Disclaimer: I am a starving college student – I own nothing.

Chapter 2: Hogwarts Dear Hogwarts

"Albus, have you lost your mind?!" Harry heard Snape yell.

Harry couldn't hear what was said after that, but a moment later the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office sprang aside.

"Follow me, Potter." Snape snapped, stepping off the moving staircase that led from the headmaster's office.

Harry looked up to see an extremely agitated black-robed figure looming over him. Ok, so the dear old potions professor was not in the best of moods. Not surprising really. Harry lifted himself off the floor where he had sat waiting and hurried to keep up with Snape's long strides.

Greasy old bat, thought Harry as he caught up to his professor, who had already been halfway down the corridor by the time Harry had risen. Harry then followed a few paces behind his professor as they walked down one corridor, then another, down a flight of steps. It suddenly occurred to Harry that they were heading toward the dungeons. Why wasn't Snape leading him toward Gryffindor tower?

Harry decided it would be wiser not to ask. So he continued to follow, past the potions room, down yet another corridor, and just as Harry was beginning to rethink his decision not to ask where they were heading, Snape stopped in front of a suit of armor.

"Your password is ton-tongue toffee. You may change your password, but if you do so you are to tell the headmaster or myself immediately." Snape paused, choosing his next words.

"The headmaster in his... unique sense of humor has decided to house you in the rooms adjacent to mine. Do not disturb me." With that, Snape was off. Thank the Gods, thought Harry, as he entered his rooms.

* * *

The Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter

I, Harry James Potter, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath, upon my demise.

To Molly and Arthur Weasley: the key to my Gringotts vault, and all of the contents therein.

To Ronald Weasley: my Firebolt and my Invisibility Cloak.

To Hermione Granger: the Marauders' Map.

To Remus Lupin: Number Twelve Grimauld Place, and all that is contained therein, and my photo album.

Harry paused. He looked over what he had written, quill hovering over the last line. He had killed Sirius. He had killed Sirius. He had killed the last person he could possibly refer to as family. It should have been him.

Harry forced his mind back to the present. Dipping his quill in his inkwell, he returned it to the parchment before him.

To Hagrid: I entrust the care of Hedwig.

Harry leaned back in the chair in which he sat and looked up from his desk. That should do it, he thought. He glanced around his cozy room, at the cozy bed, and the cozy armchairs positioned in front of a cozy fire. Too damn cozy, he thought.

Harry suddenly felt trapped in the comfort of this room in a way that he never had done in his austere room at the Dursleys'. Or even in his cupboard at the Dursleys', for that matter. Well, maybe in the cupboard, Harry reflected.

Harry couldn't take another moment in this warm, inviting room. Damn Dumbledore, Harry thought, knowing perfectly well that the aged Headmaster had meant well. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Harry got up, walked over to his trunk, and took out his invisibility cloak. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to be out at night, and in any case, he wasn't in the mood to put up with anyone, especially not Snape or Dumbledore.

He'd probably offer me lemon drops, Harry sneered to himself. Snape, on the other hand, would likely offer him poison. Well, offer might not be quite the right word, Harry thought wryly. As he slipped out the door to his rooms, Harry wondered which one he would prefer, if he had a choice.

Thinking back to the will he had just drafted, Harry decided that that would really be most convenient if he were to accept the poison in this hypothetical scenario. But he would not. The will reflected his determination to take control of his life, not to end it. Control that Dumbledore had never let him have before. "Meddlesome old man," Harry mumbled distractedly.

That was the reason he had apologized to Snape. If Harry was going to take control of his life, he knew he also had to take responsibility for his actions. He couldn't blame Snape for his own mistakes, even if he could despise the man for being an Evil Bastard sin que non.

"Lo, Hedwig," Harry said in a quiet voice, his feet having led him to the Owlery.

He didn't get an answer. Then again, Harry knew that he wouldn't receive an answer.

"Great, so now I'm not just talking to myself, I'm talking to sleeping birds too. Wonderful. The Daily Prophet will have a field day with this one." Harry muttered to himself.

Instinctively, Harry looked around for a beetle. He wondered if Hermione's ban on Rita Skeeter's writing career had expired yet. Instead of a small beetle, he saw a Big Black Bat.

Said Bat smirked malevolently as Harry, who's disembodied head was floating between five and six feet off the ground. Harry groaned inwardly. Would he never get any peace?

"Mr. Potter." Snape paused to enjoy the look of horror mingled with revulsion on Harry's face. "I wouldn't recommend talking to yourself in public. Or in private for that matter: the conversation must be awfully dull," Snape drawled.

Harry glared at his potions professor. The glare was admirable, although it still needed a bit of work.

"The conversation is better than what I could anticipate having with anyone else around here, Professor," Harry sneered back.

Harry mentally congratulated himself as he watched his professor become livid. Harry begun to worry, however, when Snape's expression went from livid to vindictive.

"We will resume your Occlumency training tomorrow morning at eight o'clock. Do not be late." Snape said in a silky soft tone that Harry new perfectly well meant that there would be some unpleasant things in store for him indeed.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter. Do attempt to exercise at least a modicum of common sense and remain within the castle after hours. We wouldn't want anything… unfortunate to happen to the famous Harry Potter." Snape's tone of voice made it all to clear that he would not find this 'anything' that could happen unfortunate in the least.

