Chapter Text
Dudley Dursley's second bedroom, currently occupied by his much-unwarranted cousin, had never looked more unlived-in than it did this summer. Indeed, there lay a trunk in the corner of the room, sprawled open to reveal its full contents of careless jumbles of magical textbooks, nibbled-on quills, scrunched-up papers, and, of course, tattered old clothing and wizard robes. It had barely been touched since its arrival there exactly three weeks ago.
The state of the trunk pretty much summed up the entire room: a careless mess, yet barely lived in. Aside from the few apple cores and sweets wrappers that littered the floor, a fat stack of newspapers decorated the brittle dresser. These were far from ordinary muggle papers speaking of muggle politics and AC advertisements, as most of their pictures and illustrations moved. The latest paper was dated 'July 17th, 1996', which had arrived that morning.
This paper, like all others, had brought grim news. It spoke of the collapse of the Millennium Bridge, the culprits (of course) being the Death Eaters… A paper a little ways below it bore news of the newly instated Minister of Magic — Rufus Scrimgeur —, who had been Head of the Auror Department up until recently. Seemed like an authentic bloke. At least his lion-like mane looked imposing, as opposed to the green bowler hat Fudge had been so fond of.
But what did any of that matter?
Harry sat on the lumpy mattress with his head bent low, his elbows resting on his knees. His body shook with trembles that rocked his frame, and his entire form was covered in goosebumps. It wasn't from the temperature outside, oh no. The summer evening outside was quite warm, after all, the last golden shafts of sunlight slowly fading from the old, laminated floor.
How could he have been so stupid? How had things escalated to such a degree?
He clutched the letter with Dumbledore's familiar slanted cursive in his hand, his fingers wrinkling the parchment. Even now, if Harry reread it for the umpteenth time, he would hear the disappointment in the old wizard's words, though they were mere ink on paper.
He'd been sitting in the old room for the past fifteen minutes, and yet it felt like a lifetime had passed since his uncle had latched his door shut, all seven different locks on the door clicking into place. He was in a state of numb shock of sorts, the kind where his mind struggled to comprehend anything.
What just happened?
It had all started with him telling the Dursleys about a change of plans that morning, and the next thing he’d known, he and his aunt and uncle were having a screaming match over the topic of Harry's… well, overall existence, pretty much. Along with the Daily Prophet that morning, the Gryffindor had received a letter from the Wealseys, letting him know that Charlie had been terribly injured while conducting research on a Chinese Fireball and that the whole Weasley clan had decided to visit him for two weeks in Romania. Harry had sympathized, of course, but that little turn of events meant that his initial date of going to the Burrow had been moved by a whole fortnight . And when one lived with the Dursleys, a single day could easily feel like a year.
Thus, Harry had gone to inform his aunt and uncle that he was stuck with them for another fourteen days.
Or so he'd thought. Well, things had only escalated from there…
“... Why should we be burdened with you for longer than nec—!?...”
“...Useless lump of rubbish, you are, boy! Good for nothing—!...”
“... Just like your mother and father, that stupid murderer of a godfather of yours had to go and get himself KILLED! You're like a plague from which people never cease to die!...”
“... Shut up! SHUT UP ABOUT SIRIUS AND MY PARENTS! YOU KNOW NOTHING—!...”
Harry involuntarily shuddered at the mere snippets of the whole conundrum that replayed in his head.
But that wasn't even the worst of it.
Only after Vernon had forcefully shoved him into Dudley's spare room and locked the door had he heard his aunt shrieking from downstairs, “You're not living with us any longer, the grief that comes with you! Vernon and I are leaving for child services—!”
And left they had, only to return in the evening with emancipation papers. They had been shoved into Harry's face with glee and bliss, and Harry had felt his heart sink. Not that there was any lost love between them, Merlin forbid. But the gesture had felt like a searing arrow to his chest.
No one wanted him.
A burden.
Alone.
It was nearly a whole month since the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, as people had dubbed it. And tomorrow would mark a whole month since the death of Sirius Black. Upon returning to the Dursleys, they hadn't shown him a sliver of sympathy. Not that Harry had been expecting any… But there was a gaping hole in Harry's chest at his recent loss, the memory of Sirius' laughter-filled face vanishing through the veil still vivid in his retinas. And to have been rejected by his only blood relatives had felt like a second shockwave.
But that was nothing compared to how he felt now, after having read Dumbledore's letter, which he'd received not fifteen minutes ago…
Harry,
A Charm has informed me that the Blood Wards over your aunt and uncle's residence have fallen. I know not what happened, but I implore you not to leave the premises and stay put. I want you to trust me.
— Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
The Blood Wards… His mother's Blood Wards… The result of her sacrifice for Harry, her son, whom she'd loved unconditionally… gone. Just like that. It still felt as though someone had taken his head and submerged it into an ice-filled bucket.
What had he done?...
This was the question Harry had found himself asking for the last month. What had he done? WHY had he done it? What if he'd done things differently? Why had he been so stupid ? Why had he gone to the Ministry? Why hadn't he listened to Hermione? So many why's rampaged through his head, as well as what-ifs.
What if Harry had just Flooed to Grimmauld Place and checked for Sirius himself? What if Harry had listened to Hermione's advice and not let his emotions overrule his sense of logic? What if Harry had cast a shield charm in time to prevent Bellatrix's curse from hitting Sirius? What if he'd actually learned Occlumency and been able to block out Voldemort's vision?
Occlumency…
Snape.
It seemed routine that whenever Harry thought of the greasy bastard, he would feel an inhumane urge to punch the nearest surface to him, regardless of whether it was in the Dursleys' presence or even a trash can outside (hence why his knuckles were so bruised). Thus, Harry twisted his body and threw a wild fist at the pillow behind him. It didn't bring him nearly as much satisfaction as a wall would have, though.
How could Harry have held any sliver of hope when he'd told Snape that Sirius Black was in danger? How could he have been so naive ? Snape, help Black?
"...Severus, what is he talking about?..."
"...No idea…"
Harry knew he was responsible for Sirius' death, but Snape also made that list. It didn't matter what Dumbledore had tried telling Harry --- that Snape had tried to help. No, because how could the sodding Death Eater have tried to help his time-old enemy?
Harry growled and flexed his fists, Dumbledore's letter crinkling. The pain that radiated through his knuckles made him only angrier. Oh, how the bastard must be relishing in his victory , he thought savagely. To have another Marauder dead. Was this the man's revenge for the Pensieve incident? Merlin, just how cruel and twisted could a person be?
But that was beyond his focal troubles now. Now, Harry was left to wait patiently for… something from Dumbledore. Perhaps a patronus? Another letter? He didn't know, but the trembles that quaked his body made him want nothing more than to curl in on himself and have the ground swallow him whole.
But what did anything matter anymore? It felt like things couldn't get any worse...
So come what may.
~***~
The cold stone corridors were deserted of any sound or presence, save for the soft echoing of boots and the swishing of the robe of the dark-clad wizard. It was dark, save for the warm light the torches lining the stone wall emitted, which illuminated the stone in a fiery red.
It had been a few weeks since the revolting Dark Mark on his forearm had last burned. Since that imbecile Potter's excursion to the Ministry of Magic, of all things, and since Lucius Malfoy's spectacular failure to retrieve the prophecy. The Dark Lord had shown little leeway towards the mishaps and disappointments of his loyal Death Eaters. Severus, of course, had managed to stay in his good graces, ever the trustworthy spy that he was.
Now, he was en route to Dumbledore's office. According to the old man's Patronus message not a few minutes ago, something had happened concerning James Potter reincarnated. Of course , thought Severus with a sneer, it isn't enough that the idiot had caused an entire Armageddon at the Ministry; now he's done something else.
“Raspberry sorbet,” ground out the wizard, and the stone gargoyle gave way to the twisting staircase. Severus didn't have the time nor patience for the self-moving staircase to take him to the top (the pace of a Gryffindor's comprehension in Potions Class), so he quickly climbed them himself. Reaching the wooden door, he knocked and let himself in when he was permitted entry.
Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his huge chair behind his large desk, his eyes no longer twinkling as they usually did. The man's aged face, lined so heavily, was worried and tired… almost stricken.
“Severus,” he greeted him, who nodded in return. “Please, have a seat,” he invited, gesturing at the armchair Severus usually occupied. The man complied, sensing urgency in Dumbledore's tone.
“I'm assuming this is no social call, Albus?” he inferred smoothly, raising an eyebrow. Uncharacteristic as it was for him, Albus hadn't even offered his usual lemon drops to his guest.
“When has it truly ever been, Severus?” sighed the man ruefully. “I'm afraid something terrible has happened, and we must take immediate action.”
Severus felt himself go tense. For Albus, 'something terrible' typically meant that either the world was ending or someone had died.
“Humor me, what do you know of Harry Potter's relatives?”
The question caught him completely off-guard, but he didn't let it show. “...Only that he is staying with his aunt and uncle due to the protection of the Blood Wards, as you've already informed me,” he said slowly. Dumbledore nodded.
