore the battle occurring just next to him. Tall,
golden hoops, white snow, looming castle, the wind on his face… he lengthened his inhales
and exhaled, stuttering past the tense knot in his chest, and thought hard of the Quidditch
Pitch. Nothing else, not what was going on around him…

And the more he thought, the more Aunt Petunia's voice and his younger self’s sniffles faded.
Eventually, the wind on Harry's face that he had been imagining became real, and he at last
dared to open his eyes. Privet Drive was gone, and instead, he was on the Quidditch Pitch
with one highly satisfied Snape.

Harry grinned, and pumped his fist into the air. “Finally!”

“Well done,” Snape said. His eyes glittered with triumph.

Harry let out a delighted laugh and stared down at the crack. It seemed smaller than before,
somehow. “I did it! I finally did it! Fourth time's the charm, I guess…”

Harry suddenly realised how weak and wobbly his knees felt, and staggered backwards. The
pitch turned fuzzy and tilted, then dissolved entirely moments later, and Harry found himself
back in Snape's office. It was just as out of focus as the pitch, and was also spinning in a
rather nauseating fashion. Harry had to grab heavily onto the arms of his chair for support.
Once everything had stopped swirling around him so aggressively, he saw Snape sliding a
packet of biscuits and a glass of water across the desk to him.

“Here.” Snape gestured to the items. “That kind of magic is highly draining - the food will
help.”

Harry picked up a biscuit and bit into it, only to realise that he was absolutely ravenous
despite lunch being less than an hour ago. Once he’d scoffed about half the packet, Harry
finally had it in him to speak again.

“Why’d my mindscape disappear?” he asked. “Did you take us out?”

Snape shook his head. “As I said, what you just did was incredibly exhausting. You didn’t
have the mental or magical energy to sustain your Occlumency shields any longer."

“Oh.” Harry took another bite of his biscuit. “So how do I improve that?”

“Practice,” Snape said. “It’s rather like training a muscle - this takes time. We will repeat the
exercise you just completed with other memories, and you will eventually find yourself able
to maintain the mindscape under even the most stressful of circumstances.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “So I have to go through more nasty memories?”

“Indeed. This is not a one and done exercise - you will need to practise.”

Harry sighed. “Alright.”

He couldn’t feel too put out about it, though. After all of that struggling, he was finally able
to Occlude that memory of Aunt Petunia, after all. If he could manage that, Harry was sure he
could deal with whatever else his mind had to throw at him.

“That will be all for today,” Snape announced. “And once again - congratulations.”

Harry couldn’t help his grin as he exited the man’s office. Everything seemed to be looking
up. Not only was his Occlumency finally coming together, but he was also being released
from his grounding after the Hogsmeade incident as of today. Harry was planning to spend
the late afternoon in Gryffindor Tower with his friends after they arrived on the Hogwarts
Express. It would be good to see Ron and Hermione again after the long Christmas break.

He walked into his bedroom and saw Draco waiting for him, a marked-up essay sitting in his
lap.

“Took you long enough,” he complained. “I’ve been waiting ages to ask you about that
Defence homework… and what are you so happy about, anyway?”

“I finally pushed Snape out of my bad memories,” Harry beamed.

“Oh. Well, I suppose for you that would be a success,” Draco said, lifting his nose up
haughtily. “Of course, I managed that at the start of October…”

“Well bully for you,” Harry grumbled, some of the smile fading from his face. “Besides, I
didn't even start lessons until December, you prat.”

“Git,” he shot back.

Still feeling too satisfied with himself to fight properly, Harry decided to steer the
conversation to happier matters. “So, what’s your mindscape of?”

“A forest near Wiltshire,” Draco explained. “Lovely place. It’s full of magical creatures, and
all sorts of gorgeous trees… I’ve not been there since the Manor burnt down, of course, but I
always did enjoy spending time there. I’d love to go back someday…”

“I’d like to see that, I think,” Harry remarked. “It sounds nice.”

“Well… maybe you could do it now,” Draco said thoughtfully. “If Severus can use
Legilimency to go into our heads, surely you could do that with me?”

Harry frowned. “I don’t know how to cast the spell, though…”

“Well, we know the incantation,” Draco pointed out. “Legilimens. It’s all about willpower, if
I’m not wrong, so just focus really hard on trying to get into my mind, and it’ll happen."

“Okay…”

Harry still wasn’t sure if he could pull this off, but he wasn’t opposed to giving it a go.
Besides, he was feeling rather confident after that successful Occlumency lesson. How
different could Legilimency be, anyway?

Harry got his wand out and lowered himself to the rug at the base of his bed, so he was sitting
cross-legged in front of Draco. They were so close that their knees were touching.

“Ready, then?” Harry said.

“Go for it.” Draco smiled. “Maybe if this goes well, I could show you other memories - like
some places in Malfoy Manor.”
“Sure.” Harry tried to look more enthusiastic than he actually felt. He wasn’t sure how
interested he was in seeing a Dark Magic infested house, but knew it wouldn’t be wise to say
something like that around Draco.

He took a deep breath and stared straight into Draco’s grey eyes. “Legilimens.”

It felt remarkably like the time Aunt Petunia had swung a frying pan at Harry’s head. There
was a cacophonous clanging within his skull, accompanied by sharp pains that shot down the
back of his neck and through his jawbone. Harry cried out from the agonising sensation,
squeezed his eyes shut and clapped his hands over his ears to try and block out the sound, but
it didn’t work. After all, the noise was coming from inside of his head. A few moments later
it all quietened, but he was left with a sharp throbbing pain in his temples, like his brain was
suddenly too big for his skull and was trying to shove its way out. Harry moved his hands
from his ears to his eyes, which suddenly felt as though they would be popped from their
sockets from the immense pressure inside of his head.

Harry suddenly realised he was now lying on the floor. The shaggy rug at the base of his bed
was pressing up against his cheek, and his glasses were digging into the side of his head.
Harry tried to open his eyes, then immediately shut them when the blinding light around him
made the pain turn stabbing again.

Draco groaned loudly. “What did you do?!”

“Shhh,” Harry mumbled. The volume of the other boy’s voice was hurting him badly.

That pain became worse as someone wrenched open his bedroom door and thudded across
the floor like a thunderous giant. “What the devil are you two doing?!”

Harry and Draco both cried out in tandem at the sound of Snape’s painfully loud voice.

“Answer me!” Snape’s tone was low and dangerous.

“Harry tried to Legilimise me so I could show him my mindscape, but it all went wrong,”
Draco muttered.

“Well that was a stupid thing to do, wasn’t it?!” Snape snapped.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Harry said, clapping his hands over his ears again.

“What were you thinking, practising a spell like that unsupervised?” he ranted. “Most
seventh years couldn’t even manage Legilimency, you idiot boys!” He grabbed Harry’s arm
and hauled him so he was sitting upright, then pressed a vial into his hand. “Drink.”

Harry gagged slightly as he tried to choke down the foul-tasting potion, all while Snape
continued to rant. “What on earth would possess you to do such a foolish thing? Yet again,
you are both proving to me that you have no understanding of personal safety! The first thing
you’re taught at Hogwarts is not to practise new spells unsupervised - I wasn’t aware that I
was dealing with two eleven-year-olds, fresh off the Hogwarts Express!”
Harry finished drinking the potion and at last managed to open his eyes. Both light and sound
still made his head ache horribly, but it wasn’t debilitating like it had been a minute ago.
Unfortunately, he now had to look at the ill-tempered Snape while he continued to lecture.

“In fact, even eleven-year-olds display more caution than the two of you have! Draco, I know
for a fact that you were taught not to experiment with magic by the age of five!” he seethed.
“And Harry - after the conversations we’ve spent the last few weeks having about impulse
control, I’d have expected better of you!”

Draco cradled his head in his hands, face screwed up with pain. “Believe me, Severus, this
headache is making me learn my lesson…”

“I should hope so,” Snape said severely, drawing himself up to his full height. “I also hope
the two foot essay on Legilimency you’ll be submitting to me before Thursday will also drive
that point home…”

Harry and Draco both groaned simultaneously.

“Don’t,” Snape said angrily. “I don’t want to hear any complaints. Now, the only thing for the
headache is rest - a few hours in a dark room, and you’ll be back to normal. Do not do a thing
like this again!”

He jabbed his wand at the ceiling, and the light in the room dimmed. Now, there was only the
dim and murky lakelight casting strange, dancing shapes across the room. Snape flurried out
a moment later, leaving Harry and Draco lying on the floor.

“I blame you,” Draco muttered.

Harry grabbed a slipper from under his bed and hurled it at him. “It was your idea, arsehole!”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t have screwed up the spell,” Draco drawled. “For someone who’s
supposedly the saviour of the magical world, you are a staggeringly mediocre wizard…”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered. He got to his feet, crawled on top of his duvet and pressed a
pillow over his head. “Go into your room, or be quiet.”

So, instead of spending the afternoon reuniting with his friends, Harry instead wasted the day
lying in dead silence in a darkened room with Draco, trying and failing to take a nap until the
worst of the headache receded. By the time Harry’s had faded to a slight tension lingering in
his temples, it was almost five o’clock, and far too late to ask Snape to walk him up to
Gryffindor Tower. Instead, Harry and Draco settled in the living room with a deck of
Exploding Snap. Their irate guardian had locked himself away in his office.

“He really goes off on one when he hits his stride, doesn’t he?” Harry whispered, jerking his
head in the direction of Snape’s door. “Bloody hell…”

“Two feet!” Draco said indignantly. “On something as dry as Legilimency, too… It wasn't
like anything really bad happened! Merlin’s beard, sometimes I really wish Severus would
just pull that stick out of his -”
Draco abruptly went quiet as Snape’s office door burst open. Harry cringed as a scowling
Snape observed them, certain the man had overheard their griping…

But if he had, Snape didn’t comment. Instead, he simply gestured to the interior of his office.
“Harry. A word?”

He slowly got to his feet and walked over to Snape, who stalked back inside of his office. To
Harry’s shock, Ron and Hermione were standing together in front of Snape’s desk. Both of
them looked slightly pale, although Ron’s ears had gone red in the way that let Harry know
he was particularly annoyed about something.

A purse-lipped Snape gestured to Harry. “Miss Granger and Mr Weasley seem to require
assurances that you have not been chained to a post within a dark, festering dungeon. Does
this evidence satisfy you two, hmm?”

He shot a glare at Ron and Hermione, the latter of whom nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

She sharply elbowed Ron, who looked like he was about to protest.

“Er… hi,” Harry said tentatively. “Happy New Year.”

“Hello,” Hermione said, shooting an anxious look over Harry’s shoulder to where Snape was
still lingering, glowering at everyone with particular vim and vigour. Harry wondered if he
was still annoyed over the Legilimency gone wrong, or if this was just Snape putting on his
teacher front around students.

“Hey, mate,” Ron said, equally as nervous. “So… you’re alright, then?”

“Yeah?” Harry frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Ron shot a suspicious look in Snape’s direction. He let out a loud, audible sigh. “Harry, feel
free to continue this conversation in the living room. I have work to do.”

“They’re allowed inside?” Harry said disbelievingly.

“Yes. You do live here, after all.” Snape pointed a finger towards the interior door of his
office, which led into his quarters. “You have one hour - I’d rather not spend my last evening
of rest minding students. Do not interrupt me unless there is threat to life or limb.”

“Er… okay. Follow me, then,” Harry said to Ron and Hermione, feeling remarkably unsure
of himself. Ron looked like he’d rather eat nails than enter Snape’s living quarters, but a
sharp look from Hermione seemed to spur him on. The moment they crossed the threshold,
Snape immediately shut the door to his office. Ron stood with his jaw slack, staring around in
the same way Harry imagined he had when he’d discovered Snape didn’t live in a dark, damp
cave. Harry opened his mouth to speak to his friends, but instead found himself getting a
mouthful of bushy brown hair as Hermione flung her arms around him.

“Hermione! You’re strangling me!” Harry gasped.

“We were so worried!” she said, pulling back to look him over carefully.
“Why?” Harry asked, nonplussed.

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Ron said, crossing his arms. “The last time we saw you, Harry,
you were tearing out of the Three Broomsticks after what the Minister said about Black!”

Harry started at the throwback to such an unpleasant memory. It felt like it had been such a
long time since the events of Hogsmeade had transpired… of course, Ron and Hermione
wouldn’t know anything that had transpired since.

“Then, next thing we know, we came to check on you here the morning after and Snape
almost bit our heads off!” Ron said indignantly.

“Oh. Right.” Harry winced. “Yeah, he wasn’t in the best of moods that day, since he caught
me on the way back from Hogsmeade - don’t say ‘I told you so’, Hermione.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she said sniffily. “I just wanted to say - well, we both wanted to say that
you shouldn’t go and do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like go after Black,” Ron said firmly. “You won't, right?”

“You mustn’t,” Hermione added insistently. “Because Black isn’t worth dying for.”

Harry had quickly started to realise that they must have rehearsed this conversation on the
train. He pulled a face, but before he could come up with a response, a drawling voice came
from the direction of the bedrooms. “Don’t bother, you two. Professor Snape and myself have
already talked Harry out of anything foolish…”

Harry turned around and saw Draco sauntering into the living room, a novel tucked under his
arm. In the time it had taken for Harry to welcome his friends into the dungeons, Draco had
somehow managed to shake off the frazzled look of someone who had spent the afternoon
recovering from a spell-induced migraine and was perfectly put together. Harry, who never
could work out how the poncey git managed it, scowled to himself.

“Malfoy?” Ron said sharply. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, Weasley?” Draco shot Ron a withering look, which the other boy promptly
returned. Harry, who didn’t want all of the newly-forming goodwill between Draco and his
friends from Christmas to disappear in one tense conversation, hastily tried to come up with a
redirection.

“Why don’t we all sit down? All of us,” he said, looking closely at Draco. “We would love
for you to join us, wouldn’t we?”

Hermione hesitated for a moment, then a look of resolution crossed her face. It was the same
expression Hermione always got when she made her mind up about something, and wouldn’t
be dissuaded in any way. As the four of them walked over to the sofa in awkward silence, she
was the first one to speak.
“I had been meaning to ask you about the Arithmancy problems Professor Vector set,
Malfoy,” Hermione said hesitantly. “Now, I know she said we’re supposed to use Brocker’s
method for the last problem, but I’ve been reading ahead a little, and I feel like Yeoman’s
would be far more applicable…”

Harry stared at her, feeling like he was missing something. Hermione, asking for help with
homework? He’d never seen her do that before, particularly from the likes of Draco…
perhaps this was her way of making conversation.

Draco nodded slowly. He seemed completely shocked that Hermione had addressed him at
all. “Yes, I saw that ahead in the textbook. I think, given the context, we could use it, but you
might want to check with the professor.”

“Oh, I’ve already done it both ways,” Hermione said with a shrug. "I was just wondering
what you thought."

“Both?” Draco said incredulously. “Merlin’s beard, how much time do you have on your
hands?”

“Do you have any clue what they’re talking about?” Ron whispered, leaning over to Harry.

Harry shrugged. “Living here means you get pretty used to people talking about things you
can’t really understand. You should hear the conversations he and Severus have…”

“Severus?!” Ron said in a scandalised voice. He looked as if he was sucking on a lemon.

“It’s not that weird!” Harry protested, gently elbowing Ron in the side. “He is my guardian,
you know. He thought it would make more sense for me to stop saying ‘professor’ all the
time.”

