Mrs. Applewhite practically elbowed her way through the courtroom to Harry's side, her eyes filled with motherly concern. "Harry," she greeted him. She sent a withering glare at Snape before returning her attention to him. "I'm so sorry you got dragged into this. Bobbies don't know their heads from their arses, I swear. I'd sue them, were I you. Get a good solicitor and sue them for everything they've got for making such a muck-up of things. You're all right, dearie?"

Harry blushed furiously. He could feel Snape's curious eyes on him, but he ignored the man as thoroughly as he could. "I'm fine, Mrs. Applewhite," he replied politely. "Thanks for testifying—"

"Pah, for telling the truth, you mean. Angeline should've done the same damned thing when they wrote you up for shaving her cat. Stupid woman listens to Petunia too much. You're not going back to them, are you, my boy?"

"I, uh—"

"He's not," Snape clarified smoothly. "Other arrangements have been made—"

"Ah, because you're too much of a deadbeat and a lout to take care of your own boy, is that about right?"

Harry just stared in wide-eyed shock at the older woman. She was glaring at Snape again, hands on her hips, mouth pursed in a tight frown. "Mrs. Applewhite," he stammered, "it's not like that—he travels for work, you see. He's—ah—he's a diplomat, like his father, and so he knows how hard it is to make friends when you're always moving around. He thought he was doing what was best, see—"

"Best," Mrs. Applewhite scoffed, her narrowed eyes never leaving Snape. "I saw how they treated you year after year. Shameful, it was. I wrote letters when you were little, you know, but nothing came of it."

Beside him, Snape stiffened noticeably.

"I told Petunia all those years, it's going to come back to haunt you and yours. Beastly woman, worse than her husband, I swear. And it has, hasn't it? Look at the little monster her boy's turned into. I can't wait until they ship that boy off to wherever it is they send criminals like him."

"Well, thanks again," Harry mumbled uncertainly. "And really, I think my—my father will do much better this time. Really, it's partly my fault. When I was old enough to write him letters, I never said anything, so it's not as if he could have known—"

"He could have checked," Mrs. Applewhite huffed. "You stop making excuses for him. Honestly, there should be a law—dumping your children for years on end, leaving them to grow up with those people…." Mrs. Applewhite reached out and patted him on the hand. "You have my number, don't you, dear? You just give a ring if you ever need anything. I don't care if you're on the Continent or across the pond, either. Should have said as much years ago, really."

It was stupid that Mrs. Applewhite's words should mean so much to him. But they did, and suddenly Harry found himself fighting back tears. "Thanks," he mumbled weakly, unsure of what else to say. "Um—did you—did you get everything back? I—I'd heard they'd pawned some of the things…."

"Everything that matters, except my mother's pearl necklace. Could be anywhere in London by now, by the way that dirty weasel broker tells it."

"I'm really sorry," Harry offered.

Mrs. Applewhite smiled sadly at him. "You've nothing to be sorry for, dear. You're a good boy." She touched his cheek lightly, then sighed. "I'd best get going. I promised my sister I'd visit her today, and she's very particular about when I drop by. You call if you need anything, Harry." She leveled one final glare at Snape. "You," she warned, jabbing a finger at him, "make sure he's looked after."

Harry expected Snape to make some snide parting comment. But the man didn't. Instead, he replied solemnly, "I will."

Mrs. Applewhite didn't look as though she believed him in the least.

"In fact," Snape continued, his voice turning smooth and polite, "I wanted to extend an invitation for you to join us this afternoon for lunch. My treat. I was hoping that you might be able to advise me as to what's occurred over the years while I was away."

Harry's whole body seemed to freeze then, even the thoughts in his brain grinding to a dead halt, as Snape's words filtered to him.

"Well, I—"

And it was just then that the delayed processing finished, and Harry understood that Snape was, once again, about to stick his giant ugly nose into Harry's private business. Probably would ruin Mrs. Applewhite's good opinion of him too, just for the hell of it. No wonder the man had been so mild-mannered and—well—almost bearable today, having this nasty bit of work planned.

