In the morning Harry made sure to pretend he looked happy enough that Madam Pomfrey released him. He passed by the Great Hall, grabbed breakfast, dug the jar from under his bed, and took Snape to the lake.

The jar when he opened it was rank, and when he tumbled Snape out he saw he still hadn't changed into the clothes Percy had fixed. Did he not care that he was growing mold? Harry opened his mouth to ask but closed it again under the glare that was not less frightening for its size.

Never mind, soon Snape won't be his problem anymore. Carefully pinching his crusty cloak between thumb and forefinger, he picked his Professor up and placed him on the boulder at eye level, and held out a tiny piece of toast, not larger than a crumb.

"I'm sorry, sir. Madam Pomfrey gave me Sleep-ease or I would have done this last night."

"Done what? Put me on a rock and feed me bread?" Snape's top lip curled but he took the offering. "If that's what your diet consists of Potter, I'm not surprised that you're the smallest in your year," he said but his usual vitriol was absent and he simply sounded tired.

Of course Harry ate more than bread, he ate whatever he could get his hands on but he couldn't very well stuff a sausage in his pocket, could he? On a normal day, he would have said all this but he wasn't here to start a fight. Especially not considering what he wanted to ask. But how to do that? He desperately searched for the right words, too aware of Snape's eyes on him.

"You are a sorry sight, Mr Potter. Your life is a mess, isn't it?"

Yes, yes it was. Harry suddenly found himself struggling to stop his chin from wobbling when he realised that not only was it a mess but it was only going to get worse from here on. But he was a Gryffindor, and he raised his wobbly chin to say, "I'm sorry for putting you in the jar, sir."

Snape sat down on the little ledge and crumbled the crumb smaller. "Good on you, Mr Potter. Feel better now? Everything's fixed then since you apologised?"

"I—no…"

For a year, Harry had been this man's target and he had come to know his sarcasm by heart. Half of the detentions he got was for answering back but he forced himself now to bite his tongue. "I'm going to take you to the teachers, sir!" he called instead.

Tiny eyebrows raised and he looked dramatically around. "You call this taking me to the teachers?"

"No, no, of course not," he hurried to say and took a deep breath. It was now or never. The words tumbled out. "I just—if they're going to expel me then I won't ever get the chance to ask someone and I just wanted to know about my mum and dad! You said you knew my dad…" He petered off on seeing Snape's horror-struck face. "I was hoping you could… I never thought to ask anyone..."

"Because you have the mental capacity of a gnat, Mr Potter," Snape said without venom. "Tell me. Why would I want to do you any favours after all this?"

"You wouldn't." Not in normal circumstances either. But he wasn't going to give up just yet. "I don't know who else to ask," Harry said. "And you said I was worse than my father and I want to know why."

He had thought he could ask Professor McGonagall but she had minimal patience for him left after recent events. She had threatened points if she saw him again before the feast and they were already low on those in Gryffindor.

He didn't know if Snape would tell him the truth or if he hated his dad for nothing like he did Harry but if today was going to be his last day with magic then he would take anything. He already figured something must have been wrong with his parents; Aunt Petunia is not the nicest of people and they were sisters, weren't they?

When he learned his parents were considered heroes like him he had read what he could in the old newspapers Madam Pince kept, but all those had told him was what happened to them, not what kind of people they were. He said all this to Snape now in a rush of words.

"I don't hate you, Mr Potter," Snape said when Harry finally ran out of breath. "I can't stand the sight of you and now even more so, but I have better things to do with my time than go around hating eleven-year-olds."

Yeah, right. Harry tried and failed to hide the skepticism on his face.

"I did hate your father. We never got along and I am not the right person to ask."

"Why?"

"Did you not listen?"

"I mean why did you not get along? Why did you hate him?"

When Snape took forever to answer, Harry stood up and gathered the jar, apologising for asking.

"Sit down, Potter," Snape barked. "I did not say I wouldn't tell you!"

He sat and dug his nails into his palms, fearing Snape would change his mind.

