Title: Severus Summer

Rating: PG as of now, for mild language and scariness

Genre: Story with actual plot and vague humor

A/N: G-sharp

"Privet Drive is as protected as Hogwarts."

"Yes, Severus, in terms of the charms surrounding the house, that is quite true," said Dumbledore, "but it lacks something vital." His eyes glinted in a way that said, 'and you know exactly what it is.'

"A wizard."

"Indeed."

Snape could see where this was going. "No."

"I haven't even asked you, yet." Did Dumbledore look amused? Probably, but that guaranteed nothing.

"If Potter cannot be safe without a wizard's protection - though I honestly believe he cannot be safe without your cutting off his head - then there are certaintly better choices." Because he will not be safe with me. In the sense that I will kill him.

"I disagree. Because he needs a teacher over the summer months, to instruct him in Defense Against the Dark Arts, on the specific tools he will need, and the nature of Voldemort's organization."

"Perfect, Moody is available, I believe. Just got out of a box."

"Severus."

Was that indecision in the word? No harm in trying "Potter thinks he can protect himself; let him try."

"Severus."

"I can't be held responsible if he drinks the potions I keep in the cupboard."

"Severus."

No, damn. It hadn't been indecision. This had already been decided.

"Mr. Potter, you will do what I ask of you, when I ask it, and otherwise you will leave me alone. If you wish to eat, you may prepare yourself food. If you wish to have clean clothes, you may find a way to wash yours. If you wish to have a clean living space, then you will keep it that way."

Harry nodded, nervous with the situation, but rather relieved. Hermione and Ron had agreed that there were essentially two tacks Snape could persue with the situation as it was: outright cruelty or simply absorbing himself in alternate work. He certaintly seemed to be leaning towards the latter. Snape continued to lecture him about the rules of the house they were to share - Snape's house, so it was probably dark and Spartan, if not underground and bare. Harry payed vague attention; he at least wanted to know what he was getting into, were he to indulge in a little rule-breaking. His ears perked up at the mention of Quidditch.

"...And if you must practice that stupid sport of yours, keep your flying below the treeline or I'll take your broom for a week."

"Yes, Professor." Harry nodded eagerly.

The path turned sharply upward and Snape's house came into view. No, thought Harry, house was not the right word. It, as best as he could tell, was no larger than the Gryffindor common room, though perhaps it was magicked to be larger on the inside, as many wizarding dwellings seemed to be. This can't be worse than the Dursley's, he reminded himself. Anything is better than that.

Snape whispered several charms to the door, while tracing its knotwork with a single, sallow fingertip. The tracing flared for a moment then died off as the door opened. "The back room is yours," he said, in a tone which showed his clear intention to say nothing more.

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

It had been Hermione's advice, to be very formal and polite. She had been the first to point out that Snape was probably no happier with the situation than he was and that they would both be better off with a minimum of sniping. And, as much as Harry was loath to admit it, Snape seemed to be doing his part admirably. He had not made a single hideously maddening comment during the trainride or the long walk to the house, which was - in fact, as small as it appeared.

Dumbledore had explained the arrangement, that it was for both protection and education, to Harry only two days after the Triwizard Tournament had concluded and he had been too tired to argue. And now he was almost glad for it. This would be safer. And Snape couldn't be worse than the Dursleys, could he?

"And Potter," said Snape, poking his head through the door, "even if we are off school grounds, I am still a teacher and I would like to remind you how unpleasant it would be to explain to your friends why Gryffindor has a negative point standing at the start of the term."

Yes. Yes, he could.

Dear Ron,

I've only been here three days and already Snape has already taken ten points from Gryffindor, but I'm largely saved by the fact that he thinks he's treating me badly when he's really not half as bad as the Dursleys. I can even practice Quidditch, if I stay below the treetops. The house is so covered in spells that you can actually see them in the walls if you squint; Snape says it is impossible to Apparate into or out of the house and that portkeys don't work either.

There's a lot of work to do, apparently, because we spend a lot of time doing it. He's teaching me how to physically dodge hexes right now - several hours per day. It's much more tiring than any Quidditch practice ever was, but it's clearly a good idea of something I should know.

