Notes: I don't own Harry Potter or any of it's characters.
Thank you to those who reviewed! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
A New Understanding
One week after Harry learned about his mother's childhood friendship with Snape, a large barn owl arrived at his window. It carried a letter from Dumbledore, informing him that he would be spending the remainder of his summer holidays with Professor Snape. It was important, Dumbledore wrote, that Harry learn to Occlude properly. Harry was certain that Dumbledore was also hoping that he and Snape could put their differences behind them. He was also certain that it was doomed to failure.
Harry had packed his belongings and had gone downstairs to relay Dumbledore's message, only to find Aunt Petunia waiting for him with a letter of her own.
"I'm to take you to Snape's house on Spinner's End." the woman said, frowning in distaste. "Why a professor would choose to live there is beyond my reasoning. Run down, horrible neighborhood, it is."
"I'm sure I'll be fine." Harry responded, not quite sure what answer his Aunt was looking for from him. "You don't have to take me. I can take a bus."
"It's near enough that you can walk, I suppose." The woman sighed. "Go to the park. Through the woods, you'll come to a river. Cross it. You'll see an old oak tree with a heart and initials in it. Follow the path, and you'll see the last house on Spinner's End. That's where Snape lives."
Harry nodded, committing the instructions to memory.
"You'll be expected, no doubt. I'd hurry along if I were you."
He'd gone upstairs then, and gathered his trunk and Hedwig's cage. It was hard to believe that he was actually being allowed to venture outside on his own, let alone to spend the summer with Snape of all people.
The trek to Spinner's end was fairly uneventful - his trunk was bulky and difficult to move through the woods, but before he knew it, he was standing on the front step of a rundown row house, fist poised to knock.
Had his mother ever stood here, he wondered? Had she and Snape played in the street in front of the house?
Harry knocked as loudly as he could, hoping that he wasn't late and - if he was - that Snape couldn't deduct House points over summer holidays.
The door was yanked open, revealing a rather irate looking Professor Snape, dressed in a pair of black pants and a muggle-style button-down shirt. Without the robes, he looked rather normal, Harry decided. Almost muggle.
"You! Potter, what in Merlin's name has brought you, of all people, to my doorstep?" Snape demanded, stepping outside and glancing about.
"Um... Headmaster Dumbledore said I'm supposed to stay with you for the rest of the summer." Harry replied, feeling somewhat nervous. "Sir."
Snape glared at him. "Is that so? I have no recollection of such an arrangement being made."
"I've the letter right here, sir." Harry fished the parchment out of his pockets and handed it to Snape, who snatched it quickly from his fingers.
Upon careful examination, Snape growled, and thrust the letter back at Harry. He stepped inside the house, and cast a glare at the teenager standing rather awkwardly on the stoop. "What are you doing just standing there, Potter? Get in before someone sees you!"
Without a word, Harry pulled his trunk inside the door, stepping into a room whose walls were covered in shelves of books. As soon as Snape shut the front door, the shelves rearranged themselves, revealing a staircase that led to an upper level, and a parlour to the right.
"What's the ruckus about, boy?" A shout sounded from beyond the barely lit parlour, surprising Harry. He had assumed Snape lived alone.
"Damn Albus to hell!" Snape growled under his breath. He stormed through the parlour, and Harry followed, leaving his trunk and Hedwig's cage by the front door.
The parlour was small, holding a threadbare couch, a rocking chair and a wingback chair surrounding a functional coffee table near a small stone fireplace. A simple doorway through its back wall led to a small eat-in kitchen, in which herbs were drying from strings hung from the ceiling near the walls. The smell of thyme and rosemary permeated the air, but were not enough to conceal the scent of cigarette smoke drifting lazily from the older man sitting at the dinner table, his large, boot-covered feet propped up somewhat lazily on a stool.
"You're burning my lunch." the older man growled, sucking on his cigarette as his black eyes took in the sight of Snape and Harry.
"If you're so concerned, make it yourself!" Snape retorted angrily. He strode towards an ancient stove upon which a cast-iron pot stood. Harry could hear the contents boiling, and could tell from the set of Snape's shoulders that he was incredibly irritated.
"Where's your mother when I need 'er? She'd never let you talk to me like you do!"
"She left ages ago, you drunken sot!" Snape removed the pot from the stove the muggle way, using a holder to prevent burning himself as he poured what appeared to be stew into a bowl. "And if she hadn't, you wouldn't need to worry about how I talk to you!"