“Quite right. And I am afraid that they have somehow fallen.”
Severus remained stoic, though his eyes narrowed. “Fallen?” he parroted woodenly, tasting the word and suddenly wondering about the implications. “Lily's sacrificial magic?”
Albus slowly rose from his chair, his aged bones crackling, and set about pacing the circular office. “It happened some half-hour ago, I believe. I was informed immediately through a charm I had put over the house when I left him there fifteen years ago. I do not know the details, but I wrote to him shortly after to stay put and not to leave the premises.” Albus paused, concern etched on his features.
Severus internally sneered. Just like the previous year, arrogant Potter just couldn't sit still for the life of him and not find trouble. Lily's sacrifice was for naught — she must be rolling in her grave at what's become of her son. Such a waste of one's life… Lily's, no less.
“Surprised much, headmaster?” he sneered, unable to help himself, but smoothed out his features at the man's stony glare.
“Severus. This is no laughing matter. Without the protection of the Blood Wards, Harry Potter is vulnerable . Now, normally, I would send him to the Weasleys, but seeing as they are in Romania for another two weeks…”
“The option becomes invalid,” finished Severus, already aware of the red-heads’ impromptu departure. “Place him with the werewolf, for all I care, Headmaster. The boy is too damn resilient to die. I would wager death cowers at the mere mention of his name.”
“You know as well as I, Severus, that Lupin is away on a mission with the werewolves for me,” refuted Albus evenly, ignoring this unwarranted comment. “Grimmauld Place is also out of the question. Not many Order Members occupy it anymore, and I'm afraid of the psychological impact it might have on Harry. Furthermore, there is the question of inheritance…”
Severus scoffed. Stupid teenagers with their problems. No doubt the boy was still sulking about the death of the mutt. Well, he'd brought it on himself.
“Let the boy stay here, at the castle, then,” he threw in noncommittally, rising from his chair. He had a potion for the Dark Lord simmering back in Cokeworth, and the last worry he needed on his mind was James Potter reincarnated. Merlin forbid, were it not for Lily…
“ Severus .”
But that one simple word halted him dead, the hem of his cloak swinging forward in the momentum. He'd only heard his name spoken in that tone a handful of times. Slowly, he turned.
“I would love nothing more than to have Harry stay with me. However, I am going away for an indefinite amount of time, possibly a few weeks or so, in search of an artifact I believe is crucial to Voldemort's ultimate downfall.”
Severus flinched slightly at the use of the Dark Lord's name, just barely suppressing it. His left hand twitched at his side in pain. “And that may be?” he inquired, curiosity piqued.
“You shall have to wait and see, my boy. After all, best not to preach something, else it won't come to fruition.”
“Very well --- Pray tell, what is my part in this, Albus?” Severus deadpanned, crossing his arms across his chest. He had a sense of forbidding in his gut, but it was faint. Still, when it came to Albus Dumbledore, nothing could be put past impossible.
“Severus, what I am about to ask of you may be one of the most important things I ever have and will.” He walked around his desk to sit behind it again, steepling his fingers. “I want you to accommodate Harry for two weeks.”
The Death Eater felt his eye twitch and his nostrils flare, cold disbelief at the old codger's audacity washing over him. “I beg your pardon?” he said softly and dangerously, dark eyes trained on the old face. “Tell me, Headmaster, are my sins so irredeemable that no matter the risks at which I put my life, it will never be enough for you? Do I not do enough for you as it is, serving both sides of this war and directly facing the Dark Lord, placing carefully chosen lies in truth's stead about his sworn enemies, all straight to his face!?”
Severus hadn't even realized he was now standing in front of Albus' large mahogany desk, his outward composure belying his internal seething fury.
“You are aware,” he plowed on in the same tone, “that certain Death Eaters, HIM included, know of my residence in Cokeworth? What do you imagine any of their reactions to be when they see me coddling Harry bloody Potter, reading him bedtime stories over butterbeer!?”
“Ah, but that is precisely my point,” interrupted Dumbledore, holding up a finger in a halting gesture. “You see, Harry would be hidden in plain sight. No one would ever suspect him residing at your place, Severus. And, if I recall correctly,” he added knowingly, “your place is well warded, and I trust no one more than you.”
The Death Eater sneered openly, his disgust showing on his face. “Save your accolades--- you have gone senile, old man!” he seethed. “What of the Dark Lord's connection with Potter's mind? If he invades it and discovers I am housing him? Ah, but just as well, for Potter and I will have slaughtered one another by next morning!”
