Harry was sitting in the park near 4 Privet Drive. He couldn't believe Dumbledore had done this to him. Voldemort was dead, but he was still trapped at his relatives' until his birthday. Dumbledore had claimed that the blood protection was still necessary, thanks to the Death Eaters wandering around and their connection to the Dark Lord. Worse yet, he was trapped with Snape of all people. As far as the neighbors were concerned, Snape was a distant cousin. Merlin only knew what had been said (or, in Harry's better dreams, what had been done) to Vernon and Petunia Dursley that they would allow not one, but two full grown wizards to reside in their home. Harry had been amazed to find that, when the man's hair was clean and he was forced to get real sun in Aunt Petunia's garden, Snape actually didn't look half bad. He certainly looked handsome enough that Aunt Petunia, Pet to Snape, didn't seem to really mind having him around, in opposition of her whale of a husband. Harry thought he might vomit if he saw his aunt swoon over his least-liked professor again.

As if summoned by the devil himself, Snape appeared at the gate of the park and walked immediately over to the Wizarding Savior. Harry sighed with resignation and leaned further against the bent telephone pole he was sat in front of. The wood creaked alarmingly, but it was still safer than the broken swing set a few feet away. The park should've been torn down ages ago. It was amazing the perfect little neighborhood in which it sat hadn't done something about it already. Snape's long stride carried him over to Harry and he sat in the yellow grass, his back to the side of his student's knee, close enough he was almost leaning against him. Snape stared over the broken down park equipment while Harry stared at his knees. He refused to be the first to speak.

"Your friends claim that you've stopped replying to their letters."

Harry didn't answer. He hadn't explained himself to his friends, he sure as hell wasn't going to explain himself to the enemy. Snape continued.

"Your friends seem to be under the impression that I have done something to facilitate your lack of reply," The Potions Master said querulously.

"A reasonable assumption, even if it is wrong," Harry said at last.

Snape scowled. Harry had discovered early on that Snape, while doing nothing to correct it, hated being reminded of his scornful ways. Harry delighted in doing precisely that, as Snape seemed to be under orders not to fight with him, and it was at least a momentary cure for boredom to press the man's buttons until he went away. Harry didn't have it in him do so now, buried under the weight of self-pity as he was.

"Why have you stopped replying to your friends?" Snape asked.

Harry scowled and bit his tongue.

"Potter…"

There was a hint of warning in Snape's tone, but still Harry maintained his silence.

"Potter…" It was the growl Harry had heard a dozen times. It meant Snape was about to lose his patience, and it snapped Harry's.

"Because it isn't fair!" The Boy Who Lived shouted, pounding his fists into the ground as he glared at his professor. "All they do is tell me how great their summers are going, and I'm stuck here with the four people who hate me most in the world. And I don't even have my birthday to look forward to, because after that I'm going to be stuck in a safe house, Merlin-knows-where, with you!"

Snape moved with the fluidity of a snake, pressing towards Harry before the younger wizard could move. His fingers and thumb lightly touched Harry's golden cheek and chin, almost caressing him as Snape's face moved so close that Harry could count the specks of grey in the onyx gaze. Harry's breath hitched, and he felt himself swoon. What was Snape doing to him? In that moment, all Harry wanted was for the man to finish closing the distance as black eyes stared at his mouth.

"Life isn't fair, Mister Potter," Snape murmured, still watching Harry's lips.

Harry tried to nod but found he'd lost all control of his body. He was numb, and yet he could feel his blood racing in his veins with a fervor he had never before felt. What was this? His tongue flicked out of its own accord to wet his lips, and the very edge caught Snape's thin lower lip as well. His breath quickened. Snape hissed noisily through clenched teeth, pressing forward again, but just as their lips were about to meet, he was gone. Harry blinked, realizing his eyes had closed in preparation for what almost happened, and he saw that the park was empty except for him and the busted playground equipment. What the hell?

Harry slumped against the bent telephone pole, trying and failing to get his breath under control. He was…so damn confused. Had Snape even been here at all? He had to have been, except…where had he gone if he had? There had been no crack of apparition, and no one was that fast or light on their feet. Harry rolled forward on a spine that felt like jelly and placed his head against his knees. He had to be going mad if he was imagining Snape trying to kiss him.

-Break-

That evening, as the sun was setting in the west, Harry walked into his over-crowded bedroom at 4 Privet Drive. Snape's first act, upon announcing that he would be passing the summer here, had been to conjure a second bed in Harry's room. His second act had been to force Harry to do his summer homework, occasionally lending an unexpected hand when Harry got stuck. Harry frowned when he saw Snape sitting in the bed he'd conjured, reading a book as he leaned nonchalantly against the wall. Choosing to ignore the spiteful man, Harry went immediately to the desk that sat between his bed and Snape's. He sat down and pulled out his spare parchment, quill, and ink from the topmost drawer. As he fought with the broken drawer, trying to get it back on its roller so it would reseat in the desk, Snape spoke.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

Harry sighed, still fighting with the drawer. "I'm writing a letter to my friends, if you must know."

