They would Apparate back to Spinner's end. Snape led Harry to a disused alley down a quiet street.
Harry managed to gather up the courage to address Snape before the man grabbed him for the journey. "Sir," he began hesitantly, "about… listen, I don't have any spare cash on me, but if we could just stop by Gringotts for a moment—"
A hesitant glance up at Snape allowed Harry to catch the barest glimpse of the man's expression softening. Not much, and not for long before any hint of emotion was wiped away behind a blank mask, but it was enough. More pity.
"It won't be possible today," Snape cut him off quietly, his words firm and even. "Such a trip would require more preparation than we have made for the trial, likely Polyjuice or some similar measure. It will simply have to wait for another day."
Harry nodded. He didn't like being in Snape's debt for any amount of time (though by his reckoning it was less than ten quid, so nothing terribly much, but still). Part of him was grateful that Snape was actually being gracious about this, even if this whole lunch had been sprung on Harry.
As if he'd read Harry's mind, Snape murmured, "I know you would prefer to take care of matters as quickly as possible. I regret that today is not possible, but we should be able to make arrangements in the near future, especially seeing as you will be needing to purchase school supplies shortly."
Harry nearly scoffed at the thought of Snape taking him shopping in Diagon Alley. Oh, that would be a delightful trip. His one wizarding outing for the summer ruined by having to spend it with Snape.
"What is it?" Snape demanded, an irritated edge reemerging in his voice.
"Nothing—"
"You look as if I've kicked your favorite puppy. Out with it."
Harry sighed and carefully turned away from Snape. The man was bloody irritating. "I usually get my things with Ron and Hermione. Sir," he added hastily, realizing belatedly how petulant and spoilt he sounded. Wanting to give the man no excuse to chew him out, he continued, "It's not a big deal, of course. I just look forward to spending time with them, is all—"
Another furtive glance at Snape found the man looking at him with a decidedly odd expression, his head cocked just slightly to the side. "You will be free to spend the day with them as always. I would think it would be better, even, for you to have necessities purchased and stowed away, so that you might spend more time perusing the… recreational shops." Those last words positively dripped with disdain, and Harry had little doubt which establishments Snape meant. Zonko's, the Quidditch stores.
But that promise puzzled Harry. "But I won't have to go at all if I already have my things together."
Snape just stared at him blankly. "Clearly you wish to go, however."
Harry shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter. It didn't, he reminded himself. Ron and Hermione had barely written after all. They seemed to be on the outs anyway. And he'd see them plenty at school.
Apparently exasperated, Snape rolled his eyes and seized Harry roughly by the upper arm. "I am not going to forbid you from going with them for sheer spite, Potter. When the time comes we will make arrangements. Now hold on tightly."
Harry didn't know why Snape was promising something he didn't have to, especially an outing that Harry knew very well might have some risks. Nor did he know where he was supposed to "hold on" to. But he supposed that the man's shirt would have to do, since he didn't seem about to release Harry's arm.
And then they'd Apparated directly back into Snape's parlor. Snape's grip remained firm for a few moments as Harry found his feet after the disorienting sensation, then dropped away.
"I take tea at five," Snape said suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere. "In the sitting room." He'd folded his arms back over his chest, his expression dour once more.
"Um… okay." Harry wasn't entirely sure how to interpret that non-sequitur. Well, likely he was being assigned a chore. He'd always made the tea for his aunt in the afternoons that he was home. Sometimes for all the neighbors too, when Petunia felt like showing off her charity case. It was actually a ritual Harry enjoyed, and he thought that he would be glad for the break from the monotony today. After all, re-reading his old textbooks was quickly losing appeal, and he knew better than to ask if he could leave the claustrophobic little house.
"At the moment, I've some brewing to see to, and then a few errands to run. I trust you can see to yourself while I'm out?"
Harry nodded, his thoughts already beginning to stray. He supposed he could pick up the yard. He'd never minded being outside and doing small projects like that, and it would be nice to keep his hands busy. That, and he had a feeling that he would need some way to keep from being overwhelmed by memories of everything that had occurred that morning.
Particularly… oh God. Snape knew everything—well, not everything, but significantly more than he'd previously learned. He knew details now, because Mrs. Applewhite had wanted to help. Because the woman had not understood that Snape was a sadist with his own agenda.
Snape cleared his throat lightly, startling Harry out of his spiraling thoughts. "You are still upset that I spoke with your neighbor."