Well, more likely Severus would be the murderer in this case. The conceited Gryffindor held the magical knowledge of Argus Filch .
"Voldemort will not attempt to invade Harry's mind again, of this I am certain. It causes him pain, pain beyond anything he has ever experienced."
"Your proof? Am I truly to blindly take that assumption at face value?"
Albus sighed. “Severus—”
“ Has it ever occurred to you that you ask too much, Headmaster? That perhaps I do not want to do this anymore?”
The old wizard's expression retained its impassiveness. “Ah, but will you, Severus? Will you stop doing this ? Was it not sixteen years ago when you swore to my face you were willing to do anything ?”
Seveurs held himself rigidly still.
“You swore to protect her son, Severus.”
“Yes, but protecting him never entailed coddling —!”
“Coddling him was never implied. You will merely be providing him with protection during a time when he is most vulnerable and exposed. No one is asking you to 'coddle' him, Severus.” Something changed in his tone to a more gentle and imploring level. ”However, if you would just look beyond that mask that has blinded you so, I do believe what you would see would surprise you.”
The younger wizard neither did nor said anything, simply stood there, arms crossed over his chest.
“Now, additionally,” he continued, a satisfied silver lining his voice as he reshuffled some parchment, “I would like you to take up training Harry Potter — not Occlumency, I assure you,” he hastened to explain when Severus had opened his mouth in outrage. “Sharpen his dueling skills, tutor him in countering Dark spells and curses, and so on. When the time comes, Harry will need all the knowledge he has gained over these years, and Merlin knows he will need to be ready.”
Neither spoke for several deafeningly silent moments…
Potter... Two weeks of Potter...
“This is ludicrous. I refuse. Good day, Headmaster.” With that flat, final word, Severus spun on his heel and shot for the wooden door.
But Dumbledore's words halted him dead once more. Just as his hand settled on the handle.
“You claimed you loved her, Severus. Or… so I had thought. Lily Potter loved her son so much that she cast herself between him and the darkest wizard of the century, wandless and desperate... because of a mistake you made.”
And those words pierced Severus like the Cruciatus, seeping into every fiber of his being. Because they were the bitter truth. The crippling truth. More silence reigned for several long moments, yet both knew how it would end.
Severus gave a single curt nod, back still turned to the headmaster, hand hovering over the door handle. He pushed it down, jaw clenched, and disappeared.
The old coot knew he'd won the argument.
~***~
Severus cursed every house in the neighborhood for being an exact replica of the other, with the neatly pruned driveways and brick roofs. He also cursed Albus Dumbledore, Harry bloody Potter, Tuney Dursley, Voldemort, and literally everyone else he could think of except Lily. If it weren't for her sake or the mistakes he'd made, Severus would never have found himself in this position. And now, here he was — expected to house the bane of his existence reincarnated for an entire fortnight!
How was he going to keep his sanity?
Severus gritted his teeth at the realization that Potter would most likely not come quietly. Being the spoiled prince that he was, no doubt his relatives had not abided by his wishes satisfactorily and had hence elicited a temper tantrum from the boy.
Just like his father.
The wizard hadn't seen Tuney since summer after his fourth year, the last summer he and Lily had still been friends. And while the sense of the word 'witch' was no insult in the wizarding world, in the muggle world it certainly was, and Petunia Dursley had always been a testament of it. Now, decades later, he would be seeing her again. Child and husband too, perhaps. There was almost this morbid curiosity driving him to see what had become of her horse-like features and sour personality.
And after what seemed like a lifetime, Severus finally came up at Number 4, Privet Drive. He scrunched up his nose at the petunias growing in the many flowerbeds — how typical of the narcissistic woman.
Locating the doorbell, he rang it with his slender finger, a sneer already in place and his arms crossed over his chest. The man hadn't bothered changing into muggle clothing — what was the point? After all, if Tuney had retained her aversion for anything wizarding… well, this encounter would just be all the more fun.
“MUMMY! SOMEONE'S AT THE DOOR!”
Severus winced at the bellowing voice; for a moment he'd thought his eardrums would burst. Though he was still outside, the volume had far more than made up for it… Moments later, the door was swung open to reveal a bony woman with a neat perm, a long floral-print skirt and blouse that could rival Albus' night robe in color, and that same horse-ish face.
“Hel—?” She fell mute abruptly, her eyes narrowing and then suddenly widening with realization. “YOU!?” she shrieked at the top of her lungs, pointing a finger at him and revulsion twisting her features. “What— You—”
“Hmm. Most articulate of you, Tuney …. How long has it been? It would appear not all flowers age with beauty,” Severus sneered, his sharp gaze scrutinizing her pointedly from top to bottom.