Harry was pissed. He didn't ask for any of this and Snape damn well knew it. Well, if Snape was going to rub his face in something he had no control over, Harry could certainly turn the tables.

"No, we wouldn't want that, would we sir? Then you would never be free of your master, would you?" Harry smirked.

Harry thought he saw a hint of amusement in Snape's eyes, but he quickly realized that he must merely have been hallucinating.

"Indeed." Snape snarled. "And you, being the impertinent, ungrateful little brat that you are, would have made a mockery of your mother's sacrifice. Then again, considering who your father was, I suppose such arrogance is not to be altogether unexpected. You believe you can defeat the Dark Lord? Need I remind you of the fate of your mutt of a godfather? You have responsibilities, boy, it is time you learn to accept them," Without waiting for a reply, the irate Potions Master then turned heel, leaving the Owlery in a graceful flow of black robes.

Harry headed back to his rooms after Snape had left. Snape, being an Evil Bastard, had insulted his father and Sirius. That was really neither less nor more than what Harry expected from the Greasy Git. Yet there was something about the whole conversation that nagged at him. Harry shrugged it off and got ready for bed, clearing his mind of all thought and emotion before allowing his body to relax into sleep.

* * *

Harry shooed Hermione's hand away, but the hand kept coming back. Why wouldn't Hermione stop poking him with her wand? Harry swiped at the wand again, but it felt. fleshy? The wand turned into a long finger as Harry groggily opened his eyes. Two very large round eyes stared back at him.

"Dobby?" Harry grumbled.

"Good morning Harry Potter, sir," replied Dobby. "Harry Potter sir is telling Dobby to poke him next time he is needing to wake Harry Potter, so Dobby is poking Harry Potter."

This was simply too much for Harry first thing in the morning. Harry groaned and turned over, leaning toward his night table and reaching for his glasses. Once Harry had his glasses on, he glanced at the clock that also rested on the table.

6:00 in the bloody morning, Harry thought, is way too early to deal with Hyper House Elves.

Harry redirected his red eyes to the house elf in question.

"What is it Dobby? Why'd you need to get me up?"

"Dobby is bringing Harry Potter his breakfast, sir. Dobby is hearing that Harry Potter is to be meeting with Professor Snape Sir this morning, so Dobby is making sure that Harry Potter is ready so that Professor Snape is not having reason to be angry with Harry Potter, sir." Dobby cringed when mentioning the potentiality of Snape becoming angrier than usual.

Harry had to refrain snorting at this. So Snape frightened house elves near to death and not just first years.

"And if I show up fully prepared and eager to learn, Snape will be all smiles and cheer?" Harry's voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. "I highly doubt it."

Harry's harsh words seemed to hurt Dobby, and Harry instantly regretted them. Dobby was only trying to help after all. And when did I start sounding like Snape, anyway? Harry wondered, I've been here for less than a day, and I haven't even started lessons with the git. At this rate I'll be stalking the halls with greasy hair and deducting points from Gryffindor every other breath by the end of the summer.

"I'm sorry Dobby," Harry said, "I can be a bit grouchy first thing in the morning. Have a seat."

Dobby instantly perked up and brought Harry the large tray piled with what appeared to be a sampling of everything in the Hogwarts kitchens which he had set down on Harry's desk prior to waking him.

'The house elves must be bored silly over the holidays,' was Harry's first thought. Harry's second thought, which resulted in immediate action on his part, was typical of teenage boys. His second thought consisted of, 'mmm. foood."

Once Harry was filled to bursting, he put his fork down and leaned back. Harry always missed Hogwarts over the summer, but sometimes Harry thought his stomach missed it more.

When Harry looked up, he noticed that Dobby was twisting the end of one of his numerous articles of clothing between his fingers. Uh oh, thought Harry, this can not be good.

Harry glared at the house elf. "What is it Dobby?"

"Harry Potter must promise Dobby to be careful with Professor Snape."

"And why is that Dobby?" Harry asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He was more amused than concerned now.

Now Dobby looked extremely nervous. He lowered his voice and leaned toward Harry, apparently terrified of what he was about to say. "Professor Snape Sir is being very close with my former master, Harry Potter," was what finally came out in an odd cross between a whisper and a squeak.

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or groan. He knew that Snape was a spy, but he couldn't explain that to Dobby - which meant that Dobby would more likely than not do something highly dangerous and highly annoying at some point while under the impression that Harry needed protecting from Snape.

One of these days, thought Harry, Dobby really must compare notes on meddling with Dumbledore. Both really are experts. Reflecting on this sentiment for a moment, Harry quickly changed his mind. On second thought, the last thing he needed was for Dobby and Dumbledore to join forces. He didn't even want to contemplate what might come out of such an alliance. He wasn't even sure Dumbledore's eyes were capable of twinkling sufficiently to reflect the full extent of the amusement Dumbledore would surely derive from the infuriating schemes in which they would undoubtedly engage themselves.

Harry shook himself out of his reflections on this frightening topic and decided it was time to get ready for his lesson. Harry had absolutely no doubt in his mind that this would be a very, very long morning