"Your father was my polar opposite. That's enough to hate each other when you are an idiotic child," Snape finally said and sagged back, rubbing his forehead. "He made friends easily and… well, he made friends easily and they were a close-knit group."

For over an hour Harry listened as Snape told him about his parents. When Snape finally finished and asked if that was enough, Harry's mind was filled with exploits of the Marauders and his parents' romance.

Snape's stories were not unkind, but for all that he said he hated his dad, he had said nothing further, and Harry was left with the feeling that they weren't complete. There had been no vitriol, no rude comments, nothing. And those were standard for Snape even against the Slytherins. The worst he had said was that James Potter's pranks were not always kind to the victim. Which was certainly not a nice thing but was that bad enough for Snape to hate him? And his son? He desperately wanted to ask but feared he had tested the wizard's limits already.

Time to go face the music. He picked up the jar and stood up.

"You will not take me to a teacher, Mr Potter."

"I will, sir, I promised—"

"Oh, do be quiet! That is not what I meant. No, Mr Potter, I've thought about it, and I daresay you'll not face any consequences for your misdeeds. You never do," Snape scoffed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you received points for bravely coming forward or some such rot."

"I—" What was Snape talking about? He had felt loads of consequences; he spent so much time scrubbing cauldrons he could do it with his eyes closed. And half the time it wasn't even for his own misdeeds! Most of the things in class were Malfoy and his goons but Snape never saw that!

"Don't interrupt!"

Harry clamped his mouth shut. And listened in dismay as Snape told him the plan. Really, would being expelled be so bad? They'd let him keep his wand, wouldn't they?

"Let's see if we can get you out of this act first, think never, mindset."

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Snape refused to go back into the jar. The usual school things happened, but Harry was scarcely aware of it. Ron kept ignoring him. Percy thanked him profusely when the newspapers declared his rat had been Peter Pettigrew, a wizard who had betrayed Harry's parents, killed Muggles, and let his best friend take the fall.

Harry learned what Azkaban was and decided he was fine with being Snape's slave.

For that was what he had become.

While everyone else's life was continuing on as normal as it could in a magical school where you might only turn green on a good day, Harry snuck around at night, carrying Snape to wherever the wizard ordered: the Library's restricted area, his potion's store, his private rooms, and twice off to the Forbidden Forest, once to pull a unicorn's tail. (He managed to get all of three hairs, was nearly gored and refused to go back when Snape ordered him to get more. "I'd rather go to Azkaban!" Which set Snape off on an hour-long tangent that Harry ignored because for once he was larger than someone. But later, when he met Sirius Black, and even more later when he learned Snape had been in Azkaban and saw a Dementor, he cringed when he remembered his flippant words.)

The end of the year feast happened, and Snape, who by now permanently sat on Harry's shoulder under a torn-off piece of the invisibility cloak, cheered and squeaked in his ear when the Slytherins won.

Snape spent the rest of that night smiling.

And Harry was called to the Headmaster's office.

Why? Not for tea, although it was offered. No, Headmaster Dumbledore had learned from Professor McGonagall that Harry had sought him out—twice—and was enquiring after the reason.

Harry sat trembling on the floral sofa and explained that he had wondered if he could spend his summer in school. This time the refusal was done kindly but bitter disappointment rushed through his throat even though he hadn't expected anything less. Dumbledore patted Harry's knee and asked if there was anything else he would like to talk about. Remembering Snape's orders to not look him in the eyes, Harry concentrated on his huge nose, opened his mouth, and heard himself say, "I can't think of anything, sir."

Returning to where Snape waited in the dorm, he dragged his feet. Why hadn't he come clean? He wasn't that scared of being expelled anymore, not when Snape didn't think he would be. He could have gotten rid of the wizard who now ordered him around every minute of the day, why, just this morning he had his ear pulled when he reached for more bacon and was ordered to eat some fruit instead!

He passed Ron, who looked the other way, and it came to him. These last few days with Snape had been the most he had talked to anyone this year, and he was loath to go back to the Dursleys alone. He did not know what was waiting for him there but if he was going to be locked back into the cupboard then at least he would have some company.