"Oh, Mrs. Applewhite's probably too busy, father," Harry interrupted, emphasizing the father bit, hoping it would either disgust Snape or, at the very least, make him uncomfortable. "She said she had to visit her sister, and we wouldn't want her to miss out on that."

"I've a bit of time for lunch," Mrs. Applewhite declared, meeting Snape's gaze squarely. "I've more than a few things I'd like to say to you, Mr. Potter. I'll meet you off of Elton Square. There's a fine little tea room that will do there." She glanced down at her wristwatch and hmphed softly to herself. "Half an hour, we'll say. I've some errands to run before then." Her gaze returned to Harry, and as it did it softened considerably. "Harry, dear, I'll see you then." She cast one last hard glare at the Potions Master before readjusting her handbag and heading for the door.

"Why'd you—"

"Because," Snape cut him off, speaking from the corner of his mouth, "you have been less than forthcoming about your childhood, and as I doubt Veritaserum will be an option a second time, I will have to resort to other methods. And if you decide to be difficult about this, I will send you home early and tell the woman that you've taken ill. Is that clear?"

"You have no right," Harry began angrily, "to go mucking about in my relationships—"

"I've no intention of doing that," Snape replied calmly, his dark, steady gaze shifting down to fixate on Harry. "It is imperative that we have information about how badly you've been mistreated, and as I said, you have been less than forthcoming—"

"She doesn't know anything!" Harry hissed. "I barely saw her growing up! I might've trimmed her hedges and done her lawn once or twice for a few quid, but that's it! You just—you—"

"I just… what?"

Harry hated how the man sounded so calm, as if he were just mildly curious about whatever Harry was ranting about. "You can't stand that someone actually likes me, that's what! You—you want to fix her opinion, that's all, expose her to the real Harry Potter, the delinquent the Dursleys are always talking about—"

Snape's eyebrows lifted marginally. "You believe I would waste an afternoon ruining your reputation with an elderly woman who is, as you've said, nothing more than an acquaintance of yours?"

Of course Snape would calmly deny his intentions, the utter bastard. And it wasn't as if Harry's prompting would get him to admit to anything. Or to stop interfering with every last good thing in Harry's life. "No," he replied sarcastically, the words acrid on his tongue. "Of course not. How stupid of me. I keep confusing you with someone who's belittled me and loathed me for four years."

That, at least, got a reaction out of Snape. His mouth tightened with the lines of his face, and for a brief moment he looked away. "I've no intention of doing anything of the sort. I merely wish to speak with the woman about her observations, nothing more. If it is any consolation, it is apparent that she neither likes nor trusts me."

There was that. Valid point. Not that the Slytherin couldn't manipulate a sweet old woman into thinking the worst of Harry. Hell, Petunia was as clever as a common house fly and she'd managed to turn practically the whole neighborhood against Harry.

Snape, on the other hand, was frighteningly brilliant. He could probably convince Mrs. Applewhite herself that her eyes had fooled her, that Harry actually had broken into her home and stolen from her.

"Wait here," Snape commanded suddenly. "I've some business to attend to." And with that Snape was off, weaving expertly through the lobby toward the two officers who'd testified.

Too curious to remain behind, Harry followed, though he took care to hang close to the edge of the room so that his eavesdropping was not so obvious.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," his arresting officer mumbled.

Harry straightened for a moment, then realized that he was actually addressing Snape, his "father". God, that was bound to put Snape in a foul mood, wasn't it?

"Did you need something? I, er—you see, got some paperwork to complete, and—"

"Your resignation, I hope," Snape drawled, his voice cold as ever. "I cannot believe they ever allowed someone so lazy and useless to carry a badge."