Harry closed his eyes, willing his flaring temper to subside. "There was no reason for you to ask about—"
"There was, regardless of whether you wish to acknowledge it or not. Now, I will be meeting with the Headmaster and other members—"
"Members? Of what?" Harry cut in. The Board of Governors? Had they been thinking about expelling Harry? It wouldn't surprise him. Snape likely would have pushed for it back when he believed Harry really had committed a felony.
Snape heaved a sigh. "All will be revealed soon. And believe me when I say that I find not explaining everything to you immediately to be as asinine a plan as you likely find it. Suffice to say that your well-being is of concern to a number of people, and as involved parties—"
"No, there are no involved parties. I'm sick of people mucking around in my life like it's any of their business—"
"You are a minor by both Wizarding and Muggle law," Snape informed him coolly. "Your previous guardians have been found to be unfit, and we are in the process of determining what might be done for permanent guardianship—"
"Not the Weasleys," Harry all but growled, retreating a few steps toward the corner of the room. He knew how sullen he must look, but he didn't really care. "And I'm almost seventeen anyway. Can't I just get—what's it called? Emaciated?"
Snape rolled his eyes to the heavens. "Emancipated." The idiot was, at least, left unspoken. "The Ministry is not likely to support it given the events of this past summer, and should they find out that you are in a vulnerable position before arrangements can be made, it is likely you will be taken into Ministry custody. I trust I do not have to explain to you why that is not a desirable outcome."
Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and directed his gaze to the pattern of the worn wooden floor. "So what, a bunch of you have secret council meetings about my life and what should be done with me?"
A glance up told Harry that Snape's expression had soured considerably. "We discuss far more than you, Potter, but since you are unfortunately at the heart of matters more often than not—"
"It's not like I ever asked to be put there, you know," Harry cut in heatedly. "I never wanted to be the Harry Potter. And if he hadn't come after me I probably wouldn't be—"
"Enough." It sounded as though Snape's patience had finally snapped. "I am not going to sit here and listen to you bemoan the fact that you have a group of adults concerned about your welfare—"
"Oh, yeah, real concerned," Harry drawled out, his own temper boiling over in kind. He raised his head to glare at Snape. "They've been checking in on me all this time, haven't they? Harry gets fed through a cat flap—well, that's no big deal! Harry's not allowed his textbooks during the summer because they're for freaks? Oh, he can just cram everything in on the train, or at the Burrow if we let him go! Harry doesn't need clothes of his own, Harry doesn't need to eat every single day. But the moment there's the possibility that the public will be involved because I got sent into the system, well, that's too much, can't have word getting out about that. I'm glad that no one's consulting me on anything too! It's not like I have thoughts or feelings of my own!"
Harry could see that Snape's jaw was clenched tightly, and the man's hands had balled into tight, angry fists at his side. "You do not know everything, and you will not know everything until it has been deemed appropriate to tell you—and for good reason, though you are clearly incapable of appreciating that there might be more complex factors—"
"Bullshit." Harry liked the way that coarse word rolled off his tongue, cutting through the air. "That's a fucking load of bullshit and you know it. You just don't want to involve me because I might be difficult, or not agree with all of you intelligent, caring adults about my own goddamn life. But fine, make your plans. It's not like I can stop you."
Snape seemed to force himself to draw a deep breath. To Harry, it still looked as though he was containing his temper by a thread only. "I will be meeting with he Headmaster and other concerned parties, such as your godfather." Snape gave him a pointed look.
"I don't want him involved," Harry muttered, retreating another step back. He just wanted to run up to his room and slam the door, maybe lock it if he could (as a symbolic gesture of course, since no muggle bolt was going to keep a competent adult wizard out). "He doesn't even know me."
"Under different circumstances he would be your guardian." Harry could tell it cost the man something to be able to grind out a sentence about Sirius that was so bereft of insults and derogatory commentary.
"Well, that doesn't mean he'd be a good one, does it? He's reckless and impulsive and he doesn't even know what I'm like, except that I play Quidditch and I look like my dad. He's got no business making any decisions for me." And you hate him, so why wouldn't you want him to be denied guardianship? Harry added mentally.
"Lupin, then—"
Harry scoffed. "Couldn't be bothered to send me a letter, until he decided I needed to be chewed out. Same with the Weasleys. Yeah, they're nice, sure, but they don't know me. And they don't have any business sticking their nose into things. I guess Professor Dumbledore had custody of me when I was a baby or something, because he was the one who took me to the Dursleys. So I suppose there's nothing to be done about that, though it was a pretty fucking awful decision if you ask me—"
"He thought he was doing what was best for you," Snape cut him off stiffly, the words hissed through gritted teeth. "We all did. You needed the protective magics more than you could possibly imagine, being responsible for the downfall of the Dark Lord as you were. You believe it was so easy, I take it, that there were so very many options when we suddenly found ourselves with an orphaned infant with a host of Death Eaters hell-bent on murdering him. I suppose you believe the Headmaster did not exhaust his options? That he dumped you on their stoop without a second thought?"
