A special thanks goes out to: geetac, oncecelestialbeing, Zireael07, Alexandra, and hazeldragon for their reviews on the last chapter.

A/N:

Okay, I just read through a few of the reviews that I have received, and felt compelled to write out a more detailed explanation to you. In spite of the fact that I have stated in previous author's notes the exact liberties that I am taking, I have a few readers that are still confused. Respectfully, therefore, I want to clarify the fact that this story is not consistent with all facts from the original series. There are many details in this that are different from those in the original. That means that you will find certain elements- such as Harry's meager knowledge of Occlumency before his second year, contrasted against what Harry knew in JKR's version. Some of the changes are written for the sake of convenience, and some for other purposes. The important point that everyone must be aware of, is that the elements are different, and I am taking an author's liberties on this matter. If this offends anyone reading, then, respectfully, please move on.

I do not mean to reprimand anyone, but I also need you to know that I cannot adequately respond to reviews that are not specific in their inquiries. Likewise, it is not always plausible to craft appropriate responses to those that sign in as guests. Sign in if you need me to respond, or at least PM me. And please be succinct in your questions. If you just tell me that you are confused, the statement is too broad for me to address.

And, now that that's over with . . .

On to the story!

My Cat My Potions Master ~

Tea and the Potions Master -

Snape's eyes widened infinitesimally, and his jaw moved just a fraction. The silence in the air was so dense that it could have been deemed opaque, if it could have been envisioned . . . but Harry could no more see the air than he could view what those dark, fathomless eyes held. He had no thought as to what Snape might have been thinking. The stirrings behind his shades were almost foreign, as though the potions master were looking into him through a history textbook, tinged with a measure of unfamiliarity. He could not say one word. Soon however, this became unnecessary, for Snape stood up, with a ferocity that would have belied the cool, inner water of his deeply-granite colored eyes.

Harry could feel himself cringe, involuntarily, but was hardly aware of the movement. He stepped back, while Snape simply stared at him for a time, rock-like. He didn't know what he was expecting, honestly had no idea as to the next development, but he felt sure that what happened was a complete contradiction to his instinct. To his shock, Snape placed a long, elegant hand over the photo, ran a finger over it, once, and then- his fingers clenched around it- he swept it off the table with a smooth gesture, before pocketing it.

He felt a torrent of fear vitalize him, although he could not depict anything save for sheer misunderstanding, a solid uncertainty that seemed to comprise the potions master. There was so much that he needed to wanted to ask Snape, for all of the questions were flooding back, but how could he? He would always deny this. Now, at this particular moment, he felt his throat start to close. He felt some kind of a connection to the potions master, although he was unaware of exactly what it was in Snape's character that had driven him to this understanding breaching the gap between them. Harry opened and closed his mouth. He didn't understand what was happening to them.

"How dare you steal this from me?" Harry looked at him with something that was akin to disbelief. He kept his jaw locked tightly and did not move any part of his body. His heart was pumping through his chest wildly, although he did not know what it was he truly feared. He stared down at his hands, which were spread out in front of him, examining them carefully- they looked like pale ghosts.

A vein was throbbing underneath Snape's neck that was in appearance ten times more manifold in thickness than the skin in that area. Harry could practically touch the heat emanating from the potions master, but his own hands were finely interesting in this moment as they became sweat-saturated, and the veins creased over the pale bodies of these spiders. They-

"Answer me, Potter." A crash sounded. Snape did not measure a glance in the direction of Lucius Malfoy's semi-conscious brother, instead focusing directly upon the sight in front of him, his eyes cold granite chunks drilling through him. Harry felt slightly sick, as his stomach suddenly clenched. Regardless of the fact that he surpassed every instinct that festered inside of him, he gritted his teeth forcefully, looking up, directly at the Potions Master, and returned his leveling gaze.