For some reason, Ron still looked rather put out about something. “Look, mate - is there
somewhere in here I can talk to you? Privately?”

He shot a pointed look at Draco, who was now deeply focused on the unintelligible
Arithmancy conversation he was having with Hermione.

Harry sighed, wondering what Ron had a problem with now. “Follow me. We can talk in my
room.”

He led Ron out of the living room and into the bedroom, where he shut the door and faced his
friend. “Yeah?”

Ron shuffled his feet. “I know I promised to leave it, and I really will, but - well, every time
I’ve seen Snape recently, he’s been in a rotten mood. Are you sure you’re alright with him?”

Harry groaned loudly. “Yes! Bloody hell, Ron!”

“I just get -”

“Worried. I know.” Harry looked closely at Ron. “You really don’t have to be.”
“You didn’t see him on the last day of term, okay?!” Ron snapped. “Hermione and I came to
see how you were, and he wouldn’t even let us see you! All Snape would say is that ‘Potter
can survive two weeks without his little fan club’, and then he slammed the door in our faces!
For all I knew, he’d chopped you up for Potions ingredients!”

“Oh.” Harry frowned as he mulled Ron’s words over. He remembered Snape saying on the
first day of the Christmas holidays that he’d reassured Harry’s friends that Harry was
alright… perhaps he’d not actually been as reassuring as he’d implied.

“You just keep catching him on bad days,” Harry said eventually. “He was super, super
annoyed over the Hogsmeade stuff in December, and today me and Draco annoyed him
because we were practising magic behind his back.”

Ron pulled a face. “Yeah, that would do it. Fred and George tried to Transfigure Percy into a
canary over the holidays, and Mum almost screamed the house down..."

Harry snorted. “See? He’s just a normal guardian.”

“Alright…” Harry could tell that Ron was staying quiet so he didn’t start a row, but his face
was still lined with the clear signs of residual worry.

“If there was really a problem, I’ll tell you,” Harry insisted. “You’ve just seen a lot of bad
sides to him - Severus isn’t bad to be around, normally. He was practically fluffy around
Christmas, actually…”

Ron, who appeared to be struggling with the act of reconciling Snape with the word ‘fluffy’,
stared at Harry with his mouth agape.

“Maybe don’t tell him I said that,” Harry added after a moment. He couldn’t imagine Snape
would enjoy such a blow to his stern image. “But if I need you to fly a Ford Anglia through
my window, I’ll tell you.”

That got Ron to smile a little - he looked around Harry’s bedroom with an expression of
interest. “It’s a bit empty in here, considering it’s your bedroom and all! Why haven’t you
decorated?”

“Er…” Harry faltered, and realised that he wasn’t actually all that sure why he hadn’t.
“Dunno.”

“Does Snape get weird about it, or -”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “Draco’s got a bunch of decorations up in his room, so…”

“At least stick a poster up in here or something!” Ron said, gesturing to a blank space on the
wall. “Maybe it’ll feel less like a dungeon with a nice Chudley Cannons poster on the wall.”

Harry snorted. “You’re not gonna stop until my room’s as orange as yours, are you?”

“Of course not.” Ron grinned.

Harry smiled back, but his eyes were fixed on his trunk. He’d been living with all of his stuff
safely secured in there, like he had been at Spinner’s End and like he always did at his
relatives’. Harry’s smile quickly turned to a grimace as he made the connection for just why
he was doing that. He’d never dare to put up anything relating to his life in Dudley’s second
bedroom, after all; for one thing, it wasn’t Harry’s room in the first place, and for another, the
Dursleys would rather not have any signs of Harry’s continued existence in their house.

As Harry continued to take in the bare expanse of what he called a bedroom, he felt strangely
overwhelmed. He knew that Snape wouldn’t be bothered about Harry decorating - he’d
probably be rather pleased, as a matter of fact - but Harry didn’t even have the faintest clue
where to start with something like that…

Ron nudged his shoulder. “You alright, mate? You look lost in your own world, there.”

Harry fiercely shook himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Er - I couldn’t take you up on
that Cannons poster offer, could I?”

“I’ll lend you my spare,” Ron promised. “It’s a bit ripped in the corner, but if you stick it on
right it’ll look fine.”

“Thanks,” Harry said gratefully.

Ron looked like was going to respond, but both of them fell silent at the sound of gradually
climbing voices in the clear midst of a growing argument.

“We should probably make sure they haven’t killed each other,” Ron said, making a beeline
for the door.

“Draco wouldn’t do anything!” Harry protested.

“I’m more worried about what Hermione might do to him, actually,” Ron said, pausing in
place and raising an eyebrow. “All those extra classes are driving her barmy - you should
have seen her on the train earlier! Any time I interrupted her homework, she practically
attacked me!”

“I really think she needs to cut down.” Harry dropped his voice to a whisper as they exited
his room.

“Agreed - but there’s no telling her that…”

As Harry and Ron made their way into the living room, he couldn’t help but be shocked by
the sight he saw before him. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting - either Draco to
have called Hermione a nasty name, or for Hermione to have somehow rubbed Draco the
wrong way with one of her all-knowing comments.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been Hermione and Draco shouting over a
bunch of floating numbers.

“For heaven’s sake, Malfoy, it’s basic mathematics!” Hermione said furiously, gesturing to a
floating triangle. “You’re supposed to use Pythagoras for polygonic Arithmancy, or all you’re
doing is messing about with numbers with no magical properties!”

“And I’m saying that you need to find out the square root of each of the sides before you can
start calculating anything with Pythagoras’ theorem!” Draco said, eyes flashing. “You’ve
read Numerology and Grammatica, I would assume? Your shoddy calculations would suggest
otherwise!”

“You wouldn’t know mathematics if it hit you over the head with a -”

“STOP!” Harry shouted, and both Draco and Hermione fell silent. Both of them clearly
hadn’t realised that he and Ron had re-entered the room. “Am I being completely stupid, or
are you guys arguing about maths?! Bloody hell!"

“It’s more than maths,” Hermione said haughtily. “For someone who has a firm grasp on
Arithmantic technique, I cannot possibly understand how Malfoy’s coming to the conclusions
he is…”

“Because it’s all up for debate, Granger!” Draco said furiously. “Merlin and Morgana, even
Bridget Wenlock herself couldn’t work all of this out before she died!”

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to work harder to persuade me to your side,” Hermione said,
jutting her chin out. “If you can somehow manage to formulate anything close to an
argument, let me know.”

“Oh, I will,” Draco muttered, flicking his wrist so that the floating numbers in the air
crumpled into dust. Harry looked in between him and Hermione with his forehead wrinkled,
having scarcely understood even five percent of the conversation he’d just witnessed. Still, he
somehow felt that Draco and Hermione had come to an agreement over something… about
homework, of course, but what else could you expect with Hermione involved?

“Would the two of you mind talking about something we can actually understand?” Ron
complained. “Say, did the two of you catch the Quidditch World Cup qualifying games?”

“Of course!” Draco’s eyes gleamed, and he leaned forwards slightly. Hermione audibly
sighed, muttered something that sounded an awful lot like ‘boys’, then buried her head in one
of the Arithmancy books she and Draco had been bickering over.

In the end, Hermione and Draco’s argument was not the sole one of the night - Harry’s
friends all got into no less than five rows, ranging in topic from Quidditch teams to whether
or not Muggles or wizards discovered chocolate. Harry was exhausted when dinnertime came
around and it was time to send his friends away, but despite all that, he still felt quite
determined to continue his campaign for Draco to get on with Ron and Hermione. After all,
Harry fought furiously with Draco on any given occasion, but still considered the other boy
to be as close as a brother. Draco, as a rule, was just a generally abrasive and argumentative
person, and Harry didn’t think he was one to talk when he bickered with Draco like it was an
Olympic sport.

Perhaps Harry could invite Ron and Hermione back for a game of Monopoly some time. He
grinned at the prospect.

As he said his goodbyes to his friends in the corridor, the snake portrait guarding the entrance
made a noise of disgust. “Look at you, letting more students weave in and out of this place!
Has no one ever taught you the concept of security, young man? You’re practically making
me redundant! We might as well open the Housemaster’s doors to the entire school!”

“Oh, stuff it, you,” Harry said irritably. “It would do us all a fat lot of good if you did go out
of commission, anyway…”

“I beg your pardon?” The highly affronted snake spat. Its ruffle flared, and its fangs were
exposed. “You know, I am growing very sick of your constant insolence!”

“Cope.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Harry, please stop riling up the portrait,” Snape said from behind.

Harry jumped. “Oh. Er, hi, sir.”

“Severus,” he corrected lightly. Snape looked between Harry and the portrait, and arched an
eyebrow. “Is this why Asclepius has taken to entering the twin portrait in my bedroom and
hissing endlessly, an event that always seems to coincide with you either entering or exiting
my quarters?”

Harry winced. He hadn’t realised the snake had been doing that… or even that the snake had
a name. He was too busy arguing with it to make polite conversation.

“I suppose I ought to take that as a yes,” Snape said with a shake of his head. He headed
through the doorway, Harry following, and the portrait slid shut. “What are you saying to get
him into such a state?”

“Nothing,” Harry lied. “He just really has a problem with me…”

“Clearly.” Snape stopped walking and looked at him closely. “Well, at least you seem to be
better acquainting yourself with your Parseltongue powers. I still recall the shocked look on
your face after the events of the Duelling Club last year…”

Harry gave Snape a disapproving look - he was conveniently not mentioning how he’d given
Draco the spell to conjure up that very snake! Still, for the sake of maintaining the peace,
Harry didn’t argue the point.

“I didn’t even know what I was doing was Parseltongue until the Duelling Club, actually,”
Harry said, flopping back onto the sofa. “Well, I suppose I did know, but I just thought it was
something all wizards could do. I’d spoken to snakes a couple times before - there was a
python in a zoo that I set on my cousin, actually…”
Draco looked up from his book and snorted. “I’d have killed to see that.”

“Well, if you do care to speak with Asclepius again, could you inform him to stop awakening
me every time the Bloody Baron floats past?” Snape asked. “He’s supposed to alert me to
errant students wandering the halls, not ghosts.”

“Sure,” Harry said, even though he doubted that the snake would ever listen to anything he
had to say, even if it came directly from Snape.

“Did you enjoy the visit with your friends, then?” Snape asked, sitting down next to Harry.

“Yeah,” he said, “but I was a bit surprised you let them in here.”

“As I said, this is your home, too,” Snape reminded him. “If you must stay here instead of in
Gryffindor Tower, it occurred to me that you might prefer to spend more time with your
friends… and perhaps I am holding out hope that Granger and Weasley will stop their
continued conspiracies about my mistreatment of you if they can view your living situation
for themselves.”

“Right.” Harry frowned at him. “You know, it might help if you don’t have a go at them
every time they’re near you - Ron told me what you said to them on the last day of term! I
thought you said you’d reassured them I was fine or something!”

“As Weasley and Granger had decided to aid your Hogsmeade escapades, I wasn’t exactly
pleased with them, either,” Snape said icily.

“They weren’t aiding me!” Harry said indignantly. “I went by myself, and it’s not like they
were going to grass me up once I got there.”

“So your friends should instead act as useless bystanders to your dangerous behaviour,”
Snape said, face darkening into a scowl. “I’m sure you can imagine how pleased I am at that
prospect…”

Harry sat back and sighed, since he knew he and Snape were never going to agree here. Harry
still was quite unhappy about the Hogsmeade ban, even though he’d never dare venture into
the village without permission again after everything.

“Are you really going to allow Granger and Weasley in and out of here all the time,
Severus?” Draco said, giving the both of them a disgusted look. “Merlin help me…”

“Perhaps the socialisation will do you good,” Snape said, shooting him a pointed look. “You
ought to spend more time with other people your age.”

“Other people my age hate me,” Draco muttered. “I don’t want to deal with those two!”

“You seemed to enjoy the Gryffindors’ company earlier,” Snape said, raising an eyebrow. “I
overheard much of your impassioned debate with Granger…”

“Just because she’s the only person in my Arithmancy lessons on my intellectual level
doesn’t mean I actually enjoy her company,” Draco said loftily.
Harry tried to hide his smile behind his hands. Even though Draco was still sort of insulting
Hermione, he had just admitted they were on the same intellectual level. The boy from the
previous year would have never done that…

“If Granger and Weasley visit here again, you will sit out here and socialise with them,”
Snape said in a tone of finality.

“They hate me!” Draco protested.

“They sent you a Christmas present,” Harry pointed out. "Why would they do that if they still
hated you?"

“Well - don’t you want to see them alone, Harry?” Draco asked, slight desperation tingeing
his tone. “Surely it’s not fair to make Harry share his friends, Severus…”

“Actually, I quite like the idea of all my friends getting along, thanks,” Harry shot back.

Draco groaned very loudly and sank back in his seat. Harry didn’t even bother to hide his
grin this time - even Snape was backing up this plan, now! He felt very pleased - everything
seemed to be looking up for Harry.

It wasn’t a feeling destined to last long.

 The Trouble with Fathers
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

“I still can’t believe that you’ve never seen a balloon before,” Harry said, bouncing one up
and down while lying flat on his back on the sofa.

“And I can’t quite understand the hype,” Draco said loftily, eyeing the few littered around
Snape’s quarters with derision.

“They’d have been better if I had some helium,” Harry insisted. “That way they’d float.”

“Wingardium leviosa.” Draco jabbed his wand at a blue balloon, then gave it a deeply
unimpressed look. “This still isn’t thrilling me, Potter.”

“Well, it’s better if you don’t have a magic wand lying around that can use to make
everything float,” Harry said, slapping his balloon so it hit Draco in the side.

He glared at Harry, then heaved a deep, long-suffering sigh. “I often forget how much of a
Muggle you are…”

“Hey!”

“Don’t be rude, Draco,” Snape said tonelessly. “Well, I do appreciate the effort at these…
birthday festivities.”

Snape’s lip curled slightly at the word ‘festivities’, like he couldn’t imagine anything more
dreadful than celebrating anything related to his birth. Still, Harry and Draco had been
insistent. Harry thought Snape could do with a bit of cheering up, since he’d spent the latter
half of the first week of term laid up in the Hospital Wing with the flu Draco and Harry had
spent New Years suffering from. Harry thought it was a bit rich that Snape always had a go at
Harry for not acknowledging illness when he had been practically forced at wandpoint by
Professor McGonagall to go to the Hospital Wing!

Since Snape had been sending Professor McGonagall down to the dungeons periodically to
check in on Harry and Draco, they’d managed to employ her services in procuring some
decorations for the dungeons, including the balloons Harry had wanted. She had been
surprisingly enthusiastic; judging by the wry twist of Professor McGonagall’s lips when
they’d asked, Harry thought that she agreed Snape needed a little cheering up.

It was only a small celebration - between Snape’s illness and his general cynicism, Harry
thought he’d have baulked at anything resembling an actual party - but they’d gotten him a
cake and some candles, and Snape tolerated their singing of ‘Happy Birthday’ with minimal
scowling. In fact, when he blew out the candles, there was something close to fondness in his
eyes as he watched Harry and Draco.
No one deserved to have their birthday ignored, Harry thought, no matter how much they
claimed to hate parties.

“Now, while I appreciate your efforts, I must turn in for the evening,” Snape said hoarsely,
getting to his feet. “I am going to try to sleep off the remainder of this flu. Don’t stay up too
late.”

