Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms

Summary: When Harry blows up his aunt during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out.

In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End.

Chapter 4

There was a wardrobe standing in Snape's hallway. It loomed over him not unlike its owner during Potions class, shabby and crammed into the furthest corner like somebody tried their hardest to forget it was there. Harry had spotted it after following Snape up the stairs to the guest room.

It was made from dark wood and sported scratch marks and chips from years of use. The lock was old and had no key – or if it did, Snape kept it elsewhere. Harry tried peeking inside to see whether it was as narrow as it looked from the outside.

It was locked. Of course it was.

Harry tried to act like he'd never discovered it. He'd already spent a week at Snape's. Somehow, he'd make it through the rest of the holidays, too.

Harry was trying to get used to his newly gained privacy when a faint tapping sound on his window sent him dashing across the room and to the windowsill. On the other side of the glass sat the most wonderful sight Harry had set eyes on all summer: Hedwig, carrying not one, but several letters.

Harry fumbled with the handle and needed three attempts to open it. "Hey, girl," he said, grinning wildly as Hedwig fluttered inside, dropped the letters onto the bed and made herself comfortable on his pillow.

Ever since he'd gotten her on his eleventh birthday, Hedwig kept reminding him that no matter how horrible his summers at Privet Drive became, his real home was waiting to welcome him back. More than his link to the magical community, Hedwig was his friend. She was one of the first friends he'd ever had – she'd been there before even Ron and Hermione.

Two of the letters were from his best friends. Hedwig must have stopped by the Burrow, much like she'd done on his birthday.

"Thank you," he said, throwing Hedwig a grateful look. She puffed out her chest, looking pleased with herself.

Ron and Hermione both referenced the signature he needed to visit Hogsmeade. It felt so much less significant than it had back at Privet Drive, but his failure to get it still stung. There was no way the Dursleys would give it to him after what had happened.

The last letter was from Hagrid. It wasn't as cheerful as the other two.

Heard what happened from Dumbledore. Know you and Professor Snape don't get along, but you listen to him, y'hear? Dumbledore wouldn't have sent him if he wasn't the best option.

Harry fought hard not to scoff. He couldn't know what Dumbledore was thinking, seeing as he hadn't heard from him all summer.

Keep your head low. Things with the Ministry might've been sorted, but they're not the only ones that might be trouble. Stay safe.

Harry frowned. He flipped the letter to check if more was written on the back. Hagrid wasn't usually this vague. Harry couldn't help but feel like there was something he wasn't being told.

Then again, Harry realized with a flash of guilt, Hagrid had good reason to be worried. He knew what it felt like to be kicked out of school, and he wouldn't want to see the same happening to Harry.

Harry stroked Hedwig's feathers and stifled a yawn. It was good to have her back. Maybe she could stay for a few days, recover from her journey and keep Harry company.

Harry decided to rewrite his letters and reluctantly sent Hedwig on her way. He didn't know what Snape thought of animals outside of their use as potion ingredients.

Hey Ron,

Bad news. I didn't get that signature.

Remember last year, when the Ministry said I'd be expelled if I did any more underage magic? Well, I did. It was an accident. The Minister was here, and he said there wouldn't be trouble. I don't think they're gonna kick me out, or they would have done it by now.

The Dursleys aren't taking me back for the rest of the summer. I ran away, and Dumbledore sent Snape after me.

I saw that picture of you in the newspaper. Egypt looks fun. How much longer are you gonna be there?

I can't wait until the new school year starts.

Harry

Harry spent most of his time either holed up in Snape's guest room or out in the garden. Having his own space was great, but did little to keep him entertained. Without Hedwig there to keep him company, his days were as dull and eventless as they'd been before. At least in the garden, his boredom didn't feel quite as claustrophobic.

It was still better than the fresh apprehension he felt whenever he spotted the slightest sign of annoyance in Snape's expression – which, seeing as Snape hated his guts, was often.

Snape would act exactly the way he had the past week, but instead of shrugging it off like he'd done before discovering the wardrobe, Harry would completely freeze up.

It didn't make sense. He'd known that Snape was the worst from the start. There'd been times when he'd expected Snape to hex him or abandon him on the streets. Over a week had passed and the worst Snape had done was insult him (and his father, and his friends, and anything Harry even remotely cared about) – so how was it that Harry felt more on edge than ever?