"Why don't you explain what you are doing standing next to my mum?" He shot, ignoring the fact that his glasses fell in a lopsided arc down his nose. He held his arms down at his sides with his hands creased, and his body shook out of both fear and fury simultaneously. He could feel his arms slightly trembling. He watched as slowly Snape closed his eyes, momentarily. Rock-like, he stood stoic in a dangerous onyx cut, from an arcing precipice that overlooked dangerous waters. He turned his face away from Harry abruptly, so that all he could view from this perspective was an ingrained profile of chiseled features that very well could have been made from stone. Snape's hair fell over his face. He said nothing to him.

Harry's breathing was labored. He knew that mere words could not evict this feeling. Whatever spell had been cast between him and the Potions Master was irrevocable, cutting, cruel, and deep. Yet he somehow knew that it was this thread of magic which now forced the questions from him that he might never have asked him otherwise, albeit that he may have been confused about its nature. Strangely, he didn't move from his place. His fear of Snape was starting to dissipate . . . he had no idea why . . . rather, he took a step forward.

"Potter." The tone was low and disgust-imbibed, causing Harry to scowl fiercely at Snape, hating him, yet nonetheless moving towards him. Snape turned again. Their eyes met swiftly.

"You are not entitled to this information," he hissed at him, and, oddly enough, Harry found that he knew this was true, despite his anger. He just couldn't bring himself to care. The very notion that Snape had been avid friends with his mum was morbidly shocking to him, and he wanted to deny it with every fiber of his being.

"I know," he answered, and then he paused. "Professor?" he asked, needing to hear confirmation to his terrible thoughts, which had been plaguing his brain for several days. "Did you- that is- " he stopped again, clearing his throat. "Did you and my mother become more than just friends?" he asked him, hoarsely. Snape's eyes narrowed at him, as his mouth thinned out dangerously like a widening chasm.

"You are as arrogant as James Potter," he spat with pure loathing washing over his face. Harry did take a step back now. "To presume- how dare you think that- " The churning melee within his gut became more ferocious while Snape alighted with a demonic glow that raced throughout his entire person. Not being able to help himself, he finally took a step back.

"That's why you hate me, isn't it?" he asked in a low whisper. "Because . . . you loved- " The glow within Snape's face wavered, and then died. Harry swallowed. The robes swished before him. He was barely able to register Snape's movements. He walked slowly, almost precariously, over to the table, as though he was afraid his precious, fine bones would break. The Earth would shatter. The Potions Master stared directly down into the mahogany wood table, for once, Harry envisioned, fathoming over all of the delicate instruments used in a fragile potion perhaps, rather than deviating his own destruction.

"How do you know?" Snape whispered at last, his tone sickly, jerky. "How could you possibly be under any type of impression- " Harry's eyes narrowed, almost in confusion. He cursorily looked at the picture, which was still gripped within Snape's hands betwixt white knuckles.

"How do I know?" He repeated, blankly. Snape raised his head, the pale window of his face almost sickly in its complexion, black curtains swathing the sides in deep, enigmatic darkness.

"You are daft, Potter," he said at last, crassly, and Harry's jaw fell slack.

"You're denying that you and my mum were friends?" he asked him, now sounding unsure, himself. But, silently, as though he had honed the craft, Snape's long, vibrant arms rove up towards his face, like as if he were brewing a potion, subtle, and alive. He masked his face with hands that just barely touched it-

"I need a cup of tea," he muttered, voice filled with a deep repulsion. Harry was still staring at him oddly. But then, as though he could not attempt to dissuade himself from it, he moved slowly and precisely towards the kettle on the stove. He hated doing this, but if assisting Snape was a necessity, at least he was accustomed to this type of occupation. After living for several years at the residence of the Dursleys, he had become an appointed expert at taking domestic responsibility. He couldn't talk himself out of the action, much as he didn't want to re-live any portion of that life.

"You are accustomed to doing domestic chores," Snape observed, with a faint trace of cruelty lacing his tone, although the tone was somewhat enigmatic- there was something else in it that he couldn't quite identify.

"My relatives are very- erm- precise about the type of work they feel is important for me to learn," Harry said, with a trace of sarcasm that he hoped would allow him to dismiss the topic. He wasn't keen on having this conversation with Snape.