The officer's thick face reddened. "Now, see here—"

"No," Snape cut him off icily, "you see. You've no idea what a mess you've made of things. You have meddled in a young boy's life, branding him as a thief and treating him as a criminal when you had no cause, when any halfwit, barely-competent idiot might have taken the time to put the facts together properly. Instead, you hauled a teenager already grieving and recovering from trauma, already suffering being parted from friends and family, to a detention facility, and proceeded to inform me that he had, beyond the shadow of a doubt, violated a woman's home and made off with her personal effects. You think a stammering admission, under pressure from the magistrate, that you 'might have' handled things better is enough to make amends for the damage that you've done?"

Harry bristled at the way that Snape had described him—traumatized? Grieving? God, he was laying it on thick, wasn't he? Maybe Snape should say that he cried all night when he first got home, too, and make the bloke really feel bad. As long as he was painting Harry as some needy little snot anyway….

"Now you listen," the man repeated, stammering a bit more. "That boy and his parents—your relatives, mind—told me that it was your boy who'd gone robbed that woman. That bigger boy and his friends claimed to have seen it, too, so take it up with them—"

"And did you ask my son what his version of events was, hm?"

Harry barely restrained himself from snorting derisively. Snape hadn't either, had he? No, he'd refused to so much as hear Harry out. Only the Veritaserum had changed his mind.

"Well—"

"Gathering all the evidence—now, correct me if I am wrong, but that is your job, is it not? Yet it seems you were more than content to cut corners, hang the consequences. I cannot imagine the fine taxpayers of this country would be happy to hear that they are footing the bill for such incredibly shoddy work. Why, the newspapers would have a field day…."

The man's face paled suddenly, and he staggered a step back. "Are you—are you threatening me?"

"Certainly not," Snape replied smoothly, his words all the more chill-inducing for their lack of overt threat. "I am simply indicating to you your choices. Either tender your quiet resignation and seek out other employment—preferably, where you will not have the opportunity to ruin the lives of innocent children—or I can get the press involved. Believe me when I say they will be clamoring over each other to report on this. 'Upstanding Teenager Falsely Imprisoned'…. Hmm, I wonder if they might work something in about how he was already devastated, grieving the unexpected death of a classmate, recovering from a traumatic affair involving a homicidal madman…."

It struck Harry then how very odd it was to hear those words from Snape. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been trying to convince the warden that Snape was going to turn him over to that very same homicidal maniac. At least he knew better now.

"I—you've no right to make such demands—"

Snape stepped very close to the man and said something that Harry didn't catch, something that made the man blanch. Just as quickly, Snape stepped back, straightened his vest slightly, and with one final glare turned on heel and strode away.

His eyes caught on Harry, and he gestured briefly with a hand to indicate that Harry should join him.

Harry scowled to himself. Now he was being summoned like some trained dog. Great.

Still, he knew better than to make a scene with Snape, so he hurried forward, stopping just a few feet before the man.

"I believe we're finished here," he announced. "Would you like to come along to lunch, or would you prefer I return you to the house?"

Harry drew a deep, calming breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He made certain to feel his chest expanding and his shoulders rising. Then he replied, "I'll go along, s—father."

Snape nodded slightly, as if he'd expected the answer. "Come along then. I believe we'll need to hail a cab."

A cab. What was Snape thinking? Why not just Apparate? And how the hell did Snape know anything about cabs?

But Harry figured that, at this point, it was best to just keep his head down and continue to play his sickeningly contrite role. Just until the end of summer, he reminded himself. And Snape couldn't make him out to be an ungovernable brat if he didn't act the part. So Harry resolved to be the perfectly-mannered son while in the public eye.

Snape led him out of the courtroom and down the front steps, casting occasional glances to his side as though to verify that Harry was following. Probably expects me to bolt, Harry thought bitterly.

Harry followed Snape down the street, keeping what he deemed an appropriate distance, and watched, utterly flabbergasted, as the man expertly hailed a cab. And then continued to stare as Snape opened the door and gestured for Harry to get in ahead of him.

Paranoid blighter, Harry thought uncharitably, fighting the urge to shake his head. Still playing the role of 'doting father' on the off chance that there were observers. Harry crawled into the cab, trying to tighten his slipping grip on his temper.