Harry winced as he took in the man’s bloodshot eyes and pallid features, feeling oddly guilty.
“Sorry again about infecting you.”

“You know, apologising for the inevitable transfer of germs cheapens the worth of any
apologies you give for valid reasons,” Snape said waspishly. “Cease with the constant pleas
for forgiveness and save everyone a lot of trouble.”

He shut the door without another word. Harry looked down the empty corridor and chewed
nervously on his bottom lip. He’d been meaning to tell Snape at some point today about his
news - namely, that Professor Lupin was hunting up a boggart for Harry to start Anti-
Dementor lessons at some point in the near future. Of course, the minute Snape had gotten
back to his quarters they’d had their little celebration, and Harry was well aware of the fact
that he didn’t like Professor Lupin, so he certainly wasn’t going to ruin Snape’s birthday by
bringing him up and putting him in a bad mood, especially since he was still sick -

“What’s got you looking so stressed?” Draco asked, interrupting his spiral of worrying.

Harry sighed. “Nothing.”

He’d tell Snape when he had a spare moment, Harry decided. Hopefully tomorrow.

Unfortunately for Harry, that plan also fell flat rather quickly. Quidditch training was in full
swing, and by the time he arrived back in the dungeons after a rather late dinner, it was clear
that the man was otherwise occupied.

“You have to let me go, Severus, you have to!” Draco shouted. Harry paused in the living
room, and strained his ears to listen. It quickly became obvious that was an unnecessary
measure; both Snape and Draco’s voices were loud enough to be heard throughout their entire
home.

“Under-seventeens aren't allowed in the courtroom viewing area,” Snape said flatly.

“But that's stupid!” Draco bellowed. “He's my father, I should be there!”

Harry winced, and quickly realised that the two of them must be discussing the upcoming
trial of Lucius Malfoy. He shrugged off his cloak and carried his school bag to his bedroom
as the argument continued to rise in volume.

“The ministry makes the rules, not me,” Snape said.

“But you wouldn't let me go even if I was allowed, would you?!” Draco said accusingly.

“Considering the way you are currently comporting yourself, no!” Snape said loudly.
“Exactly!” Draco screeched. “You’re being completely unfair!”

“I fail to see why I should treat you as an adult when you are currently throwing a tantrum fit
for a toddler!” Snape seethed. Harry imagined that the nerve in his jaw must be twitching like
mad by now.

“I hate you!”

“Scream all you like, but it's not going to change anything,” Snape said, in the irritatingly
calm voice that only served to infuriate angry people further. “When you stop acting like a
child, perhaps we can attempt a reasonable conversation -”

“Just get out and leave me alone!”

Harry heard a door slam violently shut. To his immense relief, Snape did not take that as an
opportunity to restart an argument by lecturing Draco about door slamming. Instead, the man
proceeded to storm into Harry's room, jaw tense and face red.

“Evening,” he said tersely. “I presume you heard most of that.”

“I think half the castle did, actually,” Harry said pointedly.

Snape huffed loudly and sat down at Harry’s desk. “Since the trial is drawing ever-closer, we
have had several unfortunate conversations regarding his non-attendance this evening…”

“Are you sure he can’t just go?” Harry asked. “If he’s so set on it and all.”

“Draco does not have the emotional capacity to withstand such an event,” Snape said bluntly.
“And, furthermore, he shouldn’t have to see his father in such a position.”

“Er - right.” Harry wasn’t entirely sure why, but he thought that Snape probably knew more
about all of this than he did, so he wasn’t going to argue.

“I simply wish to warn you that the next few weeks may be rather trying,” Snape said
wearily, running his hands over his face. “I will do my best to mitigate, but you may wish to
prepare yourself mentally for some difficulties around here.”

“Okay,” Harry said, nodding. Snape got to his feet and left Harry alone in his room without
another word, and any plans to talk about the Anti-Dementor lessons evaporated around him.
Snape was already in a rotten mood - Harry certainly wasn’t going to make it worse! He’d
still have time to tell the man eventually…

But before Harry had a chance to see his guardian again, Professor Lupin was pulling him
aside after Defence Against the Dark Arts on Thursday afternoon to tell Harry that he’d
found that boggart, so they could start their lessons that day after dinner in the History of
Magic classroom if he wanted. Since Harry really wanted to fix his Dementor problem before
any upcoming Quidditch matches, he quickly agreed.

Harry knew he was supposed to be back in Snape’s quarters after dinner, but it wasn’t like he
was just wandering around aimlessly - he was going to be with a teacher the whole time, for
goodness sake! Besides, Snape had agreed for Harry to go around the castle accompanied by
Ron and Hermione after dinner on a few occasions where he’d needed to go to the library or
had needed to ask a professor something. Normally he’d ask in advance, but Harry could just
send word with Draco. It was basically the same thing.

While all the students milled about in the Entrance Hall before dinner, Harry spotted Draco at
the other end of the room. He quickly said goodbye to his friends and made a beeline for the
other boy, so he could pass on the message to Snape. Unfortunately for Harry, however,
Draco decided to seize that as an opportunity to vent his spleen about their guardian, and
Harry didn’t have the slightest chance to get a word in edgewise. It went on, and on, and
on…

“And then, he starts having a go at me this morning for not making my bed!” Draco said
indignantly. “As if there aren’t house-elves who are perfectly capable of doing that
themselves - he’s depriving them of labour! But no, Severus and his bleeding heart thinks that
I ought to ‘learn to contribute to the running of a household’ - I mean can you even believe
it?!”

Given that Harry had witnessed this entire row while impatiently waiting to go to breakfast
that morning, he certainly could believe it. He breathed in the delicious smells wafting out of
the Great Hall and sighed. Once again, Draco and Snape’s rift was depriving him of a decent
meal.

“Sure, he’s an arse,” Harry said impatiently, hoping to get the conversation over with. “But I
need you to tell Severus that I’m not going to be back straight away after dinner - Professor
Lupin is giving me some extra Defence lessons so I can fight off Dementors.”

Draco scowled at him. “After everything I’ve just told you, I certainly won’t be speaking to
Severus about anything!”

“Oh, come on!” Harry said loudly. “If you don’t, I’ll get in trouble! I’ll give you a chocolate
frog if you do it, okay? Please?”

Draco’s irritation softened slightly. “Alright, fine.”

Harry, who couldn’t believe he was having to lower himself to bribery to get a message to his
own guardian, turned on his heel and hurried into the Great Hall before Draco could start
moaning about Snape again.

After eating, Harry was dropped off in the History of Magic corridor by Ron and Hermione,
and he tentatively pushed open the classroom door to find Professor Lupin waiting. He was
standing in front of a desk, on top of which lay a thumping, rattling trunk.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Another boggart," Lupin said. He walked a circle around the desk, eyes fixed on the trunk.
"I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking
inside Mr. Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real dementor. The boggart will
turn into a dementor when he sees you, so we'll be able to practise on him. I can store him in
my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like."

"Okay," Harry said, trying very hard to hide his nervousness.

Lupin took out his wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. "Now, the spell I am
going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry - well beyond Ordinary
Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm."

"How does it work?" he asked.

"Well, when it works correctly, It conjures up a Patronus," Lupin said, "which is a kind of
anti- dementor - a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor. The Patronus
is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon -
hope, happiness, the desire to survive - but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the
dementors can't hurt it.”

Harry nodded slowly.

“I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you,” Lupin said softly.
“Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."

"What does a Patronus look like?" Harry asked curiously.

"Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it."

"And how do you conjure it?"

"With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a
single, very happy memory."

Harry began to think hard on what might count as a happy memory. It definitely wouldn’t be
something that had happened to him at the Dursleys… his time with Snape and Draco would
certainly do, but every time Harry tried to conjure up a happy memory, his mind immediately
got stuck on how worried he was feeling about the trial. Finally, he settled on the moment
when he had first ridden a broomstick. There was nothing going on that could possibly taint
that.

"I’m ready," he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of
his stomach.

"The incantation is this." Lupin cleared his throat. "Expecto patronum!"

"Expecto patronum," Harry repeated under his breath, "expecto patronum."

"Concentrating hard on your happy memory?"

“Oh - er, yeah.” Harry shook himself and tried to focus harder. “Expecto patronum, expecto
patronum… expecto patronum -”

Silvery gas suddenly shot from the end of Harry’s wand. He jumped slightly, then looked to
Lupin excitedly. “Did you see that? I made something happen!”

"Very good," Lupin said with a smile. "Right, then - ready to try it on a dementor?"

"Yes," Harry said. He tried to get a tighter grip on his wand, but his palms had gone rather
sweaty. It was a bit hard to concentrate on his happy memory when other recollections were
surging forth, like the memory of what he’d inevitably hear when the dementor was
released…

But he had no time to give that any real thought; not as Lupin was pulling the lid of the trunk
open.

A dementor slowly rose from the trunk’s depths, and the lights spluttered into darkness. The
dementor surveyed Harry from beneath its ragged black hood, extended a single, scabbed
hand, and an icy chill began to descend over the classroom…

“Expecto patronum!” he shouted. “Expecto patronum, expecto -”

But it wasn’t enough… the classroom was engulfed by fog, and Harry could hear her voice
again, "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything!"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

And he was back, lying flat on the classroom floor. He gingerly pushed himself up and
muttered, “Sorry.”

"Are you all right?" Lupin asked.

"Yeah..." Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it.

"Here." Lupin handed him a chocolate frog. "Eat this before we try again. I didn't expect you
to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had."

"It's getting worse," Harry muttered, biting off the frog's head. "I could hear her louder that
time - my mum - and him. Voldemort.”

Lupin had gone horribly pale. "Harry, if you don't want to continue, it is completely
understandable -"

"I do!" said Harry fiercely. He ate the rest of the chocolate frog in one bite and squeezed his
hands into fists. "I've got to! What if the dementors turn up at our match? I can't afford to fall
off again! Besides, I can’t go around hearing that all the time. I just can’t.”

"All right then, " Lupin agreed reluctantly. "You might want to select another happy memory
to concentrate on… That one doesn't seem to have been strong enough…”
Harry thought hard, and remembered a conversation in mid December… Late at night, in the
darkness of his room, when Draco had turned to him and whispered, “Brothers. I like it too.”
If that wasn’t a happy memory, Harry didn’t know what was, even if all of his unhappiness
surrounding the trial tainted it with a bit of worry. Hopefully that wouldn't matter?

"Ready?" Lupin asked, unlatching the lid.

"Ready.”

"Go!" Lupin shouted, pulling off the lid.

The room turned frosty yet again. The dementor floated forward, a frozen breath rattling in its
chest -

"Expecto patronum!" Harry yelled. "Expecto patronum! Expecto -"

White fog obscured his senses... big, blurred shapes were moving around him... then came a
new voice, a man's voice, strained with terror…

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off -"

The sounds of someone stumbling from a room - a door bursting open - a cackle of high-
pitched laughter -

"Harry! Harry, wake up…"

Lupin was shaking Harry by the shoulders, and it took him several moments to work out why
he was lying on the floor. Harry felt sick, and cold all over, even though the dementor was
locked away.

"I heard my dad," Harry mumbled. "That's the first time I've ever heard him - he tried to take
on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it…”

Harry suddenly realised that there were tears burning in his eyes, and turned to one side so
Lupin wouldn’t see him wipe them away.

“You heard James?” Lupin rasped.

“Yeah…” Harry turned to face him again. “Wait - you knew him, then?”

“I - I did, as a matter of fact,” Lupin said eventually. “We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen,
Harry -”

“Severus never talks about my dad,” he said softly. Lupin looked at him inquisitively, so
Harry pressed on. “He does about my mum, but never him. I don’t think he can - not
pleasantly, anyway. They didn’t get along.”

“That much is certainly true,” Lupin murmured.

There was an aching longing in Harry’s chest. “But you and my dad were friends?”
Lupin hesitated, and then nodded. “Quite good friends. I… I miss him often. He… well,
James was a remarkable man.”

From the way that Lupin was stumbling over his words, Harry quickly drew the conclusion
that it was just as difficult for him to talk about James as it was for Snape to talk about Lily.
He couldn’t help but wince a little as he took in Lupin’s features, somehow greyer and
wearier than usual.

“Listen, Harry - perhaps we should leave it here for tonight,” Lupin said. “This charm is
ridiculously advanced… I shouldn't have suggested putting you through this -"

"No!" he said vehemently. "I'll have one more go! I'm not thinking of happy enough things,
that's what it is… Hang on…"

As Harry staggered to his feet, casting his mind around for another happy memory, he could
have slapped himself. Of course - Christmas day! He and Draco had had such fun, and the
presents, particularly the letters from his mother that Severus had given him, were so
precious to him now… even with the tangled knot of worry that surrounded any thoughts of
Draco at the minute wouldn’t taint this, Harry thought.

"Ready?" Lupin said. "Concentrating hard? All right - go!"

He popped open the lid of the trunk yet again, and the dementor rose out of it. Harry braced
himself.

'EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he bellowed. "EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO

PATRONUM!"

The screaming inside Harry's head had started again, but something was different - it sounded
like the time Snape had tried to tune into a Muggle radio station with his Wizarding Wireless.
A strange static filled his head, with brief snatches of sound and screams, but the fog hadn’t
engulfed him. Harry could still see the Dementor, halted behind a silvery cloud of vapour…
Harry’s legs were wobbling, but the shield held -

“Riddikulus!” Lupin shouted, jumping between Harry and the dementor. As the professor
shut the box, Harry sank back into a chair, legs trembling. He was exhausted, and felt like
he’d just finished running a marathon. Still, amongst it all remained a feeling of great
exhilaration.

Excellent!" Lupin said excitedly. "Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!"

"Can we have another go? Just one more go?"

"Not now," Lupin said firmly. "You've had enough for one night. Here." He handed Harry a
large bar of Honeydukes' best chocolate. "Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my
blood. So - same time next week?"

"Okay," Harry said. He grinned and took a large bite out of the chocolate bar as Lupin
muttered a few spells to properly lock up the trunk.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "Professor Lupin? If you knew my dad, you must've
known Sirius Black as well."

Lupin started. "What gives you that idea?"

"Nothing - I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too…"

Lupin's face relaxed slightly. "Yes, I knew him," he said shortly. "Or I thought I did. You’d
better be getting off, Harry. It’s getting rather late.”

“Right.” Harry very suddenly wished he hadn’t brought it up - it was clear that Lupin wasn’t
keen on the subject. Harry supposed he wouldn’t be either, given the circumstances…

“Oh, would you mind walking me back down to the dungeons?” he asked. “Severus doesn’t
like me wandering around alone after dark.”

“Understandable,” Lupin said. “Of course I’ll walk you down.”

He left the trunk on the desk of the History of Magic classroom, still rattling slightly, and
strode out of the classroom. Harry followed along, still nibbling on the chocolate bar he’d
been handed, mind racing with questions. He’d spent the last few months hearing so much
about his mother, but James was still quite a mystery to Harry. He realised that Snape must
know something, but the little Harry had heard from his guardian’s perspective had been
highly unpleasant, and had left him reluctant to prod for more. The prospect of speaking with
someone who did know his father and was fond of him had Harry buzzing with questions
he’d secreted away for months.

He knew he ought to leave it, but Harry couldn’t help himself. He blurted, “So would you say
you knew my dad quite well?”

“I suppose so,” Lupin said guardedly. “Why do you ask?”