"Ah, yes," Snape said quietly, almost to himself, "the Golden Boy's relatives are maintaining his brilliancy in all areas, no doubt." Harry turned. His hands were gripping the counter behind him fiercely. He attempted to level out his breathing, as it was harsh.

"Don't pretend that you know what my life is like," he said quietly, fury lacing through his veins once again. Perhaps, he wouldn't retrieve his tea after all . . . the man could get it himself. Snape's lips drew into a thin, tight line. He moved his hands away from his face in a methodical manner.

"Ahhh . . . and is there any particular reason that you are so interested in discussing them, Potter?" Now Harry was befuddled. He could not allow Snape to see that he was caught for reason, though, as rhyme and riddled tongues, or rational puzzles held no interest for him. He continued making the tea silently, biting his lip to keep from talking.

"I'm not," he said shortly.

"Oh, but I think you are," Snape replied softly. "What is it about your relatives, Potter, that makes you so eager to discuss them, mere muggles with those from our world? Is it that their charms are so suitable for magical persons that you feel inclined to share portions of your life? Or could it be . . . just the opposite." He knew. There was no question of the fact that Snape, with his shrewd mind and rapid calculations, had guessed the truth about Harry's life. He knew that it was not everything it seemed . . . he took a deep breath, and gripped the tea kettle tightly. He forced himself not to turn, and reveal to Snape what he had already concluded.

"Why don't you tell me something about your life at home? You are no doubt dying to share this." Harry bit his lip harder.

"I don't want to share anything with you," he forced out. The tension in the room was growing, as suddenly Snape stood up. He drew close behind Harry, and Harry could feel the slink of an unearthly shadow stalk him as he watched it grow in the weak kitchen lighting.

"I know that not everything is as you allow everyone to understand, Potter, and you know what I think? I think that you have poor excuses for relations. More poor than most people within the muggle world can boast?" Harry let out a harsh laugh, somewhat unwillingly.

"Yeah, well I can't disagree with that, sir," he said bluntly, his voice crude. He nearly smiled to himself. After a moment, he added, "guess I'm not the only one that's been keeping secrets." Snape scowled blackly at him, before moving back towards the table, his face hollowed in the gloomy light.

"Here's your tea, sir," he said after a moment, bearing the silver tray. Snape scowled again.

"Set it down there, Potter." Harry seated himself across from the potions master, now attempting to ignore the illicit display sprawled revoltingly across from him at the other end of the kitchen.

"How long should you leave him like that?"

"Do not attempt to tell me what I cannot do, Potter!" he spat.

"Sorry," Harry answered him back, quite rudely. "But this is my kitchen too . . at least, erm, at this certain moment," he amended, his voice trailing away hastily as Snape opened his mouth in a reply to that comment, reminding him that he was in the error, here.

"He will stay like that," he finally responded, his tone laced with deep loathing, and some amount of irritation, "until I deem it necessary for him to become part of our world once again." At the look on Snape's face though, Harry could not help but to think dubiously that such an occurrence might never be a development. He said nothing to this, though.

"Where did you attain this picture, Potter?" Snape asked him, making Harry's heart pause- and then start to rapidly beat furiously once again. He ducked his head to the side, mumbling sheepishly into the kitchen linoleum.

"I was searching through the extra boxes that you had displayed about in your living room, sir," he said, sounding deliberately astute. Snape caught his double meaning, and his black eyes flashed angrily. He was quiet though, for a minute.

"So you decided that you would take it upon yourself to scour my personal belongings for interesting objects that would suit your needs. How charming, Potter, and in direct conjunction with you elegant and consuming personality." Harry's face heated up quickly turning a deep, dark shade of red. What was worse, though, was that he couldn't very well argue with Snape, considering the fact that he had looked into this things without his permission. For some, unfathomable reason, he stayed rooted to his spot, sipping his own cup of tea in time with the potions master, listening to the significant glasses clink. The sounds were ingratiating, and somewhat humorous, because admittedly, he never thought that he would live through this moment. Taking tea with Snape was an improbable thought at best. Suddenly he couldn't help himself, as he felt an overwhelming surge of devious hilarity course through his veins.