Perhaps that was what Snape had planned from the start. Maybe he was just waiting for Harry to crack, lulled into a false sense of security until Snape finally dropped the pretense and showed his true colors.

Whatever charade Snape was putting on, Harry wanted it to be over. He stopped caring what Snape would do. Anything had to be better than the unbearable tension of waiting for something to happen.

The brat was up to something. Severus kept a close eye on him, unwilling to be caught off guard by whatever Potter was cooking up.

Severus had done the brat a favor by handing over his guest room. Potter ought to be acting like it. Instead, he displayed a mind-boggling new habit of being twice as confrontational while making himself more scarce than ever.

"Have you nothing better to do?" Severus grouched after growing tired of Potter throwing him sullen glances.

Weren't most teenagers glued to their television sets once given the opportunity? Yet he'd never seen Potter pick up the remote by himself.

"Not really," Potter muttered. He half-sat, half-layed on the sofa and stared at his knees.

Severus tried to decide whether his attitude alone justified sending him upstairs for the rest of the day. "Then what is stopping you from wasting your day upstairs instead of here?"

Potter shrugged. He kept staring at his knees.

If it weren't for the glances he kept darting at Severus, he could almost convince himself that the brat was bored instead of scheming something.

"Keep on going and you will find that privileges are as easily revoked as they are given."

Potter's lips tightened. His eyes flared up in the desire to instigate an argument.

The moment passed. Potter's gaze slipped downwards. He mumbled an apology, slipped off the couch and climbed the stairs, all without saying another word.

Severus stopped glaring after him suspiciously only after he heard the door to his guest room close softly.

Hey Hermione,

I hope you're doing well. How's France? I wish I could go sometime. I've always wanted to see another country.

There was an accident with the Dursleys. Everything's taken care of, but I'm not with them right now. I ran away, and Dumbledore sent Snape after me to make sure I didn't make more trouble.

I don't know when I'll go back.

How much longer are you gonna be away? Maybe we can meet up at Diagon Alley soon.

I miss you guys. I can't wait until the summer is over.

Harry

Harry had been meaning to test the waters. He was tired of Snape dishing out threats without ever going through with them. He was tired of Snape giving him vague, unhelpful instructions. He was tired of feeling like balancing on a wire, like every step might plunge him into a free fall.

He'd meant to test the waters, though he hadn't actually figured out how. He supposed this would just have to do.

"Potter!"

Harry reeled back.

Snape glowered at the shattered remains of the glass vial Harry had accidentally knocked out of his hands. There was no stain on the floor, so hopefully nothing had been inside.

(As if it made a difference.)

Harry resisted the urge to slip back into the guest room and barricade the door.

"I didn't mean it," he said, simultaneously breaking two of the oldest rules he'd ever learned and digging his grave deeper.

(No excuses. Don't speak unless spoken to.)

It was worse than at school. He'd attended plenty of detentions. He'd written lines, scrubbed cauldrons, pickled disgusting objects for Snape's collection and trudged through the Forbidden Forest in the depth of night with Hagrid.

Here, none of the rules applied. Here there was nobody to look over Snape's shoulder. There was nobody to stop him from crossing a line.

Harry never learned. His mouth opened without his permission. "It was an accident."

"Of course it was." Snape's voice oozed with sarcasm. He moved quickly and closed a vice-like hand around Harry's wrist.

Harry reeled back with his full weight, making Snape stumble without dislodging his grip. His eyes darted to the wardrobe. It looked several sizes smaller than the last time he'd looked at it. Harry sagged, surrendering to whatever would happen.

Snape didn't let go, but he stopped dragging him to the other end of the hallway.

(Uncle Vernon would have already slammed the door.)

(Aunt Petunia would have made him pick up the shards barehanded.)

Harry chanced a look at Snape. He'd followed Harry's glance and was now staring at the wardrobe. His expression turned from incredulous to thunderous in the time it took him to turn his head.

"That," Snape said icily, jerking his head towards a door on the right, "is where I brew potions. You were to fetch a replacement vial and dust the hallway while you were already busy cleaning up after yourself." His eyes shone dangerously. "Unless you have a better suggestion?"