“Shush with you!" The woman, now a deranged spark in her eyes, was glancing behind Severus, seemingly scanning the street. Her voice fell to a hiss. "What are you doing here, Snape!? What do you want?”
His lip curled at her like milk curdling from acid. “I assure you, my presence here is not of a want . However, I do believe you have the answer to that question.”
Petunia crossed her arms. “I haven't the slightest idea,” she snapped. “Now leave, or I will ring the police!”
Severus could have laughed. Could have . “Enough of this. The Blood Wards have fallen, as you must surely be aware—”
“Bloody Wards? What bloody wards are you talking about? ...Wait, isn't that the reason that freak has to burden us every summer?”
Freak…
“...You're a freak, Lily!...”
Unforeseen ribbons of hot red slithered through his veins, something so impotent and dangerous prickling under his skin. He took a menacing step forward, rotating his hand to wandlessly close the door behind him and brandishing his piece of ebony wood at her chest. Tuney's eyes fell on it almost immediately, a squeak escaping her thin lips… But at precisely that moment, a massive man the size of an elephant emerged from one of the rooms. It seemed to take him a moment to put two and two together at the sight of a wand being pointed at his wife.
“What the RUDDY hell is going on here!?” he bellowed. By now, an obese teen was sticking his head out from another room, and Severus knew he'd just heard a small creak coming from upstairs. Notwithstanding this, Severus trained his wand on the brute instead.
“My, how courteous of you, Tuney,” he drawled sarcastically. “Fortunately, I have no desire to linger. Go fetch Potter; tell him to pack. He's leaving with me.”
But the Dursleys' reaction was far from one Severus had been expecting. Both seemed a bit caught off-guard at first, but they next shared a triumphant look and nodded vehemently.
“Have at him! He's all yours!” exclaimed Dursley Snr., splaying his hands for emphasis. “We've already emancipated him anyway—”
“You WHAT!?” Severus snarled in disbelief. And here lay the reason behind the Blood Wards' failure. So all this was Tuney's cause? Lily's sacrificial magic was nonexistent anymore because of them!? “Have you ANY idea of the implications of what you've done!?” he hissed acidly, jabbing his wand straight at the woman's forehead. She squeaked, her husband clearly too fearful to interfere.
“Y--- You would have done the same! The boy's more trouble than he's worth, and that's an understatement—”
“I couldn't care less if the boy had pissed on your flowerbeds, Petunia ! Your lack of a professional approach in this situation was deplorable and inexcusable! You have failed !”
“Well, he's no longer our problem, is he?” remarked the fat oaf gratefully, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Take him and the grief he brings wherever, for all we care.”
At precisely that moment, Severus' dark gaze wandered up to the top of the stairs, from where a pair of those painfully familiar emerald-green eyes were staring at him. The man couldn't help the loathing that laced the words he next spoke.
“Potter! Go pack your bags; we're leaving. You have five minutes, or else…”
Harry couldn't believe his eyes. Surely, he should get a new glasses prescription soon? Because there was no way in hell that that was Snape standing in the narrow corridor downstairs, holding his aunt and uncle at wandpoint. No… He must be dreaming. Yes, this must be another one of his nightmares…
Because how the hell would Snape and Petunia know each other!?
“Potter! Do NOT make me repeat myself!” snapped the overgrown bat, and Harry had to give himself a mental shake.
His initial shock was slowly ebbing away as his mind began to accept that this was, in fact, reality, and scorching hatred and fury were quickly replacing it. What happened next, Harry didn't know, only that he was down the stairs in the blink of an eye and his fist was colliding with the man's ugly nose. The force of the blow sent the bastard colliding into the wall behind him.
“POTTER!”
Picking himself up from the floor and cradling his bleeding nose in his free hand, his tunnel-like eyes were flashing lividly at Harry, his greasy hair a mess . Harry didn't care. The only thing he was aware of was that the man responsible for his godfather's death was standing before him, and Merlin, did it feel good to have finally done that!
“BOY! WHAT THE RUDDY HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE—!?”
“OUT! GET OUT!” shrieked Petunia, forcibly shoving Severus out the door.
“Enough!” the Death Eater hissed softly and dangerously, his tone more effective than a bellow would have been. Severus gave his wand a single flick, which sent the wife, son, and husband into a nearby room. Then, the door to it was replaced by a wall, behind which the muffled screams and the pounding of fists could still be heard.