"Fine, he did the best he could! And he will again, I'm sure! And I just have to bloody deal with it, because life's not fair, and it's my fault for not saying anything sooner anyway, isn't it?"
That thread of self-control snapped. Snape's voice turned deadly cold. "No one said anything of the sort. Your lack of perspective is appalling, though not surprising in the least. Everything is about you, isn't it, Potter? These people you expect to give you their undivided attention could not possibly have been struggling with other things. Lycanthropy. Seven other children and financial stress. Dementors. How dare they not drop everything in their lives to cater to you?"
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but there was no sound, no air there to form words. He felt as though he were a balloon, and Snape's words had been a knife that had sliced clean through him, leaving him to float for a moment longer on that mass of anger before sinking straight down and crashing against the ground.
Because damn it, the man was right. As angry as Harry was, as much as he wanted to be angry, he knew that what Snape had said was true. Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin… they all had demons they were facing down. Hell, Harry had caused the Weasleys enough stress in his second year alone. It was a miracle Mr. Weasley had only been fined and not fired completely for the flying car incident. Mrs. Weasley knew Harry had done stupid things before. And Lupin had tried to be understanding. And Sirius… Harry was still angry with Sirius, but the man had lived with Dementors for twelve long years. Could Harry really blame him for being a pessimist and assuming his godson had gotten into some legal trouble?
Harry was ashamed then. Ashamed because he did have people who cared about him, people who'd wanted to support him, even if that was by lecturing him about his behavior. And he'd all but spat on that and called it nothing. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach.
He didn't know what to say, how he could answer. He just wanted to hide then and be alone with his self-loathing.
"What, nothing to say for yourself?" Snape taunted, a familiar snide edge reemerging in his voice.
Harry swallowed thickly, then forced out a rasped, "No, sir." He had to swallow again past his tight throat before he could get out the rest of his words. "You're right. I…. May I be excused?" The words were automatic, ingrained in him after years spent in the Dursleys' company, the only way he might get to escape to his cupboard as a child without being shoved in there by Vernon or Petunia.
"Potter," Snape began, but then he hesitated. The awkward silence stretched for a moment, so thick that Harry felt as though he could scarcely breathe. He hoped the man wouldn't tear into him again. God, he hated when Snape was right about things.
But Snape didn't. The silence just continued to hang there, heavy and unbearable.
"Please, sir," Harry whispered at last.
"Go." The command was surprisingly faint from Snape, brittle rather than sharp.
Harry needed no further command than that. He fled. And he could hear Snape cursing behind him. Probably fed up with Harry again.
Harry shoved the door closed behind him when he reached the bedroom and sank face-first into the bed, wishing with all his heart that the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach would go away.
Snape was an utter bastard, he reminded himself. The man hated Harry. He was unfair and blind and far from perfect himself. In fact, considering how nasty he'd been over the years, Harry decided he had no place in speaking at all. Who was he to criticize Harry? To judge Harry's pain and frustration?
But damn it, the man was right. Harry had been acting like a petulant child, and maybe he had some entitlement to do so after everything that had gone on, but even so, he liked to think that he was better than that. Better than hating people just because they'd misjudged him, likely because of information they'd received from the highly trusted Albus Dumbledore. And all of them had enough to be dealing with outside of Harry. None of them had asked to be even remotely responsible for him.
That didn't mean, of course, that their accusations in those letters stung any less. It just meant that Harry had been stupid to expect so much of them. He'd never spent much regular time with any of them, after all. A few weeks at the Burrow, a few letters from Sirius, a year of classes with Remus… none of it amounted to very much, really.
And at this rate, he wouldn't get much time in with whoever was to be his new guardian either, since he was obviously to be stuck with Snape for the rest of the summer.
Harry banged his head a few times into his pillow. He hated himself for this anger—anger that seemed to spring up out of nowhere sometimes, anger that swept him up and carried him into hating people who'd been nothing but good to him. And he hated Voldemort for robbing him of so much.
But mostly he hated the Universe itself for seemingly conspiring to screw him over time and time again.