“I just - well, I suppose I have questions about him,” Harry said quietly. “Sometimes I
wonder what he’d think about certain things.”

“Such as?” Lupin prompted.

“Well… what he’d think about Severus being my guardian,” Harry said softly. “All I do
know about him from Severus is that they really didn’t like each other, so… Well, I don’t
know. Sometimes I worry.”

Lupin slowed down, then stopped walking entirely. He didn’t respond for a long moment as
he regarded Harry carefully. “I think… actually, I know that a lot of the animosity between
James and Professor Snape eased on your father’s side as he aged. Lily always held Professor
Snape in rather high regard, after all… she never appreciated any griping… no, don’t worry
yourself about such things, Harry. James would want you to be happy, and taken care of. The
fact that Professor Snape is the one doing that would certainly not affront him. I am sure of
it.”
“Thank you,” he said gratefully, feeling something of a weight lift from his shoulders. It was
nice, talking to Lupin. While Harry understood that Snape couldn’t talk about James
positively without inducing a brain aneurysm, that didn’t change the fact that he was still
Harry’s dad. He’d grown up being told that James Potter was a worthless, unemployed drunk;
Harry had heard enough negative things about the man to last him a lifetime. Once in a while,
it would be decent to hear something positive about his dad.

Harry couldn’t help but notice that even though Harry was calling Snape by his first name,
Lupin staunchly refused to do so. Then, it occurred to him that Lupin was speaking as if he’d
known Harry’s mother rather well, too. Before he could even begin to address that, however,
they had reached the portrait of Asclepius the snake.

“I shall leave you here, then,” Lupin said. “I’ll see you next week, Harry. Well done again.”

He smiled, and quietly said the password to Asclepius. He allowed Harry into Snape’s
quarters with minimal haughty commentary for once. As Harry walked in, he glanced over
his shoulder to look at Lupin and realised that the man had paused to watch him, too. It was
clear he was making sure Harry got in safely. He smiled at the professor, then shut the
portrait behind him.

That smile immediately fell off Harry’s face when he saw Snape in the living room,
glowering fiercely. His first thought was that Draco had started throwing a tantrum again, but
a moment later Harry realised that Snape’s anger was clearly directed at him.

“And where exactly have you been?” Snape inquired icily.

“Professor Lupin was giving me Anti-Dementor lessons.” Harry frowned. “Didn’t Draco tell
you? I asked him to.”

“He did, but I simply fail to see why you didn’t bother telling me yourself!” he snapped.

Harry winced. He’d known it was probably not the best of ideas to dance around the topic
with Snape until the last minute. Still, they’d all been busy this week! It had just…
conveniently not come up, was all…

“He only just managed to capture the boggart we were going to use today,” Harry said. It
wasn’t a lie, at least.

Snape’s lips curled into a particularly unpleasant sneer. “Well, then… did you have fun
sneaking around behind my back with Lupin, then?”

“I don’t see how this is any different to me going up to Professor Sinistra’s office after dinner
in November to ask her about the work I’d missed in Astronomy when I was off,” Harry said
coldly. Annoyance was bubbling up in him. “I didn’t run that all past you then, did I?”

Part of him had hoped that the reminder of his missed lessons in November would prompt
Snape to remember why he’d been off school - because of the Dementors and their effects,
which Harry was trying to learn to stave off. He ought to understand why this was so
important!
“You also know perfectly well that you aren’t allowed to traipse around the corridors at night
by yourself, even if you are visiting a teacher!” Snape added, folding his arms. “You should
have asked me, so I -”

“I wasn’t wandering around alone, actually!” Harry said indignantly. “Ron and Hermione
walked me there, and Professor Lupin walked me back down!”

Snape opened his mouth. After a moment, he shut it with a furious click, clearly out of
arguments.

Harry wasn’t done, though. The way Snape was acting about this entire thing had seriously
angered him.

“And just what’s your problem, anyway?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You know how
badly I react to the Dementors! Why are you being so nasty about me actually doing
something about that?”

“It’s just a waste of time!” Snape spat. “A thirteen year old can’t cast the Patronus Charm.
You’ll never manage it, so Lupin shouldn’t bother.”

Harry flinched back, stung by Snape’s words. Any modicum of restraint was washed away in
a tidal wave of anger and hurt.

“That’s not it and you know it!” he said loudly. “You just have some kind of problem with
Professor Lupin, don’t you?”

“My relationship with my colleagues is none of your business,” Snape growled. “You are
treading on thin ice, Harry. Watch it.”

Harry didn’t heed the warning. “Don’t give me that - you clearly hate him, and I can’t
understand it at all! Professor Lupin’s really nice! What, is it just because he has the Defence
Against the Dark Arts post? Or - oh! Do you not like him because was friends with my father
or something?”

Harry hadn’t really expected that last accusation to hold much truth, but some dark emotion
flashed in Snape’s eyes before being quickly Occluded away. He immediately knew he’d hit
home.

Harry stared at him, aghast. “Oh my God, that is why!”

“That is enough!” Snape erupted, rising to his feet. “You have absolutely no right to speak to
me this way, Harry! If I want to ban you from lessons with any staff member - especially with
the likes of Lupin - you will sit back and accept it!”

“Why should I?” Harry shouted back. “I didn’t even do anything wrong and you’re being
absolutely horrid to me, just because he was mates with James Potter!”

Harry couldn’t help but completely lose his temper - he felt so violently defensive of his
father that it was practically choking him. He had heard his father’s voice for the first time
that night, heard how he’d sacrificed himself to try and buy Harry and his mother time, and
even the slightest disparagement of James Potter felt like a white-hot strike against a raw
nerve.

The muscles in Snape’s jaw were twitching furiously by now. “You stop it, or -”

“Or what?!” Harry yelled. “You’ll start talking about how much I’m like my awful, arrogant
father again? Oh, what a big surprise! Do you have any idea what it’s like growing up and
being told how your father is a worthless, unemployed drunk, and how you’re going to be
just as useless as he was when you’re older? Well, it’s bloody horrible! I’m so used to people
telling me nothing but awful things about my dad, and the one time I have someone who can
actually tell me James Potter was a decent man, you want to take that away from me!”

“Go to your room,” Snape growled, jabbing a finger in the direction of the corridor.

Harry stalked past him, but whirled around at the last moment for one last word.

“For someone who spent weeks telling me and Draco that we had to get over our feud, you
sure love to keep getting shots in at a man you didn’t like who’s been dead twelve years!” he
said furiously. “I don’t know how you can get on your high horse with us two when you’re
such a bloody great hypocrite!”

Snape’s shoulders tensed, and Harry knew his words had rang true. He shot one final glare at
his guardian before storming into his bedroom and slamming the door as loudly as he
possibly could. The minute he was inside, Harry wrenched the lock closed, sank down
against the door, and put his face to his knees. Any happiness he’d felt from his success with
the Patronus Charm had evaporated into all-consuming misery.

Great. He was in yet another fight with Snape. If Harry knew anything, there was now going
to be an awful tension lingering between the two of them for days upon days, until someone
finally grew too unhappy to allow it all to carry on any longer. He had a bad feeling about
this argument, too - it was a big one. James Potter was a definite sore subject with Snape, one
that Harry had gotten very used to avoiding.

Still, the elephant in the room could no longer be ignored. As much as Harry thought Snape
often disliked it, James Potter was, and always would be, Harry’s father. Knowing that his
guardian hated the man who had sacrificed his life for Harry’s sake hurt him deeply. Snape,
as much as Harry hated to admit it in a time like this, was one of the most important people in
Harry’s life. The fact that he despised someone who was an equally important part of Harry
made him feel like something in his chest was cracked irreparably.

He couldn’t ignore it any longer. Not after Lupin, and certainly not after what he’d heard
from the Dementors.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off…”

He felt cold and clammy all over. Harry jumped to his feet and snatched a dark blue blanket
from the end of his bed and draped it around his shoulders. He then sank down into the rug at
the base of his four poster and hugged his knees again.
His father was a good man, right? Despite what Snape said, despite what Aunt Petunia and
Uncle Vernon said, James Potter couldn’t have just been the scum of society…

Contrary to what Harry had assumed, it was not days upon days before he would next speak
to Snape properly. As a matter of fact, he bypassed the lock on Harry’s bedroom door not
twenty minutes after their fight. His face was Occlumency-blank as he leaned against the
door frame.

Harry scowled fiercely. “I don’t -”

“We need to talk,” Snape interrupted.

“I’m not stopping the Anti-Dementor lessons,” Harry said staunchly, hunching his shoulders.
“I’ll get kicked off the Quidditch team if I don’t learn the Patronus Charm, that isn’t -”

“Harry, will you just let me talk for once?” Snape snapped. “Please!”

He reluctantly fell silent, but only because Snape saying ‘please’ like that was such a rare
event that it immediately demanded attention. He wrapped the blanket more tightly around
his shoulders and watched Snape closely. He was staring at Harry, too, and something in his
expression seemed oddly lost.

“You were right, earlier,” he said softly. “I hated your father.”

Harry glared. “Trust me, I’m aware. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

“No, that isn’t -” Snape gritted his teeth and looked away. He paused to collect himself before
speaking again. “Harry, I quite frankly do not even know where to begin with this
conversation. Could you simply allow me to speak uninterrupted while I find my way?”

“Fine,” he muttered.

Snape entered the room fully, and walked over to where Harry was seated. He paused, and
then lowered himself down and folded his legs beneath him so he was sitting opposite to
Harry on the rug. He felt an odd twinge of deja vu, and suddenly remembered a similar
conversation from many months ago when Snape had sat like this with Harry, when he was
first trying to pry information about the Dursleys out of him. It felt like that day had been a
lifetime ago…

“I know we came to something of an agreement to never speak of Potter Senior several

months ago,” Snape began. “However, it is clear we cannot carry on like this… I think it
would be prudent for me to make you aware of why I feel the way that I do about him.”

Harry nodded slowly. Something akin to dread curdled in his stomach.

“James Potter despised me,” Snape said bluntly. “I felt the same in return. I saw him as an
arrogant and spoilt, and I couldn’t stand that, or his immense popularity, or his skill on the
Quidditch pitch… he similarly loathed me, because he viewed me as pompous, and dirty, and
he was disgusted by my interest in Dark magic, and was jealous of my friendship with your
mother.” Snape sighed heavily. “He and his little friends liked to bully me - a claim Professor
McGonagall or Lupin will confirm if you consult them, I might add.”

Harry broke eye contact and began to tug at the rug beneath him as the dread in his core
hardened into something worse. Snape reached out and placed a hand over Harry’s to still
them, and waited until he looked back up to start speaking again.

“I similarly wasn’t an innocent target,” he added quietly. Something akin to regret flickered
in Snape’s eyes. “I took great pleasure in tormenting them back with various Dark hexes and
curses that I oughtn’t to have ever known, let alone used. There were several occasions where
I was humiliated, and retaliated with such force that they were landed in the Hospital Wing
for extended stretches… well, I’ll spare you the worst of the details. All you really must
know is that it was a bitter, bitter rivalry that spanned years.”

Harry bit down on his lip, hard. Despite his earlier curiosities, he was beginning to wish he’d
never heard any of this at all… he sort of wished he could hug his knees and sink back into
himself, but Snape kept a gentle but firm hold on his hands, and Harry was rather reluctant to
pull himself free.

“Some say… well, they say that James grew up and got over these prejudices,” Snape said
rather angrily. “I suppose, given his considerable popularity and Lily’s affections for him, the
man must have some redeemable qualities -” He cut himself off again and took a sharp breath
in, eyes squeezed shut. “As I’m sure you can see, there is a reason why I try to avoid
speaking of him with you. I am certainly far from an unbiased source…”

Snape trailed off completely, and took a minute to collect himself. “Yes, James did change.
He grew up and became a… a respectable man. But his improvement in character and his
relationship with Lily only served to make me hate him more. I did not grow up or move on,
even after his death, and I unfairly took out my hatred of him on you over a decade after our
feud. Something I regret deeply, as I hope you know.”

Harry nodded slowly. He’d forgiven Snape for the first two years of their time together, but
he certainly hadn’t forgotten the way he’d been treated. It was something he tried hard not to
think about, in all honesty. Everything that had happened after second year was what really
mattered, after all.

“I am not a good person,” Snape said bluntly.

Harry stared at him in dismay. “Severus, you -”

“Don’t placate me,” Snape said bitterly. “Harry, I am a man of many faults. I can be
vindictive, and I hold grudges, and there is so much bad blood between myself and James
that I am unsure if I will ever have it in me to stop hating him.”

Harry broke his gaze to stare at the ground again. It hurt to hear, but he appreciated Snape’s
honesty, at the very least.

“But despite everything that has happened between myself and James… he is still your
father,” Snape said. “My own, ah… personal issues, shall we say, should not get in the way of
you from finding out more about him. Even if it is from the likes of Lupin -” Snape
practically spat the name, then shook himself. This time, he was the one refusing to meet
Harry’s eyes.

“I… I do not wish to behave in regard to James as Petunia did when you would ask about
Lily,” he admitted eventually.

Harry felt horrified. He shook his head vigorously. “You’re nothing like her! Severus, you
aren’t -”

“Don’t excuse me,” Snape said sharply. “I am simply saying all of this to explain that I think
you should pursue information about Po - about your father. Speak to Professor McGonagall,
speak to Lupin, whoever is necessary - I will not react as I did earlier. I just thought I ought to
explain myself.”

Looking extraordinarily weary, Snape released Harry’s hands to rub his temples.

“Er… I have one last question,” Harry said tentatively.

“Go on.”

“At the end of my first year, I asked Professor Dumbledore why you hated my father so
much, and - er - he said he saved your life or something?” Harry said awkwardly.

Snape’s expression darkened, and it instantly made Harry wish he’d kept quiet. There
appeared to be a moment of great mental turmoil before Snape finally spoke. “Sirius Black
decided it would be highly amusing to set a werewolf on me. Your father got cold feet on that
delightful joke at the last moment.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He didn’t even know where to start - a werewolf? Sirius Black, again?!

“Why didn’t Black go to Azkaban then?!” Harry demanded.

“A good question,” Snape said bitterly. “If you don’t mind, that’s all I’d like to say on the
matter.”

Harry looked at him closely, lost for words, but so grateful they had at last cleared the air.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Don’t,” Snape sighed. “We ought to have discussed this a long time ago. I’ve been putting it
off.”

“Oh.” Harry shifted awkwardly. “Well… thanks anyway, Severus. Er - why are we talking
about it, though? You don’t normally find me this quickly after we argue…”

Snape’s lips twitched with amusement. “Your Head of House’s influence, I dare say.
Professor McGonagall frequently sees fit to either lecture me or assign me books, of all
things, on the value of ‘open communication’ and other such tosh… I suppose her influence
must be taking root at last. Perish the thought.”
He looked vaguely disgusted, and Harry laughed. “Even after all these years, she still sets
you homework?”

“Unfortunately enough.”

“Well, I like it,” Harry declared. “I hate arguing, you know.”

“As do I.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, both a little bit happier than they’d been upon entering
the room. After a few moments, Snape reached into his pocket, retrieved his wand and
flicked it. A bar of Honeydukes chocolate flew into his hand.

“While I may not know the precise details of your Anti-Dementor lessons, I am certain they
must be draining. Here.” Snape placed the chocolate bar into Harry’s palm. “Eat it all.”