Finally, his eyes settled on the little brat. The pain searing through his nose wasn't beyond unmanageable; Severus had sustained and endured far worse injuries in his years, and a potentially broken nose was an absurdly easy fix for him. But no, what truly made him cross the few feet of space separating him and Potter, grab him by the scruff, and pin him to the wall, was the sheer audacity of the teen.
Harry was completely caught off-guard when a pair of big, cold hands grasped his collar and he felt solid behind him. The man's bloodied face was a mere inch away from his own, and Harry had a fleeting thought of spitting in it. He remained silent, however, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.
“If you are not back here in five minutes, Potter,” warned Snape smoothly, voice barely a decibel above a whisper, “the consequences will be most severe.”
“Like hell , Snape. What gives you the impression I would go with a Death Eater like you?”
Something dangerous flashed in the man's cold eyes, colder than steel in winter, and his hold on Harry tightened ever so slightly. Harry felt like squirming, but he forced himself not to show any vulnerability. He was up against a savage predator --- he could not show fear.
“Why you insolent , little— For your information, Potter ,” he spat, “had I meant you harm, you would be long since twitching on the floor under curses you could never begin to imagine the complexity of. Believe me when I say I have far better things to do with my time than to accommodate you for the next fortnight —”
“What!?” cried Harry, dread settling in his stomach. No… No, surely not. “Dumbledore would never—”
“ Professor Dumbledore is precisely the brilliant mind behind this whole orchestration, Potter,” he drawled with a wicked smirk. “I assure you, you do not want to get on my even worse side this early on. I can also assure you that teenagr limbs are rare yet invaluable potion ingredients to come by.”
Harry had known Dumbledore would most likely send someone to fetch him, but he hadn't imagined something like THIS. He glared at the hated face for all he was worth, and Snape drew back with a look of revulsion on his face. But at least his grip on Harry relented, finally allowing his heels to hit the floor.
“Consider yourself lucky I have not retaliated for your physical assault on a professor. Now… Get.”
The boy stumbled a bit, still keeping his wary gaze on the man who now resembled a statue. Finally, Harry spun on his heel and raced upstairs with his mind reeling… Back in his room, the locks on which he'd broken earlier, Harry slumped against the door and held a hand up to his forehead. This couldn't be happening… Snape, of all people? The bloody bastard — Dumbledore expected Harry to LIVE with Snape for an entire fortnight? Perhaps old age had finally caught up with the old man.
Hedwig screeched in her cage, and Harry could have sworn she was giving him a sympathetic look. Sluggishly, Harry dragged himself up from the floor and walked over to her cage.
“Sorry, girl. I would say things are going to be alright, but sugarcoating has never worked, has it?”
Sighing heavily, the teen began chucking whatever clothes could still be salvaged (which limited his options by ninety percent) and pried off the loose floorboards to retrieve his valuables. The valuables conveniently fit into his leather school satchel, which had been charmed to be expandable by Hermione last year. With Hedwig's cage and trunk in hand and satchel swung over his shoulder, Harry closed the door on the cell-like room and trudged downstairs without a second glance back.
At this point, he wasn't sure where it was better: with the Dursleys or Snape.
Back in the foyer, the muffled screams of the Dursleys could still be heard, and Snape (his face now clean of blood) was tapping his ebony wand against his arm impatiently. His eyes fell on Harry, narrowing. “Cutting it close, Potter. Four minutes, fifty-six seconds.” Harry didn't reply to that, and Snape raised a deadpan eyebrow. ”Is that really everything?”
“Uh, no. I have my broom and school things in the cupb—” Realization suddenly dawned on Harry, his eyes widening in horror at what he'd just nearly let slip. Absolutely not! Snape could NOT know about the cupboard, of all things! No doubt the man would tell it as a bedtime story to his Slytherins once school resumed.
“Go on,” prompted Snape with a vague gesture of his wand. “You were saying?”
“Nevermind. I'll get it myself. You can wait outside… if you'd like, sir ,” insisted Harry as politely as possible, though unbothered by how artificial it sounded. This seemed to be a mistake, though, as interest sparked in the man's dark eyes.
“My patience is thinning, Potter. Get. Your. Things,” he growled silkily.
The two wizards maintained eye contact for a few tense moments, the silence only broken by the panicked cries of the Dursleys. ( Does that mean Snape removed all the doors and windows there, too?) But Harry knew he was playing a losing game, so, begrudgingly, he acquiesced. Besides, it had just occurred to him that he wouldn't be able to get anything out of there alone because the cupboard was locked .
Stupid Dursleys and their phobias.