"I think the headmaster suspects," Harry told Snape in the prefects' bathroom, their favourite hiding spot. (Its door locked.) Harry was sitting with his back to the sink where Snape was taking a shower under the open tap.

"I'm sure he does!" Snape had to yell to be heard over the water.

"Then why didn't he say anything?"

"I have no idea! Now hand me those damn clothes!"

Finally! This morning Harry had finally got up the courage to tell him he smelled. And that Harry was starting to get strange looks when anyone passed too close by his right shoulder. Didn't he smell himself? Couldn't he please try the clothes Percy had shrunk for him? Pretty please? (He had decided if asking nicely did not help he was going to dress the wizard himself no matter how singed his fingers were afterwards. Thank god that wasn't necessary.)

The train ride was uneventful, and Uncle Vernon met him on the station with a, "Come on, you." He walked off, not bothering to see if Harry followed.

Harry juggled his trunk and Hedwig in her cage, and only Snape's invisible presence on his shoulder made him gather the courage to follow. How long could he pretend all was well and that he had a loving family before Snape found out?

"He's even fatter than I remember," Snape muttered in his ear when they got to the car; Harry was attuned to the squeaky voice by now and he didn't have to shout.

"You know him?" Harry whispered.

"Your mother was my friend," Snape reminded him, and added with a patience strange for him, "so I knew Petunia. Has she improved?"

He struggled to put his trunk in the boot. Uncle Vernon was already behind the wheel and calling impatiently. What could he say? Improved from what? She bullied him as much as the wizard on his shoulder did—could he say that? On that basis, he would have thought Snape would have been his aunt's best friend.

"Was my mum… nicer than her?" Harry asked. That day at the lake Snape had said she had loads of friends but so did Dudders and he never thought to question it until now.

"They were night and day."

In the car Harry had to listen to Uncle Vernon's new rules which went on and on but could be condensed into, no magic allowed, breathe only if you must, become invisible if you can. Snape was quiet on his shoulder.

In Privet Drive, his uncle helped with Harry's trunk. Harry thought at first it was to be quick so the neighbours wouldn't see his funny luggage, but it was so he could lock it under the stairs.

"I need that for my homework!" he protested.

And for the potion Snape said they would make. The one that would return him to his normal size, and get Harry out of this hell he was currently living in. Well, maybe it was not that bad, but still.

"I don't care about that," Vernon bellowed. "What did I say about that school?!"

"That you wanted to hear nothing about it." And that if anyone asked, he was to say he studied at St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

"Your wand boy!" Vernon ordered, holding out a fat hand, and when Harry didn't act quick enough, cuffed his ear.

Clutching his ringing ear, eyes burning, he handed over his wand and watched his uncle throw it carelessly into the cupboard.

"And the less I see of you the better!" Vernon yelled and grabbed Harry by the collar to drag him up the stairs.

He clutched Hedwig's cage and they made quite a racket going up, Hedwig screeching her distress. Aunt Petunia came out of her bedroom and watched them without saying a word. Harry's heart sank into his shoes when he saw the row of locks on Dudley's second bedroom and he yelped when he was flung inside, his knees dragging across the carpet. Hedwig screeched, tumbling in her cage.

Vernon slammed the door shut, engaging the locks, and smacked the wood. "If you don't shut that thing up I will take it to the RSPCA!"

Harry rushed to soothe his owl.

Only when he had Hedwig quiet did he remember Snape and realised he was not on his shoulder. He was not in the room either, Harry checked, crawling on his hands and knees, feeling carefully for the invisible wizard, even looking under the bed.

He must have fallen off when Vernon hit him. Was he hurt? If he was lying unconscious somewhere, Dudders was sure to trample him with his fat feet—Harry ran to the door and banged on it with his fists. "Let me out!"

But no amount of yelling brought anyone to the door, and it was a while before he noticed the cat flap on the bottom. He tried to open it, but it only went one way. Sitting back on his bed, he cradled his throbbing ear and finally gave in to the pent-up tears that had clogged his throat for over a week now.