Harry's throat was dry. He couldn't think of a safe answer, so he said nothing.

Somehow, his silence made Snape more angry. "Do you believe me to be this incompetent?"

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said quickly.

Snape's mouth became very narrow. "I have no need to lock little boys in wardrobes to ensure their obedience."

Air stuttered in Harry's throat. He stared at Snape.

He'd never told anyone what those first eleven years at the Dursleys' had been like. Snape couldn't know. But the way he'd said it... His words hit far too close to home.

"What does that mean?" Harry said. "Why did– Why are you saying it like that?"

Snape's scowl deepened. "I will not tolerate being made the villain of whatever fantasy your deluded mind is creating."

"I just meant–"

"I am well aware of what you meant," Snape hissed. "If you believe Dumbledore would listen to a single of your lies–"

"I wasn't even thinking of Dumbledore!"

"Do not lie to me."

The unfairness was too much for Harry to handle. The heat in his chest boiled over in the form of scathing, furious words. "If you'd just told me from the start what you wanted me to do–"

"I ought not to be surprised by your incapability to follow simple instructions."

"I'm not talking about rules! You didn't say what would happen if I messed up. How am I supposed to know you're not just gonna–"

"Do what?" Snape's eyes narrowed.

"I don't know!" Harry shouted. "That's the point! How am I supposed to know what you're gonna do when there's no one to–" Harry realized what he'd been about to say and clammed up.

Snape was even paler than usual. His expression twisted into an ugly grimace of pure fury.

Harry's anger was draining rapidly, leaving only a nauseating mix of resignation and horror. He'd just yelled at a professor. He'd just yelled at Snape.

"For the future," Snape said, the words stilted and pushed out from behind gritted teeth, "let us both assume that I have more productive methods of punishment than the ones you seem to think me fond of."

He brushed past Harry, through the door he'd pointed out earlier and slammed it shut behind himself.

Harry was left standing in the hallway, glass shards at his feet and an oddly hollow feeling in his chest.

Severus clenched his eyes shut and breathed. The misty heat of an open fire and a bubbling cauldron greeted him. It did little to douse the fire burning in his veins.

He'd always hated this house. He'd never bothered to find a replacement for the few weeks of the year he spent outside of school, but he'd never liked living here. It reminded him of hours he'd spent hiding in dark places in his childhood, and others he'd spent in them involuntarily.

Fresh fury sparked through his chest in a violent flash. The nerve of the boy. Severus was not lenient in nature, but he had no need to resort to tactics fitting for the likes of–

Severus clenched his hands to fists. The vapor from his cauldron drew lazy circles into the air.

(Back when he'd searched the house for a place to set up his equipment he'd found a cellar that resembled the Hogwarts dungeons astonishingly.)

(He'd opted instead for the brightest room he owned, a wide space with large windows.)

Snape rolled up his sleeves and headed for the cauldron, determined to spend several hours ignoring his problems.

(Potter had always had the frustrating ability to send him back to his childhood. It was just Severus' luck that he'd found a way to do so without once conjuring the ghost of Potter's insufferable father.)

Harry picked up the glass shards, fetched a broom and swept the hallway until not a single speck of dust was out of place. He polished the scarce picture frames next, then swept the stairs and kept going on the ground floor.

He ran out of ideas eventually. Snape didn't shown his face once.

The consequences Harry expected never came. Snape – for some reason Harry couldn't wrap his head around – pretended like nothing had happened and went back to exchanging as few words with him as possible.

The push Harry needed came in the form of Hedwig, who decided to deliver Hermione's reply like a respectable post owl: in the morning, at the breakfast table.

"That's for me," Harry said instantly, like there were so many snowy owls knocking on Snape's kitchen window daily that he needed to clarify.

Snape opened the window with thinned lips and said nothing as Hedwig fluttered towards Harry.

Errol, the Weasleys' family owl, arrived not ten minutes later, heaved himself through the still open window and promptly collapsed on top of the kitchen table.

Snape's expression looked like something had had the audacity to crawl into his breakfast bowl and die – which, considering Errol's age and state of health, was a very real possibility.

Harry moved to snatch up both owls and their respective letters (Hedwig gave an offended hoot and flew ahead, somehow knowing which direction the guest room was), muttered a vague excuse under his breath and hurried up the stairs before Snape could change his mind and call him back.