Something akin to pain flitted over the old man's face, but it was shuttered quickly. Looking from him back to Snape, Harry could see a bit of resemblance - their black eyes were the same, he decided, and even the older man's hair appeared to be as inky black and slightly greasy, just like Snape's. Unlike Snape, however, the old man was obviously much taller, and despite his age, still had the physique of a man who worked hard and did much heavy lifting.
"Is 'e s'posed to be yours?" That familiar black gaze settled on Harry, who couldn't suppress a flinch, even as the man put out his cigarette. "Doesn't look anything like you."
Snape slammed the bowl of soup down in front of the man in obvious fury. "Potter is not my son, he's a student! A mediocre one at that, one that the Headmaster seems to think deserves private summer lessons without so much as asking me first!"
Harry stepped back, feeling incredibly uncomfortable as the two men continued to snipe at eachother.
"Is 'e stayin' in yer ol' room then?" A spoonful of soup reached the old man's mouth, and was devoured. If the soup had been burnt, the man's face showed no sign of noticing it.
"The attic is not an appropriate room for guests!"
"No, it's an appropriate room for know-it-all witch-spawn!"
Snape's face paled for a moment, but soon the wizard controlled his emotions. "Sit, Potter. I'll be a moment readying a room for you."
Harry could only define Snape's departure from the room as fleeing, leaving him alone with the old man who was studying him carefully.
"Potter?" the stranger asked. "Heard that name before."
"I-I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir. I promise I won't cause trouble." Harry murmured.
A sad grin broke out on the old man's face. "'Sir', eh? No need to be calling me that. Tobias'll do just fine. I ain't been called 'sir' since Sev'rus was a boy."
"A-are you his... I mean, Professor Snape's..." How to ask, without being presumptuous? Tobias could be Snape's father, or just as easily an uncle, or older cousin.
Tobias arched an eyebrow at him, glaring down his nose - which looked less out-of-place on his larger face, than on Snape's thinner one. A moment passed, more soup was swallowed. "Yer professor is my son."
Harry had to smile - the way Tobias said 'professor' reminded him of his own feelings whenever Snape reminded him of his loftier position over his students.
"It's hard to imagine Profesor Snape as a child." he admitted shyly.
"Given your grades, Potter," came Snape's familiar drawl, "I find it difficult to believe you do anything but imagine."
Harry exchanged a panicked look with Tobias' somewhat amused one.
"Give 'em a break, boy, 'e's young yet." Tobias chastised.
"And what would you know of giving people 'breaks,' youthful or not?" came the haughty reply. "Come on, Potter, I'll show you where you'll be staying."
Harry followed Snape out of the kitchen and back towards the front door, where the staircase stood. They walked up the stairs, Harry glancing at the book-covered walls. There were no photographs of anyone anywhere in the house that he could see. No family portraits, no trace of Snape's past at all.
"Your father seems like a nice man, Professor." Harry said, attempting a civil conversation. Snape paused at the first door on the right, his back still to Harry.
"Not everything is as it seems, Potter."
A long-fingered hand grasped the door's knob, turned and pushed, revealing a small but serviceable room. Harry's trunk had been brought up already, and sat on the bed propped by the window.
"Er... thanks. You know. For letting me stay." Harry said, entering the room while Snape stood in the doorway.
After a moment's silence, Snape entered the room, looking about as though trying to decide if he'd missed something - though what, Harry wasn't sure. The Potions Master then began to speak.
"I have very few rules here, Potter. Clean up after yourself. If I give you an assignment, you will complete it on time. Do not answer knocks at the door, under any circumstance!" Snape turned to leave. "The water closet is across the hall. We'll begin Occlumency tomorrow morning at ten."
The professor turned on his heel, a gesture that - in his normal attire - would have sent his robes swirling dangerously about his legs. As it was, the sound of the door shutting with a thud was enough to make Harry jump. How was he supposed to survive the rest of the summer here, in Snape's domain?
Turning to his trunk, Harry began to unpack, placing his clothes in the dresser drawers, and piling books on the shelves by the desk. He settled Hedwig's cage on top of the dresser, and then opened the window. Looking out, he could see the mill, and distantly, the top of the swingset in the park on the other side of the woods.
Curiosity satisfied, he shut the window, and set about going downstairs to find Snape.