He bit his quill, not wanting to make the work sound to exciting. It was dirty and exhausting, but Ron tended toward jealousy about these sorts of things. Then he remembered why writing was taking so long and decided that to be the perfect detail to add.

I'm sorry if this letter is hard to read. I'm writing with my left hand because he hexed most of the right side of my body, and I haven't found all of the countercurses yet.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Harry

He began a separate letter to Hermione, beginning it in much the same way as he began the letter to Ron. But, where Ron cared about Quidditch and hexes, Hermione would be much more interested in Snape's behavior. She would see it as valuable data. In fact, Harry would be very surprised if she didn't keep notes on Snape's actions in a folder somewhere, so he added a few descriptors she would consider valuable.

He's actually able to teach DADA, I suppose, since that's really what I'm learning, and I have learned a lot. I'm glad I know that he was a Death Eater, Harry glanced around to make sure Snape was nowhere nearby, because otherwise I would be very suspicious that he knows exactly which sorts of attacks I should be prepared for.

He also reccommended the book "A Formulaic Approach to Advanced Transfigurations," but I can't make heads or tails of it. Maybe you can give it a shot.

Have fun visiting Spain,

Harry

The book would keep Hermione busy. He labled and secured both letters, before petting Hedwig and sending her on her way.

He considered writing a letter to his godfather, but decided that could wait. Explaining things to Sirius would be a very involved and lengthy task, as the animagus would view the situation as vastly threatening and conspiratorial. Picturing an enraged Sirius Black at the cabin's doorstep, snarling obscenities at Snape, was all too easy for Harry to do. In fact, he would be shocked if the vision didn't come true. He would write to Black, just not right now.

He lay back on his bed, setting his glasses on the nightstand. He felt a little bit guilty about this; he had realized only yesterday that his was the only bed in the house. Obviously, Snape lived here alone and had not had time to prepare for an extended visitor. He didn't feel too guilty, though, as it was becoming increasingly clear to him that Snape didn't sleep. Occasionally, Harry would see him dozing over a stack of papers, but he awoke from these catnaps at the slightest sound. Harry tried to leave him to sleep in peace, but it is difficult to effectively avoid anyone in a house that has only four rooms.

He tried to think of what he might say to Sirius and found the task almost as draining as the day's instruction - he was asleep before he completed the salutation.

"Get out here, Potter," Snape yelled, from the clearing behind the house. "If you don't make any progress today, I'm giving up on it utterly."

Harry seethed. He had checked the records, and this was a difficult skill, not normally taught to students at all because any strong hex-caster would form marks that were nearly impossible to dodge. They followed you as you moved.

A small one arched toward his head and he rolled beneath it. A second one, much larger hit him squarely in the chest. He was completely immobilized.

"Pathetic, aren't you, Potter?"

How was he supposed to train a student so utterly unable to learn? Stupid boy wasn't progressing half as quickly as he had before. Harry had learned to dodge hexes while on his broom in a very short time, but he was hopeless at landlocked self-defense.

Maybe it was time to change tactics, return to this later. There were other things he had decided were worth attempting to pound into the little celebrity's thick skull. For as much as he found the arrangement inconvenient and annoying, he would begrudgingly admit that Harry Potter would likely play an important role in the upcoming war and he would not, under any circumstances, unleash an improperly trained student against Voldemort's forces. As he jotted down a few ideas, he heard footsteps.

"What is it you want?"

"Just returning inside," said the boy, irritably. Probably hoping I'll congratulate him for working his way out of the immobilization hex. Potter was so used to people praising his every little accomplishment.

"It took you over an hour."

"I unravelled the spell."

"Stop right where you're standing." Potter froze. "Now, imagine I am a powerful servant of Lord Voldemort." The boy's face contorted slightly. Perhaps he thinks it is more than fantasy. He did see the Mark. "And imagine I have just immobilized the Boy-who-lived." He paused for effect. "Now consider what I might do over the course of an hour!"