Harry stared at the chocolate bar and coughed awkwardly. “Er - well, Professor Lupin already
gave me some…”

“Humour me,” Snape drawled, arching an eyebrow. “At any rate, you turning down chocolate
is a surefire sign of some sort of Dementor-induced illness…”

Well, Snape had a point there, Harry decided. There wasn’t anything wrong with a bit of
extra chocolate. After taking the first bite, he said, “So about the Anti-Dementor lessons. Are
you going to let me keep up with them?”

“Yes,” Snape said, although some reluctance was evident in his tone. “I suppose Lupin is…
qualified…”

“Even though you think it’s useless, because I’m not good enough to manage the spell.”
Harry couldn’t help the hurt creeping into his voice, and Snape winced.

“I’m sure you are unfortunately acquainted with my rather foul temper by now,” he said with
a shake of his head. “You know that when I lose it, my words are often uncharitable at best. I
do not think you aren’t good enough, Harry - far from it. In fact, I think you are a talented
and capable wizard.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “Wait, really?

A dark shadow passed across Snape’s face. “If I have not made that clear to you before now, I
believe I have more to atone for than I realised…”

“No, no!” Harry said quickly. “Er - you know what I’m like. All that Dursley stuff and all.”
Those words made his mouth go a little dry, but Harry did his best to ignore it. “You know
how they sort of, er - screwed up how I feel about my magic.”

“True,” Snape acquiesced. “But in regard to the Patronus Charm - it is very difficult for
adults, Harry, and you are only thirteen. Talented as you are, you still have a lot of time
before your powers fully mature, and given the strain Dementors place upon you, I simply do
not know if frequent contact with them is healthy.”
“But it is helping!” Harry stressed. “The Charm’s already working, you know. It’s just vapour
right now, and I couldn’t hold it for that long, but I didn’t faint for once!”

Snape’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “You managed an incorporeal Patronus on your first
try?”

“Third,” Harry admitted.

“Only your third? Practically a Squib, then,” Snape said dryly. To Harry’s shock, he actually
smiled. “Then once again, you have proven me wrong - I shouldn’t have doubted your skill,
Harry. You are a very gifted young man.”

Those words made a warm glow spread throughout Harry’s chest, until he found himself
unable to help from smiling, too. “Thanks.”

“Now eat that properly,” Snape ordered, gesturing to the forgotten chocolate bar in Harry’s
hand. He quickly obeyed and bit into it once more, while Snape tapped his fingers against his
palms and simply observed. Harry got the sense that he had something else he was
contemplating, and was quickly proven right.

“I have one last thing to say about your father,” Snape said in a quiet voice. Harry’s shoulders
tensed ever so slightly. “There are some positive things I can say about James - for one, he
certainly wasn’t a drunkard.”

Harry leaned heavily against the side of his bed, feeling oddly deflated. Of course Snape
wouldn’t let the Dursleys reference from earlier just slide…

“He also wasn’t unemployed,” Snape added. “He worked for the Order of the Phoenix -
Professor Dumbledore’s group of fighters opposing the Dark Lord. While his work wasn’t
paid, it does not change how dedicated Potter was to the cause. Fighting the Dark Lord
certainly counted as a full time job, paycheque or not, and he was willing to donate his time
and efforts without any financial incentive. The Dursleys are liars, do you understand? Full of
vindictive nonsense.”

“Well, vindictive was practically my aunt and uncle’s middle names,” Harry muttered with a
sigh. If even Snape, who by the sounds of it had rather valid reasons to dislike Harry’s father,
thought it was wrong, that certainly said a lot about his relatives. A lump rose into Harry’s
throat.

“They wouldn’t tell me anything about them - I didn’t even know the day they died,” he said
bitterly. “All I got until Hagrid came to deliver my letter was ‘car crash, and don’t ask
questions’. It was almost like they never existed. I think Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon
liked to pretend all three of us didn’t exist, actually.”

Snape’s face was truly stormy by now. He muttered something that seemed vaguely
threatening under his breath, then reached out and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Well, the truth is that James cared about you very much,” Snape said eventually. “Enough to
sacrifice his life in an effort to save yours. I am certain he would have been a good father to
 you, if he’d been given the time and opportunity. Despite everything else I may think of him,
that does earn my respect.”

The majority of the tension melted from Harry’s shoulders. Before he could help it, he found
himself leaning against Snape’s side, anger fading away. Despite whatever had happened
between his father and Snape - Harry wasn’t too stupid to realise he’d certainly told an
abridged version - Snape had still mustered something positive. That was a vast
improvement. Snape was trying, and that was what mattered to Harry.

Chapter End Notes

Just to let everyone know, chapter updates may be a little bit less frequent over the next
month or two - I'll still be aiming for once a week, but things might end up fortnightly.
 The Lack of an Option
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

As January progressed, Harry’s schedule was becoming jam-packed. Between weekly Anti-
Dementor lessons with Lupin, biweekly Occlumency sessions with Snape and the rapidly
increasing amount of Quidditch practice sessions, Harry was exhausted. Oliver Wood and
Marcus Flint were still bickering over when to schedule the Gryffindor versus Slytherin
rematch - although rumour had it that the game would take place a few weeks after Slytherin
took on Ravenclaw in February - but the lack of a date hadn’t stopped Oliver from training
the Gryffindor team brutally.

Anti-Dementor lessons and Occlumency lessons weren’t exactly a walk in the park, either.
Harry’s original progress with the Patronus Charm had plateaued, and he hadn’t managed to
produce anything more than vapour, yet, no matter what memory he selected. Professor
Lupin was always gently, determinedly encouraging, but Harry’s confidence in himself was
starting to wane.

Occlumency was also proving to be quite troublesome. Snape had moved Harry onto a
different memory - this one was of his Uncle Vernon, enraged after an incident of accidental
magic. Harry had attempted to Occlude it five times, now, and still hadn’t had any luck.

And there they were again - Harry standing at the edge of Privet Drive’s kitchen, Snape just
behind his shoulder, watching his eight-year-old self try to flatten his hair in a small mirror
that Aunt Petunia kept on the side table. Uncle Vernon had been particularly angry about his
messy locks around that time, and Harry didn’t want another smack around the back of the
head, accompanied by a sharp order to comb his hair. At that moment, his uncle was sitting at
the kitchen table, reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee.

Dudley came ploughing in, carrying a shiny, new cricket bat he’d gotten for his birthday.
Before Harry had so much as a chance to turn around, he lifted it into the air and drove it hard
into Harry’s ribs, with enough force to topple him to the ground. Harry laid there, gasping for
air, while Dudley raised the bat, prepared to inflict another blow…

But as the bat came whooshing down to hit Harry square in the face, there was a resounding
crack, like a car backfiring. Dudley’s feet tripped over themselves, knocking him to the floor,
and the cricket bat went flying across the room, smacking hard against the wall.

Dudley’s cheeks blotched into a nasty shade of pink as he struggled to take in what just
happened. Both the eight-year-old version of Harry and his current self winced as Dudley
opened his mouth.

“Daaaad!” he wailed, jabbing a finger in his cousin’s direction. “He did something to me!
He attacked me!”

“I didn’t!” Harry protested, shoving himself upright with some difficulty.

It was no use. Uncle Vernon would never have believed Harry over his own son - even now,
his face was colouring an unpleasant puce, and his lips were drawing back into a snarl. He
thrust himself to his feet, slammed his paper to the tabletop, then stormed across the room.
He grabbed Harry roughly by the arm and began to screech obscenities barely an inch from
his face. Harry could still remember, even now, the disgusting spittle that had flown from
beneath Uncle Vernon’s bushy moustache…

“HOW DARE YOU ATTACK DUDLEY!” he bellowed. "HOW DARE YOU, AFTER
EVERYTHING WE'VE DONE FOR YOU! I USE MY HARD-EARNED MONEY TO PUT
A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD AND FOOD IN YOUR UNGRATEFUL MOUTH, AND
YOU REPAY US LIKE THIS? I OUGHT TO HAVE LEFT YOU ROTTING ON THE
STREETS WHERE YOU BELONG!”

Eight-year-old Harry tried to cringe away, Uncle Vernon’s fingers digging into his flesh.
Those finger-shaped marks had been the first bruises Harry’s uncle had left on his skin that
day, but certainly not the last.

Vernon raised his other hand in a closed fist, then began to drive it forwards -

And they were back in Snape’s office. By now, the post-Occlumency ritual had grown
familiar. Snape placed his hands over Harry’s, and muttered quiet instructions about
breathing until Harry managed to get control of himself again. The dreadful memory always
made adrenaline course through his blood, urging Harry to run, to hide, to escape the wrath of
Vernon that was soon to fall. Even though Snape always pulled them out before Uncle
Vernon actually hit Harry, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting the same way it had five
years ago. He still felt the danger like he was really there, and couldn’t switch it off.

Once his breathing had gone from shallow gasps to lengthy inhales and exhales, Harry
yanked his hands away from Snape and used them to hide his face. He clenched fistfuls of his
fringe between his fingers and groaned loudly. “I failed again!”

“You’re being far too hard on yourself,” Snape said sternly. “What you’re attempting to do is
incredibly difficult -”

“But I don’t know why I can’t just do it already!” Harry said, dropping his arms to hang limp
at the sides of his chair. “I feel completely useless!”

“You are not.” Snape placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, their faces level. “I told you this
wouldn’t happen overnight. You have nothing to be ashamed of, Harry - these are horrible
memories, things that would turn anyone’s stomach. It might take you some time, but you’ll
learn to Occlude them eventually.”

Harry nodded reluctantly. “Can I try again? I want to get this done.”

“Not today,” Snape said firmly. “You’ve had enough - we’ll try again on Wednesday.”

“Alright,” Harry acquiesced, but only because he knew that Snape was not one to be moved
on matters like this.
“You’ll manage it, Harry. I’m certain.” Snape squeezed Harry’s shoulder once, then pulled
away. He sat down on the other side of his desk and started briskly flicking through a stack of
essays with a thumb. “Now, why don’t you go into the sitting room and play some chess with
Draco? I think both of you could use the distraction.”

“Er… are you sure that’s a good idea?” Harry said hesitantly.

The pressure of the upcoming trial was not doing wonders for Draco’s mood. With every
passing day, the other boy grew more and more insufferable. He was picking fights over the
most ridiculous things, particularly with Snape, who he still blamed for his inability to attend
the trial proceedings. Yesterday, when Snape had asked Draco to tidy up his bedroom, which
was in a complete state, he’d blown up quite spectacularly. He’d even started throwing things
around in his room and smashing them, an event that hadn’t occurred since Harry’s second
day at Spinner’s End. Harry almost thought he preferred that to the constant passive
aggressive comments and sniping, though. Since Snape wasn’t exactly a patient person, he
would always whip an equally sharp barb back at Draco, egging him into an endless back and
forth. It was tedious to listen to.

Draco was being just as bad with Harry, making constant, snide comments about him, or
yelling at him for no apparent reason. Harry felt like he was constantly walking on eggshells,
and he hated it.

It was worst of all with the other students - Draco erupted at even the smallest of comments,
nowadays, over things he’d tolerated easily just last month. He’d shoved Blaise Zabini into a
pile of unicorn manure in Care of Magical Creatures on Monday, and would have done a lot
more if Harry hadn’t grabbed onto him and held him back.

Potions had been even worse, when Draco had thrown a handful of frogspawn into Pansy
Parkinson’s face for a whispered comment she’d made about Draco’s father. Snape had
looked ready to spit nails for that one. There was nothing that made him angrier than people
messing about with potentially explosive ingredients. Harry had had Anti-Dementor lessons
that evening, and they had still been arguing about the incident when Professor Lupin
dropped Harry back in the dungeons late that evening.

Harry’s plans to get Draco to befriend Ron and Hermione had been put on pause until the
trial was over. It was too risky when Draco was so quick to anger - Harry was worried he’d
start going on about Mudbloods and blood traitors again, since he was so determined to push
everybody in his life away for reasons Harry couldn’t really comprehend.

On the other hand, Harry knew Draco needed someone to talk to… he had to be quite lonely.
As annoyed as he was with the other boy, Harry still felt very bad for Draco. The only people
he really spoke to nowadays were Harry and Snape, and half of those conversations ended up
being arguments.

The closest Draco got to talking to someone outside of their quarters was a big, black dog
Harry had noticed him sitting with at the edge of the Forbidden Forest after a couple of
Gryffindor Quidditch practices. The animal always made Harry’s hair stand on end when he
noticed it. The dog bore a striking resemblance to the looming figure of the Grim that had
been haunting Harry for the last few months. Because of that, he never dared to approach the
pair of them.

“I know I should be there for Draco and all, but he’s making it pretty hard,” Harry grumbled.
“We’re not the ones being horrible to him…”

“But we are more accessible targets than Ministry prosecutors, or Daily Prophet reporters,”
Snape said with a sigh. “It is not acceptable behaviour, Harry, but he is under remarkable
strain. The trial is tomorrow - once that is over, and the matter is settled, we will be out of
this limbo and the world’s attention will move on.”

“Are all wizard trials so quick?” Harry asked, tilting his head to one side. Aunt Petunia had
always been a fan of soap operas that were chock-full of grisly murders, and a lot of them
seemed to involve long and drawn out trials, full of angry, moustached lawyers and wig-
wearing judges who were rather overenthusiastic with their gavels.

“Typically they are quite brief, yes. It’s all rather different due to magical intervention, which
speeds along the process,” Snape explained. He must have worked out that Harry was
thinking of the Muggle way of doing things.

“Still - I feel like they must end up missing things, if it’s all in one day,” Harry said.

He’d expected Snape to have an opposing explanation, but to Harry’s surprise, he nodded.
“How do you think so many Death Eaters managed to avoid Azkaban? The Council of
Magical Law is highly flawed.”

“Why don’t they just… fix it?”

It seemed obvious to Harry. The Ministry could just close the legal loopholes, and then there
wouldn’t be all of these problems!

Snape looked vaguely amused by Harry’s comments, and simply shook his head. “Fix the
system which allows so many members of the Ministry for Magic to get away with crimes
without consequence? I think not. After all, if you can still save your own skin, who cares
about a few pesky miscarriages of justice?”

“But that’s completely corrupt!” Harry protested.

“Welcome to politics,” Snape said sardonically. He spread his hands wide. “It’s a messy
business.”

“Definitely.” Harry pulled a face.

“Now, back to the matter of tomorrow’s trial.” Snape regarded him closely. “Draco has the
day off lessons for obvious reasons, but I was wondering how you would feel about staying
down here with him instead of attending class.”

“Really?”
“It’s not ideal for you to miss school, but I am reluctant to leave Draco alone to his own
devices, given the circumstances,” Snape said wearily. “I must attend the trial, and I’d prefer
you staying over the likes of a different staff member, since he’ll probably cope better around
someone… well, around someone within the family.”

He left a deliberate pause after those words, like he was waiting to see how Harry would
react to the descriptor of ‘family’. Harry didn’t mind it now at all, of course, but a few
months ago, he could see how that would have definitely sent him spiralling… Harry was
suddenly struck by the realisation that Snape must often find himself choosing his words
carefully like that. He was an impressively deliberate man.

“I’m happy to stay with him,” Harry said with a shrug. “Like you said, it’s family business. I
want to be there for him.”

Even if he is being a massive berk right now, Harry mentally tacked on.