Ron and Hermione's replies were roughly what he had expected.

Hermione's was all sympathy and concern, while Ron used up half of his parchment coming up with more and more vulgar insults aimed at Snape.

Harry snorted a laugh at his more creative choices and hid the letter as soon as he was finished reading, just in case.

Oh, Harry… Are you sure it'll be alright? Underage magic is no small offense, though I don't see why the Minister of Magic would visit you himself. I tried doing some research, but I can't find anything relevant in our school books…

Snape had said – implied? – that he wouldn't do anything horrible to punish Harry. It was hard to believe, but Snape hadn't done anything so far. Why would he lie? Why wait? He'd never felt the need to downplay his desire to make Harry's life miserable at school.

Please try not to make any more trouble! I'm sure Professor Dumbledore means well.

Harry was being stupid. Snape was still Snape. He wasn't any better here than he was in his Potions classroom.

What do you mean they sent Snape after you? You're not with him right now, are you? They can't just leave you with that awful, slimy–

Snape hadn't done anything horrible all summer. Why would he wait? Why lie about it? It didn't make any sense.

– detestable, sad excuse for a–

Harry was tired of waiting. He decided to take matters into his own hands – this time for real.

Just hold on. The summer will be over before you know it.

"Is aconite another word for wolf's bane?"

"Are you or are you not blessed with the gift of literacy?" Snape said without looking up.

"The book explains it weirdly."

Snape wordlessly flicked his wand and a gigantic Herbology volume flopped down on the couch. Harry pulled back his knee and saved it from being crushed just in time.

Harry stared at the book. It was as thick as most books were tall. "It's a yes or no question."

"And I've given you the means to find the answer."

"You could just tell me."

Snape looked up at him with scathing eyes.

Harry heaved the book onto his lap. "Wow, thanks," he muttered, sourly starting to flip through gigantic pages.

"I want to get something from the shop."

Snape paused, one hand on the railing of the stairs. His brows twitched in irritation.

Harry pressed on. "Can I go? I won't take long."

Deep annoyance flickered over Snape's expression. "Be ready to leave in ten minutes."

"You don't have to come," Harry said. "I can go by my–"

"Ten. Minutes."

"Yes sir."

"Where'd you get the mirror?"

Snape closed his eyes. He said nothing for several seconds and made the impression of suffering immense emotional pain. "What mirror."

"The one in the bathroom that makes you look all funny. Where'd you get it?"

"It was a gift."

"And you kept it?"

Snape scowled.

"Nevermind," Harry said quickly. "It's fun," he added, and wanted to bite off his tongue as soon as the words left his lips.

Snape only rolled his eyes. "Your taste is as appalling as Professor Dumbledore's."

Snape didn't punish him over asking questions. He didn't punish him for making requests. He wasn't being nice – half the time Harry would be mocked or told 'no' just out of principle or for Snape's own amusement.

But that was okay. Harry could live with being made fun of. As long as he held his tongue and kept his simmering temper at bay, he would be fine.

He decided to take a risk. It was bigger than what he'd asked before, and this time, he actually had something to lose if Snape decided to say no.

The end of the summer holidays was drawing closer. Harry needed to get his textbooks back from the Dursleys, or he'd have no chance to complete his assignments in time.

"You couldn't be bothered to pack everything, could you?"

Harry bit back a biting remark. "I guess not."

There was more than only his textbooks at stake. He'd been forced to leave his entire trunk behind – all of his wizard robes, most of his writing utensils, and worst of all his father's invisibility cloak were all still locked in the cupboard under the stairs.

"I really need them," Harry insisted. "I still have homework to do. I won't finish in time if I have to wait any longer."

"And whose fault would that be?"

"... Mine." Harry suppressed a growl and tried to look meekly ashamed instead of furious.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as though in deep pain. "If both of us are lucky," he muttered, "your relatives will have seen reason and I will have no need to take the books."

Something in Harry's chest twinged. For a brief, confusing moment he didn't know whether to anticipate or dread what the Dursleys had to say.

A/N: Many thanks to To Mockingbird, Igornerd, JustAnotherOutcast and flyingcat!

Let me know what you think!

~Gwen