Snape smirked as Harry finally slammed the drawer shut. Harry glowered at that smirk. Was it a knowing smirk? Was it triumphant? Damn the man and the complexity of his facial expressions. Harry, choosing again to simply ignore the Potions Master, turned to his letter. The good thing about Snape being around was that, as long as they didn't cast at the same time, he could technically do magic. This, as much as having a fully grown wizard around, a former Death Eater no less, had been sufficient for scaring his relatives into something akin to kindness. They weren't actually nice, but they were accommodating. Harry wasn't forced to cook as often, he only had a reasonable number of chores, and he was fed on a regular basis. Vernon had even stopped hitting him, at least when Snape was around. And the man almost always seemed to be around. Only Dudley was stupid enough to abuse him with Snape around, and Snape had called that character building and told him to simply fight back, the prick. It was also the first time he'd gotten all of his summer homework finished, and the man had been surprisingly useful…in that he scathingly gave Harry hints about where to find the answers he needed. Now that Harry thought about it, he had had worse summers. It wasn't the grand ole time he'd have been having at the Burrow, but it wasn't all that bad, either.

Harry suddenly felt a little guilty about his earlier self-pity. Maybe that had been the point of his strange, far-too-realistic daydream. Snape had actually made his summer bearable thus far. It didn't change the way Harry felt, towards the Potions Master or his relatives, but it did make him slightly appreciate the man's presence. He still would have preferred someone he actually liked either staying or checking in on him regularly, but at least Snape wasn't being the massive git he usually was at school.

A knock on the door interrupted Harry's thoughts as his letter was drawing to a close. He turned to see his aunt staring with adoration at his vaguely attractive professor. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his letter.

"Dinner is ready, Severus. Boy, you might as well come down, too," Petunia said.

Harry glanced at Snape to see him giving his aunt a charming smile that he had to know made him more attractive. The man closed his book and stood from his bed in a single, graceful move. Harry faked a gag as Snape continued to smile at his aunt.

"Thank you, Pet. I will be down momentarily."

Harry heard his aunt sigh pathetically before her footsteps were clicking down the runner in the hall. Snape's footsteps followed her to the door. Harry turned back to his letter, knowing it didn't matter if he came down immediately or not, since his aunt had made it clear that, while he would be allowed to eat regularly, he was to be confined to the kitchen, like the servants of old, while the rest of the family and their guest ate in the dining room. Harry had, at the time, fought not to point out that Snape was technically his guest, and had only won by reminding himself that it was good he was getting to eat at all. He sucked on the end of his quill as he considered how to end his apologetic letter.

I'm glad you guys are having a good summer, even if I'm not there to enjoy it with you. Like I said, things could be worse, but I still miss you guys in the worst way. Hoping to see you in a week for my birthday!

Love

Harry

The Gryffindor had just finished his letter, signing his name with a flourish Hermione had spent hours teaching him, when he felt a presence at his back. He stiffened, thinking it was Dudley come to get his daily beating in before supper. His slightly broken chair groaned as someone leaned over the back of it, leaning over his shoulder. Harry's mouth opened to tell his brutal cousin to bugger off, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he froze as breath ghosted over his neck and his shoulder, exposed by Dudley's too-large hand-me-down shirt. It wasn't his cousin. A shiver crawled slowly up his spine as someone sniffed delicately over his exposed flesh. For the second time that day, he felt his blood pulsing in his veins like fire, and his breath coming in shallow, needy gasps.

"I don't hate you," Snape murmured, his lips grazing the curve of Harry's ear ever so gently.

Harry's eyes slid shut as that sinful sigh trailed over his neck and shoulder again. And then it was gone. With a gasp, Harry turned so sharply that he almost toppled his chair. Snape was gone, and again Harry had to question his sanity. Again, he wondered if Snape had really been there, and how he kept vanishing so quickly if he had been. Forgetting his letter, Harry shot out of his chair and across the room. He stumbled into the hall and stormed down the stairs. When he reached the dining room, it was to see Snape and all three of his relatives sitting innocently at the table.

"Hungry, Potter?" Snape asked, smirking.

Harry scowled.

"In the kitchen with you, boy," Vernon growled, gesturing to the doorway with his thumb.

Harry continued to scowl as he forced himself not to stomp like a child, and instead walked calmly to the kitchen. He was definitely going insane. But at least this summer it was a well-fed insanity. Harry sat at the kitchen table in front of the decent portion of food his aunt had dished out for him.