“If you feel you need an adult, do not hesitate to get one,” Snape added, his voice stern. “My
fireplace is connected to the other professors’ offices, and I’ll leave the Floo powder on the
mantelpiece so you can ask around for aid. Professor Flitwick will be available in the
morning, and Professor McGonagall in the afternoon.”

“Okay.”

Harry didn’t think he was going to end up needing that, though. He was sure that he was far
better at dealing with Draco than Professor McGonagall or Professor Flitwick would be.

“And I expect you to do your schoolwork while you wait for me to return,” Snape added, a
knowing glint in his eye. Harry, who had just been looking forward to an excuse to skip
school, sighed and nodded. Snape turned back to the stack of essays, and Harry made his way
out of the office and into the main part of their quarters.

Draco was sitting at the kitchen table, where he was supposed to be doing Charms homework
- a task which he had been arguing with Snape about for half the evening. Instead of doing
that, he was reading through an old copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry bit back a groan. Draco
had an unhealthy obsession with those old newspapers, full of graphic descriptions of Lucius’
crimes… the more modern articles had also unfortunately captivated him, since the Prophet
had started dedicating a section of their paper to lurid, sensationalised recaps of Lucius’
various crimes as they drew closer to the trial day.

It definitely wasn’t good for Draco to immerse himself in that much violence, particularly
since it had been perpetrated by his father. Harry thought he might as well do as Snape had
asked and at least try to interest Draco with some sort of distraction. He certainly needed it…

After a moment of hesitation, Harry crossed the room and hovered awkwardly at the edge of
the kitchen table. Draco didn’t look up, or otherwise acknowledge Harry’s presence. He
flicked over to the next page, where Harry saw a black-and-white image of a bearded man
with solemn eyes staring back at them.

“How are you?”

Flick. A tearful blonde woman looked back from the page now, bleeding heavily from the
cheek. Draco stared at her, purposefully ignoring Harry. He winced - that had probably been a
stupid question, anyway. Draco was obviously doing terribly.

“Look, why don’t you stop obsessively reading and come and play chess with me?” Harry
tried. “I’ll let you have white.”

“Can you just shut up and let me read?” Draco snapped, not even bothering to look at him.
“No one wants to hear you bleating on all the time!”

Harry scowled, then took a few deep breaths to try and get control of himself. He even tried
to use a few Occlumency techniques to push away the anger and remind himself of what the
real issue was here - Draco was just really stressed, and wasn’t handling things well. He
needed a friend, not another argument.

“Reading it over and over won’t help what’s happened,” Harry said softly. “All it’s going to
do is make you feel awful about your dad. Maybe it would help if you had a bit of a
distraction -”

“And what would you possibly know, Potter?” Draco spat. He slammed a hand against the
table. “You don’t know a thing about parents - yours are dead! You’ll never understand
anything about family, since you haven’t even got one! And no, those Muggle oafs don’t
count - but they made that perfectly clear to you, didn’t they?”

Harry flinched back. He felt like Draco had struck at something deep and wounded in his
chest.

“Draco Malfoy!” Snape’s voice boomed from his office. The door, which had been left open
a crack after Harry’s exit, was flung open so violently it smacked into the wall as Snape
emerged, white-faced and livid. Even though Harry wasn’t the one he was angry at, he still
cringed back. He hadn’t seen Snape this angry since the Hogsmeade incident…

All of the fury died from Draco’s face, to be replaced by something rather like regret.
“Severus -”

“Your room. Now!” Snape seized Draco’s collar, hauled him out of his chair, and marched
him into his bedroom. The door slammed shut, but that didn’t even begin to block out the
shouting.

“How dare you say such things!” Snape seethed.

“I just -”

But Draco’s voice abruptly cut off, and Harry couldn’t make out a further word. Snape must
have remembered Harry’s complaints about all the arguing and had conjured up some sort of
Silencing Charm. It wasn’t all that effective, since Harry could still hear muffled voices and
the angry tones that choked them, but just couldn’t make out the words anymore. He
appreciated the effort, at the very least.
Harry sighed loudly and shuffled down the hallway into his bedroom. He collapsed onto his
bed and buried his face in his pillow. Snape’s words to Harry about family from earlier
clearly didn’t ring true with Draco, then… it did hurt, when Harry had sort of started to
believe that they were one. Stupid…

Why the hell had he even bothered trying to help Draco? He was being completely horrid all
the time, and Harry was sick of it! Who was he to bring up the Dursleys like that? This wasn't
the Draco Malfoy he'd come to like - this was the Malfoy of early August, who Harry had
despised.

After several minutes of Harry feeling rather sorry for himself, his bedroom door swung
open. He recognised the sound of Snape clearing his throat.

“Catch.”

Harry looked up just in time to see a half-eaten packet of chocolate digestives flying through
the air towards him. His Seeker reflexes alone allowed Harry to snatch them from above
before they sailed onto the ground and got smashed. He reopened the packet and bit into one.
These were his favourite biscuits, which Snape knew. He was obviously trying to make Harry
feel better.

It wasn’t working. There was a horrible ache in Harry’s chest.

“Are you alright?” Snape asked softly. Harry didn’t respond and continued to nibble at the
edge of the biscuit, not in the mood to talk.

Snape crossed the room slowly and sat on the end of Harry’s bed. His eyes didn’t leave
Harry’s face, even once. “Draco will be in to apologise soon, if he knows what's good for
him.”

"Don’t force him,” Harry said heavily. "I've heard worse - you know that.”

"That does not excuse his behaviour.” Snape was starting to look very angry, now. "You will
not be spoken to like that in my household.”

“He'll calm down after the trial,” Harry said gloomily. He had to hope, at least…

“Indeed.” Snape ran his hands over his face, clearly exhausted. “This has turned out to be a
highly difficult situation for everyone involved. To be perfectly frank, Harry, I'm not quite
sure how to address any of this with Draco. He simply refuses to be helped.”

“I’m not sure if there is a way to help him, honestly,” Harry said, hugging his knees to his
chest. “It was always going to be terrible for him - and for us by extension.”

“Unfortunately, you may be right.” Snape sighed heavily. “But just know - we will get
through this. When Draco’s parents were originally tried at the end of July, things were
actually worse than this, but he learned to cope eventually….”

Harry’s eyes widened. “How could he be worse than he is now?!”

“It was not a very pleasant month,” Snape said grimly. His eyes were narrowed. “He is
rapidly using up my reserves of goodwill once more. Emotions may be running high right
now, but after the trial, I will not be making any more allowances for his behaviour, and
neither should you. He will not speak to you so disrespectfully any longer.”

“Okay…” Harry, who despite everything still felt bad for Draco, didn’t really know if he had
it in him to yell back at the other boy if he kept being so rude. He was certainly angry about
what Draco had said to him, but worst of all was the hurt. He hated that Draco was using his
deepest insecurities against him like this…

“I might just go to bed now,” Harry muttered, averting his gaze from Snape’s face. He wanted
to wallow in peace.

“Very well.”

Snape stayed there for a few moments, though, just staring at Harry. There was something
like frustration obvious on his features before he Occluded it away. Harry very purposefully
got to his feet and headed to his wardrobe, which Snape luckily picked up on as his cue to
leave.

“And Harry? For what it’s worth…” Snape hesitated for a moment, before his eyes turned
steely with resolution. “Family does not simply mean those you share blood with. You do
have a family, now. Remember that.”

Harry managed a thin smile, even though his chest was aching.

Late that night, when Harry laid awake, staring into the darkness and thinking, his door
swung open. He instantly recognised the level breathing as Draco’s. He stood in the doorway
for over a minute before speaking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Something in Draco’s voice was tight and choked, like he’d been
crying. “I don’t know why I always say such dreadful things.”

Harry knew that at times like this, Draco liked to sit at the end of his bed for a time, to feel
less alone. The right thing to do would be to let Draco in, to give him company…

But Harry was hurt, and that pain left him angry. He hardened his heart and pointedly turned
over, shutting out Draco entirely. The other boy lingered for a few more moments, then
sighed heavily. His footsteps padded off down the corridor, and his bedroom door creaked
shut.

The morning of the trial dawned cold and windy. It was so overcast outside that the murky
green lakelight which normally streamed through the dungeon windows was almost entirely
absent; inky, rolling waves pressed against the glass, leaving them in flickering candlelight
They ate breakfast in their quarters that day, instead of in the Great Hall. It was one of the
worst meals Harry had ever sat through, nearly as insufferable as those awkward, stilted
breakfasts they’d all endured in early August. Snape seemed exhausted and weary, eyes
slightly bloodshot, but his haggardness was nothing compared to Draco’s. He was distracted,
silent and sullen, and his eyes were puffy and red. His skin was a sickly shade of white, and
every time Harry looked at him, he was struck by how much Draco looked like a corpse.

To Harry's immense surprise, Draco didn't once beg Snape to be allowed to go to the trial.
After at least a fortnight of constant nagging, Harry would have expected Draco to be
insufferable today…

But Harry almost would have preferred those mean-spirited, cruel comments about the
Dursleys to Draco's silent misery. He wished that there was something he could do to make it
better, but Harry knew it was hopeless.

Snape was in a similarly grim mood. He was fully dressed in a travelling cloak when he sat
down at the table, and ate briskly and efficiently. He rose to his feet before Harry and Draco
were even halfway finished eating - not that Draco had consumed a bite of breakfast, of
course. He'd spent most of the meal stirring a bowl of porridge without speaking.

“I'll be back as soon as I can be,” he promised. “Remember, I’ve left that Floo powder on the
mantelpiece. Goodbye.”

He paused for a moment, like he was waiting for someone to reply. Harry quietly bade him
farewell, but Draco didn't say a word. Snape just sighed and walked over to the fireplace,
where he threw in a handful of Floo powder and called out, “Ministry for Magic Atrium!”

Harry worriedly watched Draco as Snape vanished in a whirlwind of green flames,

wondering what he was thinking. Draco was staring into the fireplace with a crease between
his eyebrows.

“Severus doesn't normally leave the Floo powder out here, does he?” he said quietly. “He
keeps it in his office with him, and uses that fireplace if he needs something.”

“Oh. Yeah, I think he wanted us to have some in case we needed to call someone,” Harry
shrugged.

“Hmm.” Draco continued to stare at the fireplace, then abruptly got to his feet and walked
into the bathroom without saying another word. A minute later, Harry heard the shower
splutter to life. He sighed to himself, retrieved his Divination textbook from his bedroom and
settled back down at the kitchen table to attend to his schoolwork. Somehow, Harry didn't get
the sense Draco would be joining him.
When Draco finally came out of his room three and a half hours later, a strange feeling of
apprehension curled up in Harry's stomach. Something was off about Draco's appearance.

He was generally a well-groomed person, but Draco had put even more than his usual effort
into his hair and face, which didn’t look nearly as gaunt and haunted as it had that morning.
Even more unusually, he was wearing a cloak over his robes, like he was prepared to go out.

“Are you cold or something?” Harry asked.

“What?” Draco said distractedly.

Harry gestured to him. “You're wearing your cloak.”

“Oh.” Draco looked down at himself, like that news had come as something of a surprise to
him. “Right. I am, yeah. Excuse me…”

He walked past Harry and down the branching hallway which led to Snape's bedroom.
Suspicion began to worm its way through Harry's gut. What on earth did Draco need from
there? Both of them very rarely entered Snape’s room…

Something was definitely wrong. Since Snape had put Harry in charge of keeping an eye on
Draco today, he knew he had to intervene in whatever this was. Harry quickly got to his feet
and made a beeline for Snape's bedroom.

And the minute he entered, he was met with the sight of Draco pulling down the Invisibility
Cloak from the top shelf of Snape's wardrobe.

When he heard Harry push the door open, Draco froze in place. He looked as though he'd just
been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded.

“Er - nothing -”

“How is nicking my Invisibility Cloak from Severus' room nothing?!” he said loudly.

“I need it, okay?” Draco snapped, tucking the cloak under his arm. “Please don't make this
difficult, Harry -”

“You tell me what you're doing right now!” Harry said, folding his arms and glaring.

Draco hesitated for a moment, then sighed defeatedly. “I’m going to the Ministry."

Harry scoffed. “The hell you are!”

“I'm going.”

Draco's tone was dangerous. It was only then that Harry noticed the wand in Draco's
trembling hand, pointing straight at him. A breath caught in the back of Harry’s throat.
This was not good.

“Imagine what Severus would say if he knew you were doing this,” Harry said in a quiet,
level voice. He felt like he was trying to soothe some sort of feral animal before it lashed out
with a clawed blow.

“Severus isn't going to know.” Draco’s voice was thick with emotion. “You don't understand,
Harry, I - I have to do this. I have to be there!”

“What's even the plan here, Draco?” Harry demanded angrily. “How are you even going to
get there?!”

“Severus left that Floo powder out, and I'll use it to go to the Atrium,” Draco said, refusing to
meet Harry's eyes. “I know the Ministry well - Mother and Father used to take me sometimes,
when they met with the Minister and his wife. I know that no one’ll be around at this time,
and if they are, I'll make up some kind of excuse. It’s going to be fine! All I'm going to do is
sit under the Invisibility Cloak in the courtroom viewing area, Harry -”

“But I don't understand the point!” Harry said, pressing a hand to his temples. He felt a
migraine rapidly developing from the strain of the situation.

If they lock my father up in Azkaban for the rest of his life, which I bet they will, then this is
my last opportunity to ever see him, Harry!” Draco shouted. His grey eyes were glittering
with unshed tears. “He’ll probably be dead before I’m seventeen!”

“But Draco -”

“I have to sit there, and I have to hear for myself what he's done, so maybe I can start to
understand what kind of man my father truly is!” he added, hands curling into fists. “I don't
know how to explain - and I don’t think you could understand, anyway. I just need to be
there, Harry!”

“Severus told you not to!” Harry protested.

“And Severus isn't going to find out,” Draco growled. He hitched the cloak further up under
his arm and took a step forward. “I'm going, and you're not going to stop me.”

He went to go past Harry, but he stretched his arms out to bar the exit.

“The minute you go, I'll tell McGonagall,” he threatened. “Severus will find you after, and
you’ll be in so much trouble. It won’t be worth it.”

A twisted look of pain crossed Draco's face. “I don't care what happens to me after - I just
need to go!”

“I can't let you!” Harry said loudly.

Draco roughly shoved through him, and started hurrying towards the fireplace. Harry sprinted
over and blockaded the fireplace with his body, instead. He tried to grab the Floo powder off
the mantelpiece, but Draco snatched the jar up as Harry's fingers just barely brushed the sides
and hugged it closely to his chest, where Harry couldn’t snatch it away.

“Go away!” Draco said angrily.

He knew he looked a bit stupid, stretched out in front of the fire as he was, but Harry refused
to move, even if he was getting uncomfortably warm. “Draco, this is a really bad idea, and
you know it!”

Draco could hex Harry, or even shove him, but Harry didn't think Draco would do that. He
hoped not, at least. It was hard to be certain when Draco looked so furious. His face had
flushed a deep pink, and his chest was heaving.

“I want to see my father one last time, and if you keep trying to stop me, Harry, I will never
forgive you!” Draco shouted. His eyes were like deep, frozen pools of fury. “I will hate you,
and I will not stop hating you for the rest of my life.”

It was like he’d sucked all of the oxygen out of Harry’s lungs, leaving him lightheaded and
reeling. That comment cut deeply, because Harry knew Draco meant it. He was looking at
Harry with an expression of true loathing, after all. If he stopped Draco from getting to his
father today, Harry would never be forgiven for it. Everything they’d built would be
destroyed.