Potter stopped just short of the small door, which had about five locks on it, evidently of different security, and Severus halted a few steps behind. He watched with morbid curiosity as the boy shuffled his feet awkwardly and then raised his head with a slight blush tinting his cheeks and ears. Being the spy that he was, Severus was quickly able to deduce that the brat's supplies were kept in there ( Why the bloody hell, though? ), but he wasn't about to excuse him from asking for his assistance with unlocking the damn thing.
“Uh, Professor?” said the boy with his jaw clenched. “It's locked. Could you…?”
Severus shook his head, starting to enjoy himself. ”Your lack of manners would astound me, Potter, but considering who your father was…” he spat the word, trailing off. The boy's fists clenched at his sides, but his composure was rather impressive.
“ Please .”
He smirked. Ah, yes. Vengeance was sweet. With an effortless flick of his wand, five clicks sounded, and the door swung open. Potter wasted not a moment and dove in. His body concealed his view of the interior, so Severus was unable to satisfy his curiosity completely… In under an impressive ten seconds, Potter managed to stuff his pre-shrunken broomstick and other necessities into his rather worse-for-wear satchel.
"I trust you have your cloak and wand on your person?"
Potter's face showed his disbelief as clearly as bold text on parchment. Severus scoffed. "Honestly, do you take me for an imbecile, Potter? I've known of that insufferable cloak for years . Now cease wasting time and follow me."
Without a single other word, Severus spun on his heel, cloak swishing in the momentum, and left for the front door. Potter's shuffling of feet told him his exact position, and the man took great pleasure in letting the door 'accidentally' swing shut to nearly hit his face. Only once they were outside did Severus remember about the Dursley mess he was leaving behind, and knowing it wouldn't do to have to deal with the bloody Ministry, he lifted the spell that had been confining the family in their living room.
“Grab my arm.”
“Huh? Why…?”
Severus sighed. “I would like to offer you a dance , Potter,” he drawled caustically, then said seriously, “We are going to Apparate. Now hand me your trunk and do as I say.”
And with a pinched expression, Potter complied and grabbed his offered wrist, lips drawn into a tight line. Severus rolled his eyes before closing them, saying a prayer to Merlin to give him enough strength to endure the coming fortnight, and Apparated them away.
~***~
Harry staggered forward as his feet collided sharply with the pavement. Hedwig's cage rattled loudly as it rolled away from him, reducing the poor nocturnal to screeching its head off. Harry's stomach felt like there was a grindylow squirming around in it; the world spun around him, his vision full of darkness and a feeble orange streetlight, and he wasn't able to suppress the dry retching that shook his body. He couldn't remember the last thing he'd eaten, but for once was thankful for his empty stomach.
"If you are quite finished with your theatrics?" drawled the silky baritone voice overhead. Harry eventually straightened up and glared up at the man.
"What— What was that? Where are we?" he asked sharply, his head pivoting this way and that as fast as he dared, else the nausea would return.
"Spinner's End, Cokeworth, Manchester. What you just experienced was Apparition. Don that infernal cloak of yours and keep your wand at the ready," he ordered briskly, already spinning on his heel and walking away. "And for Merlin's sake, shut that bloody bird of yours up!" he snapped additionally over his shoulder, setting his trunk down.
Harry scrambled for his trunk and Hedwig ("Sorry, girl"). He retrieved the Invisibility Cloak out of his satchel, swinging it over his shoulders impeccably, and hastened to catch up with the man's large strides. He made sure to keep a few feet's distance, though, his holly wand ready in his trousers pocket.
Looking around properly for the first time, he noted the weathered and deserted cobblestone street. Pitch darkness shrouded it, a lone street light flickering not far from them. Ugly, run-down, red brick houses stretched the length of the pavement, some of their windows covered in cobwebs or boarded up. No sound could be heard, save for the eerie whistling of the wind.
Despite himself, Harry felt a shiver run through him. Of all the places he’d ever been to and things he'd seen, this neighborhood by far reminded him of the graveyard from Fourth Year the most.
Snape guided them through rows of the brick houses, occasionally pausing behind corners in caution. Harry would often stumble over the uneven cobblestone; it was hard not to with both hands occupied and balancing the slippery Cloak on himself to prevent it from slipping off…
Eventually, they seemed to have arrived. This house was no different from the rest: flat roof, two-stories, and built from exposed, ugly red brick. It looked quite unkempt, the window panes frosted in a sheet of grime.
Severus ascended the few front steps to the door, allowing himself a second to draw breath before raising his wand and muttering a series of complex incantations. Potter was just behind him, just a few feet away. Good. The brat had better keep his distance from him… At last, the old door swung open. Severus jerked his head for Potter to follow him inside (Merlin knew the boy hadn't inherited Lily's intellect.)