Snape slid in beside him, far too close for Harry's comfort. And unlike with apparition, this lack of personal space would persist for the duration of the ride. Harry pressed himself to the window, trying to resign himself to his fate.

"Where to?"

"Tea shop off of Elton Square," Snape replied curtly. He glanced over at Harry briefly. "Seatbelt," he commanded quietly as he reached for his own.

Grudgingly, Harry buckled himself in.

"I am not going to interrogate the woman, you know," Snape told Harry, his head turned away to face the window. The cabbie peeled out from the curb back into the flow of traffic as Snape spoke. "I only plan to get a general picture of things."

Harry couldn't help but snort derisively at that. "If you want that, just ask my aunt and uncle. I'm sure they'll tell you all about me—"

"Oh, I shall," Snape snarled, his words low and thrumming with a vicious energy that sent unpleasant thrills through Harry's veins.

Just what in the hell did that mean?

"Look, I didn't mean you should actually—"

"Your relatives have much to answer for, Potter," Snape cut him off tightly. Still he did not look at Harry, only continued to stare out the window. "And I will see to it that they do answer, I assure you."

"No," Harry hissed, his chest going tight, "you will not. Why do you have to stick your nose in things you have no earthly business meddling in? I mean, what the bloody hell—"

Now Snape did turn, and his eyes were as cold and piercing as ever. "You are my ward," he stated baldly, the words coming out with an acidic edge. "Your previous guardians and their treatment of you are my affairs, regardless of what you would like to believe. I will handle the matter as I see fit. And now this discussion is closed."

"You—"

"Closed, Potter. Not another word on the matter."

"I'm not going to just sit by while you muck about—for God's sake, you don't have any right—"

"Potter," Snape warned, tilting his chin up toward the cabbie. A glance up told Harry that the man was glancing curiously back at them using the rearview mirror.

Harry lapsed back into silent, seething resentment. He didn't need Snape to become his champion suddenly, and he certainly didn't need the bastard trying to exact some kind of punishment on the Dursleys. Harry would be happy to simply wash his hands of them and move on.

Snape huffed an irritated breath, and in the next instant his wand was out—far below the ridge of the back seat—and twirling in an unfamiliar pattern. Harry felt the zing of magic wash over him, and he quite suddenly knew without a doubt that the back had been warded.

"Again," Snape resumed, his low voice thrumming with raw frustration, "I realize that this arrangement is not ideal. You are unaccustomed to reliable caretakers who might actually concern themselves with your well-being, however—"

"It doesn't matter," Harry cut the man off, turning his attention to the busy summer streets that were rolling by outside his window. "You're going to do whatever you want and I have no say. I've gotten that. No need to explain further."

"Mind your tone, boy," Snape warned, the words snapping out harshly. He sent a flinty glare over toward Harry before returning his gaze to the back of the seat in front of him. "I've been more than tolerant today, but my forbearance has its limits."

Harry said nothing. He'd been rude, he knew, but he was just so angry with the way the man was treating him. Likely at Dumbledore's request, of course. But that did nothing to assuage the sense of being powerless and uncared-for.

Well. Snape could do his duty, and Harry would just continue to do what he'd always done. What he'd always been able to do, because no one else had managed.

He would look after himself. And Snape could just go hang.

XXXXX

Mrs. Applewhite was, surprisingly, already waiting for them when they reached the tea room, cup and saucer before her. She cast another one of her warm smiles at Harry before turning to Snape with a hard look.

"Well. Good to see you haven't just slipped right off on the boy again. Suppose the NSPCC might have something to say about that, though."

Harry was once again surprised to find that Mrs. Applewhite's hard words seemed to roll right off Snape's back. Not that Harry expected the man to take them to heart or anything so silly, but he had thought that the potions master might show some small sign of irritation at having to play this particular role.

Yet he seemed to accept the woman's criticism with equanimity. "I've no intentions of leaving again, believe me."

