The next morning, Snape woke dreading spending the day with the boy. Very quietly, he washed, dressed, and went out to the sitting room.
He needn't have worried. Potter was nowhere to be seen. Snape idly hoped he would stick to his room the entire summer, but dismissed it as a fanciful wish.
He looked at the cup of tea he'd never had the chance to drink the night before sitting cold on the couch and his disdain grew.
He emptied the cup—"Evanesco"—and made some fresh. He discovered the kitchen pantry was stocked satisfyingly well, with everything inside under preservation charms, and made some toast as well. He spent the morning as he had intended to spend the evening—reading in front of the fire.
Around teatime, he heard movement from the kitchen. He did not look up from his book.
Eventually, the noise retreated back down the hall where it belonged.
Later, Snape put his book aside in favor of supper. He had never enjoyed dining in the Great Hall amidst the mischief and mayhem and took pleasure, such as it was, in his solitary meal. He spent the evening brewing a few potions that were useful to have around, everyday things like a mild pain potion for headaches and such, Calming Draught, and Pepper Up. They were simple potions, not the kind that required exacting attention or careful application of potion-making theory that got him excited, but the action was nonetheless familiar and calming.
The next few days passed in much the same way. He caught only fleeting glances of his housemate—prisonmate, he mentally corrected—which suited him fine. He read his books and drank his tea and brewed his potions. On the third day, he made Veritaserum on a whim, just to give himself some mental stimulation. Merlin only knew what Potter did, shut up in his room all day, coming out only to go to the bathroom or the kitchen.
Not that Snape cared, it was fine with him.
On the fifth day, Potter ventured into the sitting room.
"What are you doing, Professor?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. He had an open book in his hands, what did the insufferable brat think he was doing?
"Reading," he finally replied, his thought evident in his tone.
"Oh," said Potter quietly, nodding to his lap. He lifted his head, looked around the room a bit, looked back at his lap, and sighed.
"Aren't you bored, Professor?"
"As you can see, I have an entire wall of books to occupy my thoughts. I also have potion supplies in my room—you are welcome to use them if you can assure me nothing will unexpectedly explode," Snape offered with a smirk.
Potter just looked at him.
"I thought not."
"Surely even you won't be satisfied spending the next ten weeks doing nothing but eating, sleeping, reading, and brewing," Potter insisted.
"Dumbledore suggested I tutor you in your studies. I shall do so if you wish," he replied, knowing full well Potter would want nothing of the sort.
Potter seemed to simply ignore that, and instead asked, "How did Volde—," he was stopped with a menacing glare, "—You-Know-Who find out you were spying?"
"I am uncertain. He knew of our occlumency lessons, but who told him I do not know."
"Ah." Potter looked around the room a little more and at his lap a few times. Snape went back to his book.
"I guess I'll leave you to it then," Potter said and went back to his room. Snape thought he closed the door with more force than was necessary, but didn't really care.
On the sixth day, Potter came out around teatime with a determined look on his face. No good could come of that.
"Professor, I want to ask you something." He waited for Snape to respond, but no reply was forthcoming. He sighed.
"I wondered if you were serious about doing the lessons. Obviously, I never really caught on to the whole occlumency thing and I'd like to try again. If that's okay, I mean."
Snape wondered a bit at his subdued, almost apologetic manner, but not for long. "You learned next to nothing over the course of the entire year, why should now be any different? I will not waste my time in a vain attempt to teach you serious skills simply to alleviate your boredom."
Potter shook his head. "No, it's not like that. I really want to learn it. I'm protected from…You-Know-Who here, that's what Dumbledore said, and my scar hasn't hurt and we haven't been in each other's heads at all. I just…don't want it to come back when I leave." Potter seemed to be addressing his shoes.
"Mr. Potter, you will look at me when you speak to me." He waited for the boy to look up before he continued. "As for occlumency, I will consent to resume your lessons. As much as I may wish not to do so, it is of the utmost importance that you learn to close your mind. Tomorrow, ten o'clock," he said and resumed his reading. After a moment, Potter seemed to finally understand the conversation was at an end and returned to his room.