Harry tentatively followed the man inside, his hold on his belongings tightening. The door closed behind them with a thud, and they were suddenly enveloped in a blanket of darkness... He jumped when a deep voice murmured, "Lumos!" beside him.
For some reason, whatever Harry had been expecting (most likely shackles hanging from the ceiling and a cave-like prison cell), it wasn't this.
They found themselves standing in a small, old-fashioned sitting room done in murky tones, consisting of a fireplace, a couch, and two armchairs. The walls were completely covered with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, dusty and weathered, as if no one had touched them in ages. Harry felt a sudden urge to sneeze-cough at the musty air. On their left-hand side was a narrow stairwell leading up to the second story, and ahead of them was a small kitchen alcove.
"Potter!" snapped Snape, startling him out of his skin. "Sit," he ordered, pointing at the nearest armchair with his finger. He had already switched on the table lamps flanking the couch.
Harry set down the cage and trunk and lowered the Cloak from around his shoulders, folding it with excess neatness over and over until the fabric was too thick. The Gryffindor slowly rounded the furniture and awkwardly perched himself on the very edge of it. Snape towered over him like the overgrown bat that he was, and Harry hated the intimidating feeling it brought him.
Snape began to pace the length of the room, hands clasped neatly behind his back. "Allow me to make a few things abundantly clear, Mr. Potter," he drawled smoothly in his dangerous tone, "Your burdensome presence here is most unwanted. However, due to certain circumstances you are well aware of, it would appear the Headmaster has tasked me with accommodating you for the next fortnight, until the Weasleys have returned. Furthermore , we are to start your training as soon as possible, preferably on the morrow."
Harry's hands automatically clutched either armrest, dread pooling in his stomach. "Wait, what? No way. I'm not doing that Occlumency thing again! Dumbledore said—"
" Professor Dumbledore wishes you to partake in magic training, as in spellcasting and Defense Against the Dark Arts," cut in Severus smoothly, himself feeling fortunate that the dreadful lessons were behind them, thank Merlin . "We shall review the details tomorrow," he dismissed, pinching the bridge of his nose at the boy's inquisitive expression.
"Now, it is late. Seeing as I wish not to endure your company any longer than necessary, I shall see you to where you will be staying. Come." His conclusion was curt as he spun on his heel for the stairs.
Harry quickly rose, gritting his teeth as he did so. On his way, he bent down to pick up Hedwig and his trunk and followed Snape up the narrow, groaning staircase… The second story consisted of a similarly narrow corridor that housed only three doors. Snape unlocked the first one on their right and jerked his head at Harry to enter. He did, only to find a room slightly bigger than Dudley's second bedroom. The wallpaper was a simple grayish-brown, peeling in several places, and there was a moth-eaten curtained window. As far as the furniture went, the room offered a small four-poster bed, a plain dresser, night table, writing desk, and wardrobe… and that was about it.
Severus' lip curled as he observed the Potter brat taking in the sight. This was his childhood bedroom, a room he'd locked up for good since having inherited this residence. He despised the place, mainly for the dark days it served to remind him of. But now, it was reopened, and something about James Potter reincarnated staying in it felt both vindictive and revolting to him. It was like two painful reminders of his unsavory past and mistakes melded into one.
“Not up to your standards?” he drawled acerbically. Potter's expression, for once, was blank, though there was undoubted curiosity in those green eyes — Lily's eyes — that seemed to be searching his face and the room for answers… Eventually, the boy shook his head 'no'.
“The lavatory is the second door on the right, and my room is the only one on the left. Provided that you value your life and all ten of your fingers, I strongly advise you against even so much as looking in its direction --- UNLESS death is literally on your doorstep, am I perfectly clear?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir .”
Harry knew he shouldn't do it.
But the urge was too strong, and the opportunity right there—
“There's no need to call me sir , professor.”
Snape took a menacing step forward, his face tumultuous. “Why, you insolent—!” And purely on reflex, Harry took several steps back, just barely quelling his instinct to raise a shielding hand to cover his face, and accidentally bumped into the bedside table. Snape faltered in his steps, confusion overcoming his features before they quickly morphed back into stoicism. Silence stretched for a moment, not even Hedwig screeching…
And at last, Snape spun on his heel and left, his dark cloak swishing behind him as he shut the door not all-too-softly.
Harry sagged to the floor, both in relief and exhaustion, cradling his head in one hand.
This was going to be a long two weeks.