"It's not me that you need to convince." Mrs. Applewhite turned back to Harry, her expression softening again. "Here, dearie, come have a seat. Let's get you settled with a nice cuppa, yes? After that mess they dragged you into I bet you'd do with a nice strong something."

A flush of warmth bloomed in Harry's chest. It was, he decided, because Mrs. Applewhite's kindness could not be tied to anything he'd done as a baby, or at school, or a love for his parents. She liked him for him, plain and simple.

He sat down beside her with a small smile.

"Here," she murmured, passing him a menu. "Have a look over that and see what you'd like."

Snape slid into the seat beside her just as Harry's eyes registered the numbers to the right of the listings. He had no money on him. Not even in his trunk back at Snape's place. And he had no desire to be in the man's debt, not even for something as small as this.

He almost snorted to himself when he realized that Snape would likely be keeping with his devoted father role and pay for the whole meal. And Harry couldn't stand the thought of that.

"Actually, I'm not all that hungry—"

"Nevertheless, you will try to eat something," Snape cut him off swiftly, irritation once again seeping through his tone. "You scarcely had anything this morning."

Mrs. Applewhite tutted in clear disapproval. "You're already thin as a rail, love. I know Petunia didn't feed you proper. But you must get some meat on those bones, yes? Now, what are we thinking, dear? Something light perhaps as not to upset your stomach. They do a lovely finger sandwich platter. Perhaps that?"

Harry felt his cheeks burning with a blush. No one had ever fussed over him like this, much less… well, Snape wasn't really fussing, was he? No, he was just keeping up with his weird obsession with keeping Harry fed. Likely still concerned about the headmaster.

But Mrs. Applewhite, on the other hand… her eyes looked so sad, and her wrinkles more pronounced, as she cajoled Harry.

He was hungry anyway. So he nodded and offered her a timid smile.

"Excellent. And what for tea then?"

"Um…." Harry had never had much of a choice before. If he'd ever had it at the Dursleys, it was black and cheap and not very good. At school the elves took care of it, and he didn't think he could recall having anything too fancy (well, apart from the overly-perfumed stuff Trelawney had served them for tea-leaf readings his third year).

"Green or black? The house breakfast blend isn't bad. Perhaps that?"

Harry nodded. "Breakfast blend. Yeah. Sounds good."

As it turned out, Mathilda Applewhite was one of those pushy older ladies who managed to be very efficient at getting their way, combining ruthless aggression with just enough charm to smooth things over. She managed to call a server over from across the room and put in an order for the both of them—the sandwich platter and some kind of salad for herself as well as a fresh pot of tea. She seemed content to pointedly ignore Snape as she fixed her own cup and chatted idly to Harry about her garden.

Harry was grateful for the reprieve from talking about anything related to his life. He knew it was only temporary, as Snape had all but promised to use this outing to pry information out of the woman, but for the moment he was happy to pretend. Pretend that his potions master wasn't here, hanging over him. Pretend that he was—what? This woman's grandson, maybe? That he was out with her for the day because they did this regularly?

Yes, he could pretend that he was her grandson. That she doted on him and spoiled him, and loved fussing over how thin he was getting because she was his grandmother and that was simply what grandmothers did.

Though how Vernon's mother could ever look at Dudley and say he was nothing but skin and bones was beyond Harry.

Harry asked about the woman's sister (his great aunt in his little fantasy) and Mrs. Applewhite happily prattled on about the ditzy old woman who lived out in Devon. She liked the country, Mrs. Applewhite said, but she liked to take strange ideas into her head and run with them. Just recently she'd decided that she wanted to raise chickens, but hadn't bothered to do any research into the matter. Hadn't even built a coop, so she'd ended up with a gaggle of young chickens squawking about the yard.

"Left droppings everywhere," Mrs. Applewhite chortled. "And then the roosters—three quarters of them were male, you see—the roosters took to crowing in rounds every morning. Drove poor Edna batty, they did. I think she finally sold them off to a local butcher. And good riddance, she told me."