XXXXX
Snape left shortly after Harry retreated to his room. In the small, creaking house, he was able to hear the definitive roar of the Floo. Harry didn't even care where the man was going; he was just glad to be alone.
He could not shake the twin feelings that threatened to swamp him—anger, and shame. The two seemed to chase each other around in the pit of his stomach, round and round, cresting occasionally, and when they did there was nothing to do but pull his knees a little more tightly against his chest and wait for the feeling to ebb again.
It would start with sheer indignation—after all, didn't he deserve some damned support? Hadn't he muddled through enough in his life without anyone really at his side? Was it so much to ask for some consideration in this whole guardianship process? Was he doomed to be alone for the rest of his miserable life?
And that—the thought of loneliness—was usually what gave way to the shame. After all, why was he so special? Plenty had it worse. Here he was, a wizard, a Seeker, a young man with a vault full of gold, enough that he suspected he would be set for a good amount of time after Hogwarts, someone with friends and a godfather, someone who regularly met with one of the greatest wizards of their time, and he was unhappy because his summers were awful. He was complaining because not every detail of his life was to his liking. And it was then that Snape's words would come back to haunt him, ringing in his mind, clanging against his skull. Everything is about you, isn't it?
He would burrow his head deep into his pillow then, and wish away his miserable existence. Everything was about him, just not in any way that mattered. Harry Potter—everything was always about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the child hero, the baby who vanquished the Dark Lord. There was never any time for Just Harry, though. And then it was back to the indignation.
It was an exhausting cycle, one that left Harry drained and aching. Finally he just slid into a defeated slumber, having no energy left to cope with the thoughts that were consuming him.
XXXXX
Harry awoke sharply with a mild headache to a sharp knock on his door. When he blinked his eyes open, he found that the light had shifted significantly. Late afternoon had passed into the dull glow of early evening. He must have slept for several hours—and his dry mouth and growling stomach attested to that.
"Potter?"
Harry sighed to himself. Snape had returned, joy of joys. He groped for his glasses, which he'd settled on the nightstand, as he managed to rasp out, "Coming."
The door cracked open. Snape did not look angry at least, and his typical sneer was conspicuously absent.
Harry prayed that whatever the man had to say would be short.
"You were able to rest?" he inquired evenly, the question surprisingly polite.
Harry pushed himself up from the bed, wishing that his clothes weren't so rumpled now. He felt stupid, staring Snape down now in his mussed dress clothes. "Yeah—yes, sir."
Snape nodded once, looking almost—approving? "I imagine you did not sleep well last night."
Harry grit his teeth so that he would not snap back at that comment. What the hell did it matter to Snape? He'd done his bit today, hadn't he? It wasn't like he'd been a half-awake idiot bumbling around during the hearing.
"Meet me downstairs. We've a few things to discuss."
Harry bit back a sigh and nodded—not that it mattered, as Snape had already turned in a flourish of dark robes, redonned, Harry imagined, for whatever important meeting he'd rushed off to. He ran a hand through his mussed hair, wishing more than ever that he could just go back to sleep and lose the rest of the day that way.
Instead, he unbuttoned his dress shirt and slipped out of his tie, trying not to focus on the memories both items brought back—the kindnesses that he didn't understand. He dumped both items in his trunk, and slipped out of his trousers as well, swapping the black dress slacks for jeans and pulling on one of Dudley's nicer jumpers, a navy blue one that only had a small bleach stain at the bottom of it.
He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to think about what "things" Snape would want to talk over. Likely just a rehash of their earlier conversation—that there were things that Harry couldn't be told, that Harry had no say in where he spent his life outside of Hogwarts, that Harry was an ungrateful twit with no concept of how fortunate he really was. And then likely he'd be made to eat, even though he'd rather just burrow back under the covers and wallow some more in his own misery.
But he didn't want to provoke Snape. He'd learned long ago that antagonizing the adults in charge of his life only bred problems. So he forced himself to make the trudge downstairs.
Snape was waiting for him in the sitting room, perched on the edge of his winged armchair, one leg crossed over his knee. He was staring into the fire in the grate, absently tapping what appeared to be a sheaf of parchment against his thigh. When Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, the man at last glanced up at him, his expression still that unreadable blank mask.
"Sit." He gestured to the sofa, positioned before the fire and to the left of his own place.
Harry did, fighting all the while to wrestle his resentment back under control.
Snape's eyes returned to the fire, and he resumed the maddening tapping of his parchment bundle. "You did very well today, especially considering the trying circumstances you faced."