Harry seemed to be considering the problem carefully. It had a sobering effect.

"What might I do, Mr. Potter?"

"Kill me. Draw my blood. Curse me. Take me to Voldemort."

"Is that all you thought of? Because there is so much more. Remember, you are immobilized, not unconscious. You could be tortured and questioned in hundreds of different ways. You could be brainwashed or re-hexed. Your hands could be magically maimed so they can never hold a wand again. And that does not begin to cover the possibilities."

Harry seemed to consider the statements. "Is there a faster way?"

"Don't get hit in the first place." He knew the statement was unfair, but he said it anyway because war is unfair, life is unfair, and foul-tempered potions teachers are always, always unfair. "And perhaps we should begin to practice...minimalist magic," he added, nonchalantly, almost as an afterthought.

"Minimalist?"

"Yes, minimal, Mr. Potter, it means 'with little' or - in this case - 'with as little as possible'."

"You mean magic with no wand," Harry guessed.

"Yes, but there are other possibilities. Magic with sound but no words, such as an immobilized person might cast, or even magic with no sound. That is the fastest way out, to produce your own counterspell."

"How can you do magic without speaking?"

"By thinking very loudly." Harry nodded as if he understood, though Snape was certain he did not.

Harry brought his eyebrows foreward. "How did you learn minimalist magic?" The tone was more than slightly cynical.

Snape took a moment to glance at the calender on his desk and realized that he had not launched into a lecture in almost two days. Too long. He was overdue.

"How? The same way you will learn: by necessity. The point is only that I know and that I can teach you. Perhaps you have wondered why, in chosing your...guardian for the summer, the Headmaster did not select someone less likely to provoke in you a need for years of institutionalized therapy than I. You have wondered. You have very nearly asked, but refrained for the sake of tact. Let us consider the alternatives, hmm?"

Harry looked defensive. Probably in premature backlash to the comments Snape would make about persons the boy liked. Too bad.

"Professor Trelawny had my vote, as she has the lovely properties of being both disturbing and useless. Auror Moody is only the former, Hagrid is only the latter. Professors Vector and Sprout have few abilities outside of their respective fields."

"Hagrid is not useless!" Harry interupted, late.

"Repeat that sentence to the Ministry of Magic as they examine his body after a duel with a Death Eater. The same can be said of Professor Flitwick."

"But Flitwick teaches charms."

"Thank heavens you told me. You may depart for his residence at once."

Harry didn't rise to the bait.

"Perhaps you were thinking of the ever-trustworthy werewolf/felon duo as potential advocates?"

"...Sirius is working for Dumbledore this summer, and he's not a felon."

"The truly disheartening thing about this situation is that his legal classification is entirely irrelevant to the discussion at hand."

"What about Professor Lupin? Why not him? He taught DADA, so he would know what he's talking about."

"There are several reasons, not the least of which being gross incompetence, why Lupin was not a valid choice. The most pressing was his declining to do so when contacted by Dumbledore." He paused, allowing Harry a moment to process. "And surely, you must know that both Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster have quite enough work to finish, without an irritating boy underfoot."

Their eyes met, then passed, then they both stared at the same spot on the floor.

"So, you see, Mr. Potter, that I am serving humanity in this capacity by default. Furthermore, I have a meeting to attend tonight. When I leave, you are to hide in your closet and remain there in perfect silence until I retrieve you."

"A meeting?"

"Do you require a definition? A 'meeting'" he pronounced the word as if it were foreign, "is a gathering of people for the purposes of sharing information and furthering the goals of the group."

"Is it a meeting with-" Harry stopped himself from finishing the sentence, obviously feeling that asking it in its entirety would be unwise.

"With Arthur Weasly? No." Snape enjoyed being deliberately dense. Somehow, it was more evil than being snappish.

Harry swallowed and looked surrepticiously at the papers underneath Snape's hands.

"Or were you thinking of someone else?"

Harry seemed to be considering whether or not speech was wise. In the end, the desire not to spend the entire summer in tense silence won out. "Are you becoming a spy again?"

"I never stopped. Now get in your closet and stay there."