It was like Harry had been gifted with clairvoyance. He could just picture the way the rest of
his future would unfold… Draco would despise him, and everything would go back to the
way it had been before August. and it would hurt a million times more than it had before they
had cared about each other. Worst of all, Draco would make that hatred known. It would be
like living with the Dursleys all over again… summers of torment with someone who truly
detested him.

And Harry knew he couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t lose Draco.

“You said we were brothers, Harry.” Draco said, a slight tremor in his voice. “If that meant
anything to you, then you’d prove it and let me do this. That’s what family does - they help
each other. Please, Harry.”

His resolution broke.

“I’m coming with you,” Harry said abruptly.

Draco scowled. “As if -”

“No, hear me out.”

If Harry couldn’t stop Draco from going - and he certainly couldn’t, if he wanted to salvage
their friendship - then he had to try and minimise the damage Draco was going to do by
heading into the Ministry. So, he began to do some very quick thinking.

Harry highly doubted he would be able to hold Draco off. He didn’t want to hurt Draco, but
the other boy would be more than willing to hex him right now, as painful as that was to
realise. Draco was going to go to the Ministry no matter what Harry did, and he couldn’t
think of a single way to stop the other boy. By the time Draco Flooed away and Harry got
ahold of Professor McGonagall, he would be hidden under the Invisibility Cloak and
impossible to find in the Ministry for Magic.

Snape might have his own special way of finding Draco, but he was also in the Ministry,
completely out of reach in the courtroom. Harry had absolutely no one to turn to, except for
himself.

Draco was volatile. Harry still vividly remembered the shopping incident from his first days
at Spinner’s End, where Draco had thrown ornaments around Snape’s living room, or the
violent fit of rage he’d had after his father had been charged in September, or the fit of temper
from just two days ago when he’d argued with Snape. When Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to
life in Azkaban, as it seemed likely he would be, Draco was going to react, and he was going
to react badly. Someone needed to know where he was, and needed to be there to pick up the
pieces…

And even if Draco couldn’t stand Harry right now, he cared enough about Draco to want to
protect him. Right now, that seemed to mean protecting him from himself, and mitigating
whatever damage he was about to cause.

“I’m not going to let you face this alone,” Harry said softly. “Like you said - we’re brothers.
If you’re going to do this, I’m coming.”

“How do I know I can trust you not to grab someone in the Ministry or something?” Draco’s
angry expression had softened slightly, but he still looked suspicious. “You obviously don’t
think this is a good idea…”

“No, I think it’s bloody stupid, but I’m not going to stop you,” Harry sighed. His heart had
started to thud horribly. “And I’m not going to try and sabotage you while we’re there, either.
I’d be in just as much trouble as you if I get caught in the Ministry, right? Why would I try to
get us found out? But look - I’m coming, and you can’t stop me.”

There was a moment of terrible tension as the two of them stared at each other, not knowing
what would happen next.

“Okay,” Draco whispered. Harry’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Harry, I - thank you. Just…
thank you.”

He looked so relieved, it was heartbreaking. At that moment, Harry felt at least a little more
confident that he was making the right choice. It was obvious that Draco didn’t want to attend
the trial alone, even though he was still so hellbent on going in the first place. This was going
to be okay - Draco wasn’t going to hate him, and Harry was still making sure his brother
wouldn’t get hurt going to this trial by accompanying him.

Harry just hoped Snape would see things that way.

Good God, Snape. The prospect of the man finding out that they were doing this sent a chill
down Harry’s spine. He had to understand that Harry didn’t have a choice - Harry couldn’t
 face the prospect of Draco hating him, he just couldn’t. Even thinking about it was
unbearable. Hopefully, if Harry was there to look after Draco while he did this stupid thing,
he wouldn’t end up with Snape hating Harry for mismanaging this situation so horribly… he
just didn’t know what else to do!

Breathe, a harsh voice in the back of his head reminded him.

Harry pressed his lips together and sucked in air through his nose, then pushed it out of his
mouth. Snape was a reasonable person. If he found out, then Harry could at least explain
where he was coming from… but no matter what explanation he gave, no matter how good it
was, Snape would be furious. Harry would certainly be in some sort of trouble, but precisely
how much was still to be determined.

So Harry just needed to make sure Snape didn't find out.

After one last tense breath, Harry turned back to Draco. He settled for giving Draco one last
furious look, hating him for putting Harry in this position, before he pushed everything down
and away.

“Right, then.” Harry crossed his arms. “Fill me in on the plan.”

Chapter End Notes

Harry and Draco, the kings of terrible decisions...buckle up everyone, there are some fun
chapters ahead :) This chapter ended up being particularly long and I split it in half, so
I'll see you all with part two, the trial itself, this weekend!
 The Trial of Lucius Malfoy

Harry knew that he wasn’t exactly one to talk when it came to rash, half-baked plans, but the
idea Draco had conjured up was bad even by his standards.

“It’s simple, really,” Draco said. He was tapping one foot rapidly against the ground, like he
was just itching to get away already. “Severus apparently had the fireplace connected to the
Ministry Atrium for today, so he could get to the trial more easily. That means we can sneak
straight in without having to faff about at the visitor’s entrance. I’ve been to the Ministry for
Magic countless times with Mother and Father, so I could practically find my way to
Courtroom Ten blindfolded - we’ll just nip down a deserted hallway, throw the Invisibility
Cloak on, and sneak in.”

“It’s really that easy?” Harry asked sceptically.

Draco scoffed. “Of course - I wouldn’t go if I didn’t know what I was doing! This’ll be a
piece of cake.”

Harry arched an eyebrow but didn’t otherwise comment. He was going along, doomed plan
or not, so he simply had to satisfy himself with the situation he had found himself in. It
wasn’t like Harry could offer any advice; he’d never been to the Ministry for Magic, after
all.

“Now, put your wrist out,” Draco ordered. “The one with the tracker.”

“Er… why?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“I’m going to get rid of it.” Draco said in a low voice. “Hurry up! You’re already slowing me
down!”

Harry obeyed, and extended his wrist. Draco pressed his wand against the silver bangle and
muttered, “Calefactorus.”

A red glow emanated from the tip of his wand, and in under a second, a segment of the
tracker melted away small, silver droplets which rained to the floor. Moments later, scorching
heat seared against Harry’s flesh.

“Owch!” Harry snatched his wrist back and cradled it against his chest, glaring at Draco.
“What are you doing?!”

Draco winced. “Sorry, I’m not great at that spell. Just let me do the other side? I promise I
won’t burn you again.”

Harry briefly examined his wrist - there was a small patch of shiny red skin where Draco had
burned him. This was going to blister, Harry realised with a grimace. He had enough
experience with cooking to be able to tell his burns apart by now. At least a decent chunk of
the tracker had melted away. Draco’s spell, crude as it was, actually worked. It was that
which convinced Harry to hold his wrist out once again.

This time, Draco was noticeably more careful. Before the burning spell he was using reached
Harry’s skin, the tracker melted through and fell in two parts to the ground.

Harry stared at the two halves of the bangle lying on the flagstones, shocked. “Could I have
really removed that so easily the entire time?”

Draco scoffed. “Obviously. It’s designed for wandless five-year-olds who Apparate away
from their parents, Harry. They’re not going to be able to melt it off like that!”

“Oh.” Harry felt a little embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of that sooner, then. It all still felt
too easy, though…

“Won’t the enchantments be broken now?” he asked worriedly. “If he checks his tracker,
Severus won't be able to see my location, and he’ll know something’s off.”

“It’ll probably be fine,” Draco said in a breezy tone which did not inspire confidence. “It’ll
just show your last given location if he checks in. If he checks twice, then we might have a
problem, but I doubt he can be bothered.”

“Wait, what?” Harry was becoming more and more confused with every passing moment. “I
thought he just looked down whenever he felt like it to check where I was. I don’t understand
this tracker at all!”

“Honestly, Harry!” Draco said exasperatedly. “It’s like you don’t know anything! The
trackers both have corresponding runes - Severus looks down, and has to translate them into
numbers for your coordinates. If they’re unfamiliar coordinates, then he has to do a spell to
get a more precise read on where you are. It’s a lot of effort - he obviously can’t be bothered
to do that all the time, no matter how obsessive he gets about keeping tabs on you. He’ll be
too preoccupied watching the trial to care what you’re up to.”

“Oh - alright, then.” Harry stared at his wrist and circled it a few times, marvelling at the
simplicity of Draco’s solution.

“Enough about the tracker,” Draco said, pushing the remains under the sofa with his foot.
“We need to go already, or we’re going to miss the trial.”

Harry sighed loudly and shot Draco a dark look, but didn’t otherwise protest. Draco was
currently staring at the fireplace, face significantly paler than it had been a moment ago. He
looked dreadfully anxious. Was he nervous about seeing his father? Scared to break into the
Ministry for Magic, perhaps?

Draco coughed slightly, and held out the Floo powder. “Could you, er - well, I think we
should Floo there together. Since you’ve never been, of course…”

“Sure.”
Harry knew that wasn’t the real reason. He was almost entirely certain that Draco’s
reluctance to Floo alone was due to the fire at Malfoy Manor… his anxious demeanour was
starting to make a lot more sense. Of course, since dignity was so important to Draco, he
would never actually admit to a worry like that.

“Is it even possible to Floo together?” Harry asked.

“It’ll be a squeeze, but yes,” Draco said. He reached into the jar, grabbed a handful of Floo
powder, and threw it onto the flames. Green firelight illuminated them. “Grab my hand so
you don’t fall out.”

Harry obeyed. He could feel Draco’s hand trembling in his as they stepped into the flames,
clammy and cold. In the moments before he called out their location, Harry was almost
certain that Draco was going to sick up.

The journey was somehow more bumpy than usual - two people squeezed into the network of
chimneys meant a lot more whacking of elbows and knees. By the time they were spat out at
their location, Harry was fairly certain he’d wake up black and blue all over tomorrow
morning.

After spluttering and coughing for several moments, choked by the soot, Harry pushed
himself to his feet and realised he was in a large, splendid Atrium lined with fireplaces.
Witches and wizards were bustling around the dark-panelled room, not paying one bit of
attention to the new arrivals. Harry stared with his mouth hanging open slightly, his eyes
lingering on a particularly magnificent golden fountain. After a moment, though, he shook
himself. Harry could stare later - they needed to get going.

Harry glanced to his left and saw Draco standing still as a statue to the left of the fireplace
they’d exited. He had turned slightly green, and was visibly shaking. He looked the way
Harry felt whenever he had one of his panic attacks - the Floo Network must have taken a
greater toll on Draco than he’d anticipated. Harry placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, mind
racing. He tried to emulate what Snape would do in a time like this.

“Er… take some deep breaths or something, okay?” he said quietly. “And try and Occlude,
like you were taught. That’ll help. Picture the, um… the forest in Wiltshire that you like. Do
that, and just breathe. It’s okay. We can wait.”

To Harry’s immense relief, Draco listened to him. His breaths started to even out, and some
of the tension melted from his features. After about a minute, he snapped upright, focused
and prepared.

“Right,” Draco said briskly, brushing down his robes. His hands were still trembling slightly,
but he shoved them into his pockets to hide the motion. “We need to get going. Since we
were technically supposed to use the visitors entrance, we need to be careful - there might be
some tricky questions from security if we’re noticed. Act like you have the right to be here.”

Draco marched onward with his chin raised haughtily in the air. Harry couldn’t help his groan
as he trailed behind. His whole body was tense. He didn’t know how to act like he belonged
when every cell of his body was screaming out about how wrong it was to be here. His chest
was so tight and painful that Harry was becoming quickly convinced he was having a stress-
induced heart attack.

“I’d like to make it clear again that I think this is a terrible idea,” Harry grumbled. “It’s not
too late to go home -”

“If it’s so stupid, then you go back!” Draco narrowed his eyes. “I never asked for you to
come!”

Well if Harry hadn’t been there, as he wanted to point out, then Draco would have just
succumbed to a massive panic attack in the Ministry for Magic Atrium. As he sensed this
comment was not helpful in the slightest, Harry barely refrained from speaking his mind and
kept marching onwards.

“So here’s the plan,” Draco said quietly as they hurried towards the end of the large Atrium.
“There’s a side corridor next to the lift that leads to the Department for Ministry
Maintenance. It’s never busy. We can duck into there, throw on the Invisibility Cloak, and
sneak into the elevator. That’ll take us down to the courtrooms, where -”

“Excuse me.” Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder, and he jumped. A pinch-faced woman
with greasy red hair was looming behind them. She was frowning.

“What exactly are you two doing here?” she asked in a nasally sort of voice. “You’re a bit
young to be out of school, aren’t you? Especially without some sort of chaperone? Who are
you, and what exactly is your business in the Ministry for Magic today?”

Harry felt equal parts worry and hope. If this woman thought they were really suspicious,
perhaps she’d take them off somewhere before Draco could get down to the courtrooms!
Then, Harry wouldn’t get the blame for the plan falling apart, and Draco wouldn’t hate him…
they’d still be in massive trouble, but Harry couldn’t see a way around that inevitable
consequence at this point. At least they might be in slightly less trouble than they’d be if
caught entering the trial proceedings…

But unfortunately for Harry, Draco was far too smart for his own good. Looking every bit the
arrogant, spoilt, Pureblooded heir, he gave the woman a derisive and disgusted look. “I beg
your pardon? Who are we? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

The corners of the lady’s mouth twisted further down. “I… well, I don’t suppose I do -”

“We have every right to be here, thank you very much!” Draco said pompously. “As for why
we aren’t in school, you do realise that this is Harry Potter, don’t you? He has frequent
meetings in the Ministry for Magic, as I expect you’d know!”

The woman’s eyes flicked up to Harry’s forehead, and widened to the size of saucers. A
nasty-looking red flush spread across her neck. “I - I… yes, of course. You must have every
right to be here… I apologise, Mr Potter.”

“We have things to be getting on with that don’t involve harassment from officials,” Draco
said curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re rather busy?”
Draco turned on his heel and began to walk off, looking vaguely disgusted. The woman
appeared too flabbergasted and embarrassed to attempt further questioning, and stood frozen
in the middle of the Atrium with her mouth hanging open. Once they were out of her sight
and deep into a quiet corridor, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was close,” he whispered, wiping his forehead.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked, awed.

“It’s surprisingly easy to get what you want if you just act like you belong,” Draco said softly,
reaching into his pocket to shake out the Invisibility Cloak. “Your fame was rather helpful,
mind. You should use it more often…”

Harry scowled. “You know perfectly well that I don’t -”

“Yes, yes, you hate fame, want to pretend you aren’t famous, et cetera, I’m aware,” Draco
drawled, waving a hand dismissively. Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek and struggled
against the urge to unleash a furious retort. His patience was reaching dangerously low
levels…

Draco eyed the cloak thoughtfully. “So we just duck under and we’re invisible?”

“As it’s an Invisibility Cloak, yes!” Harry’s hands balled into fists. All he wanted to do was
snatch the Invisibility Cloak back from Draco, and never let him touch it again. It was
Harry’s, and he had no right to take it like this!

Draco quickly hid the two of them under the silvery fabric. “Brilliant. Now, let’s go to the
lift.”