The words were nonsense to Harry at first. His brain, he felt, didn't have the context to process them, and it took a few seconds of owlish blinking for him to finally unravel the statement as a compliment. And a few more seconds of staring dumbly at Snape, waiting for the sneer or a sarcastic rejoinder to follow, something that would turn that compliment into something he could understand.
But the sarcasm never came, and Snape never did turn to face Harry after delivering those words.
Harry managed to choke out, "Thanks."
Which elicited a curt nod from Snape as an acknowledgment. Then the Potions Master continued in a brisk tone, "I spoke to the Headmaster this evening about your concerns regarding your custody arrangements, and he agrees that your input should at the very least be considered, if not adhered to. You are temporarily in his custody, and mine by proxy, but more permanent arrangements will have to be hammered out by the end of the summer. Your options are, unfortunately, limited, but Professor Dumbledore has offered to assist you with any inquiries you should like to make in that realm."
Harry found himself staring again, all semblance of speech utterly escaping him. "You—what?"
Harry saw Snape's free hand clench the armrest of his chair more tightly. "Do I need to repeat myself?" he demanded testily.
"No, I just—why did you…? I mean, I thought you didn't think I should have any say—"
"Again, you twist my words in your mind and turn them into something ludicrous," Snape growled, this time his eyes shifting over to sear Harry with an irritated glare. He stood up abruptly and paced over to one of the bookshelves, his hands locking behind his back in a formal, professorial posture, one Harry had seen many times when the man was lecturing. "I may have expressed irritation at your petulance and your inability to recognize that there might be a need for keeping you out of these meetings, but I have never advocated treating you as a child incapable of making decisions. In fact, I believe I very clearly stated that I disagree with the way you have been treated by the Headmaster, though I recognize that it is not my decision to disregard his strictures."
Harry could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. Snape disagreed with Dumbledore? He was siding with Harry on this? But the man still sounded irritated—prickly, angry even, which was certainly not a good thing. It was time to attempt to smooth things over.
"Of course, sir." There, kowtowed and deferential—nothing to raise Snape's ire any further. "I'm sorry I misunderstood—"
"Don't."
Harry flinched involuntarily as Snape whipped around suddenly, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a harsh line.
"Do not"—he jabbed a finger in the air toward Harry—"try to soothe me as if I were your oaf of an uncle. You do not need to manage me."
Harry's mind went blank with panic. He'd made things worse, damn it! Of course, because Snape was many unpleasant things, but he was also brilliant, and would see right through Harry's efforts to placate him and—how in the hell had he known about Vernon anyway?
"How—"
"How do I know about how carefully you had to tread around that waste of flesh?" Snape finished for him, his voice utterly cold. "I paid your relatives a visit this evening." Snape grimaced, then turned back to his bookshelf, his hands locking back behind his back.
Harry wanted to be angry. He wanted to roar out his fury; he wanted the room to flare with magic as it had on that awful night not too long ago. As it was, though, the thought of Snape knowing so much, more than just what Mrs. Applewhite had told him, made Harry go weak at the knees. It was a good thing he was already sitting down.
"You talked to them?" Harry asked faintly.
Snape snorted. "I wouldn't waste my breath on the likes of them. I was interested in the details of your lived experience under their care, not their lies and denials."
Harry was afraid to ask, but he had to. He had to know. "What, then? What did you do?"
"I Legilimized them." And then, before Harry could demand an explanation of that unfamiliar term, Snape clarified, "I read their minds."
The full implication of that statement hovered over Harry, just beyond his grasp. But he knew when it hit him it would hit hard. He needed to leave. He needed to be alone. "Was—was there anything else you needed, sir?" he forced out.
Snape did not answer immediately. He continued to study the bookcase for some time, before finally turning and striding over to Harry. He dropped the bundle of parchment in Harry's lap and explained shortly, "Letters for you. I ask that you reply to them at your earliest convenience, so that I am not accosted by the Weasley brood, your godfather, and Lupin the next time I attend a gathering." And with that he paced away again, his gait stiff and agitated.
Harry automatically clutched the stack of letters, tied together, he now saw, with a bit of twine. He could not determine how to feel about this—further correspondence. A small part of him wanted to just pitch them into the fire and be done with them.
"I left your dinner on the table in the kitchen. And as your book list for the coming year has been finalized, we will be going to take care of your purchases tomorrow in Diagon Alley, and likely a bit of clothes shopping in London. We will leave directly after breakfast, so be certain that you are ready."