"Sir, how do you usually like your tea?" Snape paused, the cup halfway to his lips, and Harry immediately smelt danger. He recklessly poured through, however, both literally and figuratively, it seemed- "I was just curious, because I didn't reckon you to be much of a tea person." Just then the door opened, and Harry was saved the reciprocation to that statement. Ron came in looking lackadaisical, his hair mussed, as though he had just awoken, his gaze landing upon him rather than Snape at first. He chortled towards no one in particular.

"Think he takes it with sugar. Snape could probably use some sweetening, eh?" Harry let out a short laugh.

"Another word, Weasely, and you'll regret that you were ever born into that rat-hole filled with dunderheads of the same class as you," Snape growled, and Ron stifled his laughter. Harry, though, didn't quite understand why Snape had not pursued that line of thought, and was opting rather to continue sipping his tea quietly. He looked at him more closely. Snape did look a bit tired, come to think of it. He waved a hand at Ron.

"That's enough, Ron." Snape's eyes widened marginally at this indication, but he said nothing to Harry. Harry nodded his head slightly.

"I think that Hermione wanted us to document the available food in the vegetable patch," he added in a softer tone, his words directed at his friend. "Would you mind going to take a look?" Ron shrugged.

"Yeah, sure, okay . . . why not?"

"Thanks," Harry muttered. As he stepped over one gangly, spidery pale arm on the way over to the door, Snape set down his glass and gave him the most curious look that he had ever seen. A dark tongue darted between his white lips. He seemed to be contemplating something.

"You are not as fluently read as some people are, Potter." Harry blinked a few times. He did not know what that meant. The shadows beneath Snape's eyes sagged over his skin like elongated folds that were pouring with malice throughout his face. Harry was somewhat surprised by this. It suddenly occurred to him that enveloping a cat's persona, temperament, and physical body every few days must be exceedingly tiresome. He felt an odd, unexpected surge of gratitude towards the man in front of him. Noticing that Snape had finished his cup, he began to place the porcelain back onto its vintage, albeit unmatched set, ignoring the ferocity of Snape's gaze.

"You should probably get some rest, sir," he muttered. He didn't know why he had said that. The words had slipped out before he could stop them. He chanced a covert glance behind himself. If he was not much mistaken- for a moment, just a mere moment he saw Snape's eyes widen in surprise, and the curious look that he was providing transform into something more like . . . gratitude. Suddenly Harry remembered the events of earlier that night in which he had fully and utterly humiliated himself, and felt a sweeping wash over him of pure shame. He heard the chair move back, as Snape stood up heavily, he sharp boots gracing the floor.

"You are- surprising, Mr. Potter." Harry looked around at him, meeting his eyes, and the movement almost felt too quick. "In some regards, Lily Evans is perhaps, your mother." A soft chuckle almost escaped him, but he found that he did not know how to react. No doubt that Severus Snape was addled, to some extent, by fatigue- although, Harry had to admit to his uncanny sharpness. Snape was like a smooth needle make from fibers that were bred from something stronger. Or, perhaps a bitter wine . . .

Harry laughed harshly, the sound throwing him by surprise. Snape's eyes widened as well, and he shook his head back and fro, as though he were jerking away from him a fly. He swept towards the door with a heavy, dense grace, which seemed contradictory of itself . . . turning, just as he reached the knob, his bony hand held over it. His eyes narrowed upon Harry once again, leveling him with a deep, but calculating stare. They stood there for a moment, tied by something that neither of them appeared to understand. Then he left in a black swish, leaving Harry to stare at the floor where . . . he'd allowed the picture to drop, in the same room with him. Harry went over to it, picked it up, and ran a hand over it gently- his fingers closed around it warmly, and something that he couldn't identify coursed through his breast.

Cookies please! =) =) =)