“I still can’t believe you nicked this,” Harry said irritably. “Snape already warned me to not
use this, you know. If we get caught and he takes away my cloak now, I won’t be happy with
you -”

“Be quiet!” Draco hissed. “This cloak stops people from seeing you, it doesn’t render them
deaf!”

Harry ground his teeth but kept quiet as they came face to face with a set of elevator doors.
There was a ding, and the golden grills slid open. Several tired-looking witches shuffled out,
eyes half-lidded and hair suspiciously singed.

The lift wasn’t that crowded, to Harry’s relief. He and Draco shuffled in and squeezed
themselves into a corner to the left of a drab-looking man who smelled rather strongly of
perspiration. Luckily, the cloud of body odour stopped any people from trying to stand near
the man, and therefore stopped them from being in a place where they might bump into the
invisible Harry and Draco.

They descended down a number of floors, all with strange department names that Harry
would have dedicated further attention to untangling if he wasn’t so dreadfully nervous that
he’d be caught under the cloak at any moment. It didn’t help that the elevator was violently
lurching up, down, and from side to side, and he and Draco couldn’t grab onto the golden
ropes above to steady themselves. He could have sworn the sweaty man cast a suspicious
look in their direction when the cloak flapped up, revealing a glimpse of their shoes, but he
quickly seemed to dismiss it.

Draco and Harry were the last to exit the elevator, on Level Ten of the Ministry. Draco
silently grabbed Harry’s hand and started leading him along a series of winding, cobblestone
corridors that reminded him of the Hogwarts dungeons. The walls were occasionally marked
by heavy, iron doors.

“We’re in Courtroom Ten,” Draco breathed. “Should be along here somewhere…”

But when they approached a particularly threatening-looking iron door, Draco fell short, and
Harry stumbled to a halt next to him. A gruff security wizard stood outside, arms folded.
Hope bloomed in Harry’s chest. There was no way they could open this door without the man
seeing them, even if they were invisible. Maybe, just maybe, they could finally turn back -

The door creaked open. Another security wizard who bore a striking resemblance to Goyle
was leading a furious witch with a notepad and quill out by the arm.

“You ain’t allowed to be ‘ere, miss,” he grunted.

“You ought to let me in!” The witch seethed. “I’m a journalist -”

“‘Fraid I can’t,” the wizard said with a shake of his head. “Only authorised personnel can
enter the viewing area. Shoulda gotten your media pass weeks ago!”

“But I’m with Witch Weekly!” she protested shrilly.

As the two continued to argue, Draco grabbed onto Harry’s shoulder and yanked him through
the open door. Mere moments later, the security wizards slammed it shut again.

The room they found themselves in was dimly lit, with spluttering torches in brackets casting
strange shadows against the stone walls. The platform they were on could have seated about
fifty, and witches and wizards were pressed shoulder to shoulder on the stone benches,
craning their necks to see what was going on below. Several were also crowded at the back,
and Harry and Draco had to take care to avoid them as they tried to watch the events
occurring below the viewing platform.

Rows and rows of witches and wizards were arranged in large circles around the centre of the
room, all watching a trembling, hunched man with thinning black hair who was speaking.
Every now and then, the wizard would cast a nervous glance at the chair to his right, which
was hung with menacing-looking silver chains. The wizard was speaking so softly that Harry
had to strain his ears to hear his words, even though the dungeon was silent.

“Edgar Bones was already down, you see,” the man mumbled. “H-He’d taken a Cutting
Curse to the leg, and couldn’t walk. I was just trying to drag him from the field, when I saw
him. Malfoy, that is.”
“And you’re certain you recognised him, Mr Hussain?” An important-looking man in purple
Auror robes asked. He was strangely gnarled and grizzled, and had a great mane of greying
golden hair that reminded Harry of a lion.

The balding man nodded vigorously. “His mask was gone - it had fallen off in battle, I
presume. And, of course, the Malfoy hair is…rather recognisable…” He shivered. “Malfoy
barely looked at me. He shot the Killing Curse directly at Bones, even though he obviously
wasn’t a threat in such a state, and - well, his wand was aimed at me, next. I - I barely dodged
out of the way of the Killing Curse in time… he lost me in the thick of it, and I escaped the
wards and Apparated away.”

“Thank you for the testimony, Mr Hussain. That will be all.”

Mr Hussain nodded, his shoulders sagging with relief. He began to stumble from the
courtroom, and a witch who Harry suspected might be his wife hopped up from a bench, took
his arm and led him to a heavy wooden door. Two wizards yanked it open, ushered the couple
out, and slammed the door shut. The thud echoed through the entire dungeon, reverberating
off the stone walls.

“We have now heard all the evidence,” the lion-like man announced. “Mr Malfoy can be
brought in for our final judgements.”

“Yes, Mr Scrimgeour.” The door guards nodded, faces hardening.

Disapproving whispers snaked around the room as the wizards vanished, and Harry heard
Draco let out a shuddering gasp to his right. He reached out and squeezed the other boy’s
clammy hand, hoping to provide comfort as well as a nonverbal reminder that Draco needed
to be quiet. They really couldn’t be found here, especially now, and that meant they mustn't
be heard.

While everyone in the silent dungeon focused their attentions on the wooden door, deathly
silent, Harry took a minute to scan the faces for anyone he might recognise. Most of the
wizards surrounding the chained chair were unfamiliar, but Harry quickly recognised the
white hair and long beard of Professor Dumbledore. He was seated directly behind Mr
Scrimgeour, who appeared to be in charge of this trial. Harry also spotted the Minister for
Magic, Cornelius Fudge, by his lime bowler hat. The usually jolly man was looking
exceptionally grim.

The rest of the wizards in the courtroom circle below weren’t recognisable to Harry, but he
knew a fair few people in the viewing area. He immediately spotted the bright orange hair of
Mr Weasley. He was seated directly behind the one person who Harry particularly didn’t
want to be caught by in the courtroom - Snape. His face wasn’t visible from where Harry and
Draco stood, but judging from his rigid profile, he was certainly displeased. A curly-haired
witch sat to his left, who Harry thought might be Andromeda Tonks. He couldn’t quite tell,
since her head was bowed.

His scanning of the room was disrupted by the wooden door thudding open again. The guards
re-entered, prompting further whispers from the courtroom. Harry wondered why they didn’t
have Lucius Malfoy with them. His question was answered as the wizards continued to hold
the doors open, and an icy chill settled over the dungeon. Two Dementors glided into the
room, dragging someone between them. Harry couldn’t help but flinch back. What was he
going to do with Dementors in the same room as him, especially since Harry couldn’t cast a
Patronus Charm without revealing their location?

But luckily for him, the Dementors were too far away to inflict their full effects. They did
leave Harry feeling cold, unhappy, and so sick that bile coated his throat, but he didn’t faint,
and that was the important thing.

Draco’s hand was gripping Harry’s so tightly that he thought the other boy’s nails might have
broken skin. He winced, but didn’t let go, and refocused on the scene before him.

The man in between the Dementors barely looked alive. His grey Azkaban robes were ragged
and hung overlarge on the wizard’s haggard, gaunt frame, and he didn’t appear to have the
strength to walk himself over to the chained chair the Dementors were dragging him to. The
minute they set the man down, the chains on the chair glowed golden and snaked all around
the wizard’s body, binding him in place.

Only then, Harry realised that this was Lucius Malfoy.

He didn’t look one bit like the man Harry remembered. The Lucius Malfoy he recalled from
last year had been tall, imposing and haughty. Every ounce of the grandeur and poise Lucius
had once emanated had vanished, leaving nothing but skin and bones bound in place by
heavy chains.

But it wasn’t the gaunt cheeks, lank and thinning blonde hair, or unshaven face that made
Lucius so unrecognisable - it was his eyes. They were sunken into his face, and didn’t carry a
flicker of life or emotion. He scarcely looked human.

“You have been brought before the Council of Magical Law,” Mr Scrimgeour said gravely,
“for a series of crimes perpetrated under the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. While
you were originally cleared of these charges, new evidence which we have now heard has
come to light -”

“I plead not guilty,” Lucius rasped. His voice was strained and reedy, nothing like it had once
been. With a surge of horror, Harry abruptly understood that Lucius must have screamed
himself hoarse in Azkaban. “I was under the Imperius Curse during the war.”

“A claim which has been disproven,” Scrimgeour said in a hard voice, “by the series of Dark
artefacts you have happily stored in your house for the last decade, as well as the violent
wave of Dark magic you invoked during an authorised Ministry search.”

“You’ve misunderstood, Rufus, I was Cursed!” Lucius said frantically. His hands had clawed
around the armrests of the chair. “I - I wasn’t in my right mind in the last war! You’ve known
me a long time now, Rufus, you know I would never -”

Draco was shaking rather violently next to Harry. He reached his other hand over, taking
great care not to jostle the Invisibility Cloak, and rubbed soothing circles into Draco’s
shoulder in vain attempt to keep him somewhat calm.
Harry could finally understand fully why Snape had been so vehemently opposed to Draco
attending this trial. No one ought to see their father like this, weak and pleading. This was
wrong - deeply, dreadfully wrong.

“This is not a matter for debate, Mr Malfoy,” Scrimgeour said coldly. “We are not discussing
if you were under the Curse - we are discussing what to do about the actions you knowingly
and willingly carried out in service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“I am a good man!” Lucius said, his voice higher pitched than usual. His eyes were alive
now, with terror and fervour. “You all know me intimately - I advised many of you on
Department matters, I donate to charity, organise events - I’m a family man! I had a newborn
son at the time you said I did these dreadful things! What sort of a person do you take me
for?”

Draco shuddered violently under Harry’s palms.

“You certainly can’t believe this, Cornelius?” Lucius turned to the Minister, who let out a
rather undignified squeak. He seemed terrified to be addressed. “You know me, you know my
wife, our characters - surely, if I had been a Death Eater all this time, you all would have
known!” Lucius’ breathing was coming in hard, fast gasps. “Why would I have walked
amongst you for twelve years if I sympathised with the Dark Lord -”

“Enough,” Scrimgeour said unfeelingly. He shook his head and turned his back on Lucius,
who fell silent, chest heaving.

Scrimgeour faced the circle of witches and wizards. They were all whispering - some of them
seemed sympathetic, others furious. Harry noticed the glares directed at Lucius significantly
outweighed the pitying glances.

Scrimgeour raised his wand. “I now ask the Council for Magical Law to raise their hands if
they believe this wizard deserves a lifetime term in Azkaban prison.”

The witches and wizards around the right hand side of the dungeon began to raise their
hands. Harry held his breath as he counted them - it wasn’t the entirety of the jury, he noted,
but it was a sizable majority, including Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic himself. It
was more than enough to put Lucius behind bars…

And it seemed like Draco had been counting, too. He let out a quiet and strangely animalistic
moan. Harry had never heard a noise like it, and he hoped never to again. It was a sound of
pain unlike anything he’d ever heard, and branded an ache deep in Harry’s chest.

This is wrong, he thought again. Draco shouldn’t see this. He shouldn’t be here…

“The Council has spoken,” Scrimgeour declared. Murmurs broke out in the courtroom. Many
witches and wizards looked deeply shocked, while some looked satisfied, others
disappointed. Cornelius Fudge had started to perspire rather profusely, and was dabbing at his
shiny forehead with a handkerchief. He was obviously trying very hard not to look at Lucius
Malfoy.
Lucius glared around at all of them as the Dementors glided forwards. His eyes were like
chips of ice. He no longer looked like the husk of a man that had staggered in, begging for
sympathy - this man was a hardened Death Eater, even in a broken body. Harry was struck by
the sudden, unshakeable impression that part of Lucius’ terrified, shaken appearance might
have just been an act to sway the Council. After all, he looked truly foreboding now…

“You’ll regret this,” Lucius said simply.

Despite the reedy, gravelly quality that Lucius’ voice now held, there was a note of clear and
obvious threat in his tone that sent a chill down Harry’s spine. Lucius was examining the
council with a mixture of haughty distaste and a cold, slow-burning fury. Harry couldn’t help
but feel certain that Lucius Malfoy was going to follow through on that threat, even with
Azkaban to consider…

The courtroom seemed unimpressed by this statement - his words caused the murmurs to
explode into outright chatter and a few outraged yells.

“You traitor!” A man bellowed, accompanied by several approving jeers. A few people
actually got to their feet and started shaking their fists.

Chin held high at last, Malfoy was led from the room, not phased in the slightest by the
continual heckling. Despite his clear attempts to project an image of the man he’d once been,
Lucius was barely halfway to the door before his legs wavered and gave out from beneath
him, so the Dementors were forced to drag him once more. Harry noticed Snape shake his
head as the door slammed shut behind him.

It was lucky that the room was so loud - it disguised the ragged, gasping sob that Draco let
out from next to him. Realising that the people around them would be moving away shortly,
Harry forcibly dragged Draco into a small alcove beneath a spluttering torch which they were
just small enough to squeeze into if they crouched down on the ground. It was just in time,
too. Several witches and wizards walked through the exact space Harry and Draco had been
occupying just seconds before as they hurried from the courtroom. One such wizard was
actually Snape, who was deep in conversation with Arthur Weasley as they exited the
dungeon together. Trailing a few steps behind was Andromeda Tonks, who looked weary
beyond her years.

Draco’s arms abruptly wrapped around Harry, startling him, and he buried his face in Harry’s
chest. After making sure that the Invisibility Cloak was secured, Harry returned the embrace.
He patted Draco on the back, chest still aching dreadfully. Lucius deserved to be punished,
certainly, but Draco? He was suffering for his father’s crimes, and he was going to keep on
suffering as long as he bore the Malfoy name.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was.

“We’ll sneak out through the door in a bit, okay?” Harry whispered. “It’s too busy to leave
right now.”

But even if it hadn’t been so crowded, Harry suspected he wouldn’t be able to get Draco
anywhere right now. He was continuing to weep into Harry’s robes, trying to muffle his sobs
with questionable success.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry murmured, rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Harry had never felt so hopeless. He wanted to do something, anything to make this better,
but couldn’t think of what to do apart from continuing to hug the other boy, trying to provide
anything resembling comfort. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Draco was feeling
right now, but Harry knew it must be terrible. He had never seen Draco this devastated
before… in fact, he was shaking so violently that Harry was half-afraid Draco would actually
fall to pieces in his arms.

Harry was so focused on his brother that he didn’t notice the person watching their alcove
until they started clomping over. The continued, rhythmic thump of a wooden leg against
cobblestone finally drew Harry’s attention away from Draco. A terrifying-looking man with a
face that was more scar tissue than skin and a strange, whizzing, electric-blue eye was
making his way over to their hiding spot. It almost looked like he was staring directly at
them…

That’s impossible, Harry reminded himself. We’re invisible. Nobody can see under this cloak.

But despite that, the man just kept marching forwards. When he was just inches away, he
snaked out a hand and snatched at the fabric of the Invisibility Cloak, ripping it from the top
of their heads. Harry gasped as the terrifying wizard glowered down at them with his
mismatched eyes, the uneven slash of his mouth pulling into a frown.

“It’ll take more than this to fool the likes of me,” he growled, stuffing the cloak into a pocket.
“Now get up. You’re coming straight to the Auror office.”
End Notes

Heyy, so I have a tumblr now! I'm very late to the game so I'm still trying to figure out how
the whole thing works lol, but feel free to go over there (@aspionagee) and ask me any
questions! I'd love to chat about the fic! :)

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!