Harry fingered his letters nervously. "Sir, I still have to get money from Gringotts, and if we have to use Polyjuice—"
"We will not be stopping at Gringotts. Other arrangements have been made."
Harry clutched the letters tighter. "But sir—"
"You will be able to purchase everything you need without withdrawing anything," Snape clarified. "The Headmaster and I have made other arrangements. Besides, it is common for witches and wizards to make purchases and authorize later withdrawals from their Gringotts account."
Harry bit back his complaints. After all, he could always settle his debt to Snape some other time. It was only a few pounds, after all. He would just note it down.
Yes, note it down and try not to think too much about everything that Snape must have seen. Had he incapacitated the Dursleys first? Was it illegal for a wizard to read the minds of Muggles? How much of Harry begging and pleading with Vernon had he seen? And Dudley—had the man read his cousin's mind too? Had he seen all those humiliating childhood incidents? Dudley sitting on him, Dudley beating him to a pulp, Dudley getting Harry into trouble with Petunia….
"May I go?" Harry mumbled. He could feel how hard his hand was crushing his letters, crinkling them so that the sharp edges of the rumpled parchment dug into the tender flesh of his palm.
"There are a few more matters."
Harry just barely suppressed his frustrated moan. He needed to be away. He needed… he didn't know. But whatever it was, it was not lingering here.
"On the table there." Snape did not turn to indicate what he meant, and at first Harry did not see because the object in question nearly blended into the dark wood of the coffee table.
But then Harry saw it. A familiar length of holly, nondescript to anyone outside of the wizarding world. It made Harry's heart leap straight into his throat, though, and before he could stop himself he was snatching up the wooden rod and reveling in the gentle warmth he felt infuse his hand as his fingers and palm made contact with the handle.
"You will use it for nothing stronger than simple spells and charms, and you will not misuse it, or I will confiscate it and it will remain in my safekeeping for the remainder of the summer."
Harry was tempted to cast a quick spell then and there—a lumos, at the least. But he knew better. And Snape knew better, too, which was why the man's words made no sense whatsoever. "Sir, I'm underaged—"
"And the Trace will signal spellcasting in areas bereft of other magical activity. As this location is thoroughly warded against any such signals, the Ministry will not be alerted, so long as you do not cast any powerful spells. Therefore, you are allowed, as I said, to cast minor spells so long as you are within the bounds of the property, and so long as you can use your magic responsibly."
Harry instinctively clutched his wand to his chest. Snape was toying with him, wasn't he? Hoping to get him expelled? "It's illegal, sir," Harry stated in quiet, firm tone.
Snape at last turned back to face him, his special brand of sneer finally reemerging. "Yes, because I'm certain none of your little friends have ever cast so much as a spell outside the hallowed halls of Hogwarts. Remind me how many of them have been expelled?"
Harry glared back at Snape. "The Ministry hates me right now! Why the hell would I take a chance? Is this—is this some kind of test? I know better than to do any magic, unless it's a life or death situation! Okay?"
Snape sighed and, closing his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Ministry will not find out, but believe what you will."
"Can I go now?"
Snape nodded into his hand. "Go. Eat dinner. And reply to your letters!"
Harry scowled and shuffled back from the man, his temple pulsing suddenly at the high-handed command. What business of it was Snape's whether he answered any of these messages or not? He was through with most of the people who would bother writing him. He wasn't about to waste his time scribbling out half-hearted replies to them. And besides, how the hell was he to send his replies out anyway?
"I don't even have Hedwig here," he muttered to himself, keenly aware of how petulant he sounded.
"Your owl will be arriving shortly. It was instructed that she be sent from the Weasley home this evening. Leave your window open."
Harry's heart leapt into his throat at the thought of Hedwig here. To have one friend in this house… he might make it through the summer yet. He almost dashed straight back up the stairs, but Snape's hard voice stopped him.
"Dinner, Potter!"
Harry swallowed thickly and revised his course, heading instead for the kitchen. Still, his heart felt a little lighter knowing that Hedwig was on her way. Perhaps part of it too was the familiar warm wood of his wand handle against his palm. The letters… the letters were less promising. But Harry decided he would deal with them later.
Dinner first. And then he would deal with everything he had just learned, and work on untangling the complex knot that was Snape.
A/N: Thanks as always for your patience. I was promoted at work, and things have been a little busy and hectic with the schedule change that involves. I'm hoping to get an update for Snape's Promise and For Lily's Sake up very soon here (hopefully as an early Christmas gift!). As always, thanks for your continued support and all the beautiful comments. They make my heart smile. Cheers! ~mel