Snape, who'd been sitting quietly until then, content to listen to the conversation, finally spoke up. "Mrs. Applewhite, would it trouble you terribly to answer a few questions about my son for me? I'm afraid I've been terribly misinformed about him and his life, you see, and it seems that you will be one of the few reliable resources I can consult on the matter."

Mrs. Applewhite's expression soured visibly as she turned her stony gaze to Snape. "I'd wager you'd be a touch less 'terribly misinformed' had you bothered to ever drop in on your only child."

Snape did a fair job at affecting a wince. Harry barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the blatant overacting. "Yes," Snape agreed quietly. "I doubt I can ever make up for all I've put the boy through. However, I would like to try, and I feel that the first thing I can do is understand precisely what fate I left him to."

Mrs. Applewhite hmphed to herself. "I suspect asking 'the boy' himself might do wonders there."

Harry stiffened, half-afraid that Snape would do so, right here, right now, just to appease the woman, or perhaps to prove that Harry was petulant and overly sensitive after all.

Snape sighed. "Harry is understandably reluctant to confide in me." The potions master shot him a pointed glance.

What did that even mean? That Harry had better keep quiet now? Or that Snape wished Harry was less reluctant?

"Understandably reluctant indeed," Mrs. Applewhite echoed emphatically, casting a sympathetic look toward Harry. "But I suppose it would be better for you to know."

And that, Harry thought, sounded to him like an apology. Sorry (but not terribly so), but I'm about to tell him everything. Harry hunched down a bit, wrapping his arms as subtly as he could manage around himself, all semblance of appetite suddenly gone.

And then, in a heavy voice, and one too hushed for eavesdroppers to catch, Mrs. Applewhite proceeded to tell Snape everything. And Harry dared not contradict any of it. He couldn't have; Mrs. Applewhite spoke bluntly and truthfully.

Snape, for his part, listened intently, his focus never straying, nodding gravely, occasionally asking a quiet question about this or that incident. His gaze flickered to Harry's every once in a while, as did Mrs. Applewhite's, but neither sought to address him or draw him into the conversation. Which was just as well; Harry was certain that both could tell that he wanted nothing more than to leave.

But this, it seemed, was a serious conversation between adults, and Mrs. Applewhite was not allowing her apparent dislike and distrust of Snape to get in the way of disclosing everything she'd observed over the years.

"Disgusting people," she muttered sometime toward the end, when all their tea had been drunk and only the dregs remained in her cup. "Treated poor Harry like a slave while that useless lump of theirs lazed around, never lifting a finger. I heard Harry pushed him back once, when he was younger—Petunia nattered on about it for ages. Made it sound like he'd maimed the boy." Mrs. Applewhite shook her head to herself. "We didn't see Harry for days, not even out in the garden."

The statement hung like a question, and Snape's eyes on him left Harry little doubt as to whether he'd be answering it. He supposed he should be thankful that he had not been forced to participate more in this, that he'd been able to ignore as much of it as he had.

"She kept me inside doing chores."

Mrs. Applewhite wrinkled her nose. "I'd wager that's not the half of it." Then her voice turned soft and coaxing, almost pleading. "Harry, dear, what did that beastly woman do with you? You can tell us. Better to say, I think, than keep it all inside so much."

Harry did not want to have this conversation. He did not want either of them to think he was looking for pity or sympathy. He wasn't. He just wanted to forget any of those things had ever happened. What did it even matter now? It was over. Snape had said that he wasn't going back.

He shrugged.

Mrs. Applewhite sighed unhappily. "He was always like this as a child too. I never could get him to say much, apart from 'I'm fine' and 'it's not so bad'." She reached over and patted Harry's hand gently. "Maybe someday you'll let us in, hm?"

That made Harry blush fiercely. "Really, it was just chores, nothing…."

"Harry, no one will force you to share anything, but do not insult our intelligence by lying to us."

The rebuke from Snape, mild though it was, seemed to have an unnatural sting to it. To call what he was doing lying…. As though he were being purposefully deceitful rather than omitting unpleasant details that had no bearing on anything.

Because he knew how it would sound to them to hear that he'd been locked in his cupboard when he wasn't doing chores, and that his meals had been restricted. Snape would start harping about abuse again, and it didn't matter, because it was over and done, and neither of them had even been there, and it couldn't have been so very awful because Harry had survived it and he was fine now. And Snape had the gall to tell Harry not to lie about it when all Harry was doing was keeping them from wasting their time and their sympathies.

Mrs. Applewhite abruptly began to gather up her purse. "I need the powder room, and then I'd best be off," she announced, "before my sister thinks I've gotten lost."

Snape nodded to her, his attention shifting back away from Harry. "Thank you again for accepting my invitation. I'm glad that we were able to discuss…matters."

Mrs. Applewhite nodded slowly in agreement as she fished something out of her purse. "Best you hear what your asinine behavior has wrought, yes. And I'm happy to tell you more if need be—"

"There's nothing more to say!" Harry burst in before he could stop himself. He covered his mouth quickly and averted his eyes. He expected an immediate rebuke from Snape if nothing else.

But Snape did not scold him. Still in his repentant father role, Harry supposed, when he heard the man's response. "I know it is uncomfortable, but it is necessary." And then, when there was no immediate reply to that, he said softly but firmly, "Harry." And he waited until Harry had looked up at him.

Harry obeyed, knowing that there would be a sharpness in the man's eyes belied by his even tone.

There was not. "I need the whole truth if I am to understand how to help you."

Harry almost screamed that he didn't need help, but Mrs. Applewhite was nodding approvingly at Snape's words, and Harry really didn't want to get into anything with Snape while she was still there. So he bit his tongue, dropped his eyes back to his knees, and nodded.

"Here." Mrs. Applewhite had evidently found what she was looking for—a plain white business card with a woman's name, number, and street address. And two dreaded words: adolescent psychologist. "My friend Jeannie's daughter works with teenagers who've had a hard run of it. You might want to look her up."

Snape accepted the proffered card with a few murmured words of gratitude. Harry hoped to God it was just for show.

Mrs. Applewhite spared Harry one final, fond look. "You don't hesitate to call if you have the slightest bit of trouble with him, you hear? I'll be ringing to check in on you shortly."

"He doesn't—"

Snape's hand squeezing his shoulder tightly cut him off mid-sentence. "I have not reactivated my line since returning from out of the country, but I shall be rectifying that immediately. Please do call."

"Oh, I will," Mrs. Applewhite promised staunchly. "And you be sure to get in touch with Jeannie's daughter or someone, you hear me? Your boy deserves at least that much from you, after all he's been through." Mrs. Applewhite reached down to pat Harry's hand in his lap. "You take care, Harry dear."

Harry forced himself to lift his eyes, to smile even a little bit. "I will," he promised softly, his voice cracking. "You too."

"Pah, Don't have to worry about an old woman like me. I can hold my own."

Harry believed her. Even Snape seemed to cede to her, recognizing there a stubbornness and sense of determination that even his deadliest of tones could not frighten out of her.

Harry was sorry to see her go. Because now he was alone with Snape again. And as soon as they left this restaurant, as soon as they were away from prying eyes, Harry's reprieve would be over. Snape would no longer have any reason to restrain himself.

And now he was armed with all sorts of dirt from Mrs. Applewhite, with gory details about Harry's miserable life in Little Whinging. Harry could only imagine all the things the man might say now.

Snape left a folded wad of bank notes beneath the check, which had been dropped off at the table some time ago. He glanced over at Harry, his brow arched in a question. "Shall we?"

Harry rose without a word. No sense in delaying, he thought, much as he might like to.

a/n: Thanks, all, for the continued patience. I am writing as I have the chance. We have been short-staffed at work and I have been covering a lot of shifts lately. Also that social life thing I mentioned once. I thank you all again (as always) for the kind words of encouragement and your continued readership. You all make my day. More updates will be on the way eventually! Nothing has been abandoned, I promise!

Cheers,

Mel