I fucked up, were the first coherent words that went through Severus's mind as he woke up the next morning, hot and sticky and coated in a layer of sweat under his blanket. The next coherent words were a jumbled mix of swears as he tried to get out of bed and immediately regretted it when his entire body violently protested the motion. Falling backwards onto his mussed bedsheets with his legs hanging off the side, Severus stopped to take a few deep breaths, and then shoved himself off the mattress and onto his feet in one painful movement. His back popped as he did it. And his arms. And hips. Knees.

He allowed himself a few seconds' rest, and then took a step forward, and another, until one of his legs gave out without warning. Severus caught himself on the nightstand, knocking a stack of books onto the floor. He struggled to get himself upright. Breathing hard as though he'd just finished running a mile, he took another hesitant step to test the knee that had crumpled on him. It held steady. Then, pulling himself out of the stale clothing he'd been wearing for a long enough time that he felt ashamed to even think about it, Severus tugged on a fresh set of robes and ventured downstairs to make himself something to eat before the boy could work up the nerve to poison him.

Gryffindor courage, and all that rot.

Severus found the house to be oddly silent, even at a quarter til noon; it put him on edge. He hadn't left Potter in good spirits the night before. Had the boy run off? Was he lying in wait somewhere, watching him? The skin on the back of his neck prickled at the very thought. Allowing himself a surreptitious glance round the room, he fumbled his way to the kitchen on feet that couldn't quite cooperate, straining his ears for any sign of life.

The bundle of blankets on the sofa moved as he neared it. His wand was in his hand before he could so much as intake breath; Severus shaped his lips round an automatic curse—and caught sight of those familiar, abhorrent glasses. His wand clattered to the floor as he forced himself to drop it, lest he do something he might regret.

"What are you doing?" he said lowly, as Potter stared at him with wide eyes, frozen in place on the sofa.

"I'm reading," Potter replied, slowly raising a book out of the pyramid of blankets he'd created.

Severus bent to pick up his wand, even though taking his eyes off the boy made his entire body tense as though preparing for an attack. It was only Potter. Gryffindor recklessness or not, this Potter was not wont to attack others when their back was turned.

(Admitting that did not make him feel bitter. Not at all.)

"Have you eaten?" he asked, keeping his tone cool and unconcerned as he continued on to the kitchen. Severus started a pot of coffee and dropped into the same chair at the stove from the night before.

Potter's voice drifted in from the next room over, just barely loud enough to be heard over the coffeemaker. "Not yet. I found something that looked interesting, and I s'pose it was more interesting than I'd thought…Er—you don't mind me reading your books, do you?"

The boy was acting suspiciously polite. Had he fallen ill? He'd looked poorly the night before, but had it only been from the apparent nightmare he'd had, or had he picked up a virus somewhere? It wouldn't do for Potter to develop an illness on the day of the—visit from—

Severus realized the boy was still waiting for a response. Jerking out of the momentary panic he'd fallen into, he said, "I trust you not to cause property damage, if only marginally."

"So you don't mind?"

"Do not make me repeat myself." Severus stood to pour himself a cuppa. He took a sip and was more than a little annoyed when he found he couldn't taste the coffee, only to remember he'd burned his taste buds off with the tea last night, and became angrier still. He settled himself back into his chair to drink his coffee and stew in self-loathing.

Whatever progress had been made in the last eleven days seemed to have unraveled like a ball of yarn wound too loose. As morning trudged by, Severus couldn't help but notice a dramatic decline to whatever truce he and Potter had made. They weren't speaking beyond the necessities; questions of who was to bathe first, or whether the other wanted food yet—and no matter how blasé Potter acted, Severus could feel the tenseness between them as keenly as he felt the bruises littering his aching body.

He should have known the boy would've eventually asked. He should have expected an interrogation at some point during his stay here, especially after the playground incident, when that woman at Tesco had told the him God only knew what. The fact that he had been completely blindsided the night before was ultimately his own fault.

Potter had found the book from the night before and buried himself in a mound of blankets, presumably in order to have a suitable excuse to ignore Severus, but the plan had seemed to have worked a little too well. Potter had shifted in his seat, knees up past the table, book balanced on his legs as he leaned over it, absently pushing his glasses back up his nose each time they began to slip.

If Potter could only turn that single-minded focus onto his studies, Hogwarts would be a much different place.

It was past one by the time Potter emerged from his book and sat up to stretch and look round sleepily. Severus glanced up from his own book. "D'you mind if I borrow this?" the boy asked hesitantly. "I'll give it back, but it's big. I dunno if I can finish it by the time I leave."

"What is it?" Severus asked, before he could stop himself.

"It's called Snow Crash. By Neal Stephenson."

He remembered that book. He'd bought it some years ago, at a small bookstore in London that he couldn't recall the name of. It hadn't been the idea of the book that had drawn him in—a technologically savvy mafia with a side of virtual reality and narcotics was interesting, he supposed, but not something he had a preference for. But it was something his father would have hated. Severus liked to buy things his father would have hated.

"Heaven forbid I discourage a Potter from reading something," he said in the most sarcastic voice he could muster. "I expect it back by the end of first term."

You're too lenient on the boy, a small voice in the back of his head whispered, but Severus ignored it.

For the first time that day, Potter smiled, a faint and flickering thing before he dragged himself out of his pyramid of blankets and stretched properly. "Thanks. Sir."

It was only when the clock on the mantle struck two that Severus made himself get up and begin preparing lunch. This visit from Lupin and Black was going to be horrific and potentially traumatizing to all, but at least none of them could accuse him of starving Potter. They would even have the pleasure of walking in as their precious godson sat down to eat.

He desperately needed to make another shopping trip, Severus realized as he pried open the fridge and found only a head of broccoli, an inch of milk, and half a jar of pasta sauce. Hadn't he bought noodles some time ago? Opening the cupboards one at a time until he managed to recover an unopened bag of pasta shells, he pulled a clean pot out from within the depths of his cabinets and set it to boil on the stove.

"How is it, then?" he asked without truly meaning to, gesturing to the book the boy had brought with him to the table.

"It's great!" Potter enthused, and immediately launched into a detailed description of the plot and characters, rambling at a speed he'd seen only previously accomplished by Ms. Granger. Severus half-listened as he stirred noodles into the pot and Summoned a bowl and fork onto the counter. "But my favorite is Y.T. Ron would say she's a true Gryffindor."

"Reckless and bordering on stupidity, then?" Severus muttered, but the boy didn't seem to notice.

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would hate this book," he continued on, grinning widely.

Tuney had never been fond of anything that wasn't cold, hard fact; Severus couldn't imagine her marrying somebody who didn't share the same views. A book such as Snow Crash could be considered an accessory to the antichrist in her household.

"Here," he said, setting the bowl of pasta down in front of the boy. "Wait until you've finished to continue reading. I won't have you spilling sauce on my book."

Potter set to devouring his pasta as Severus poured himself a second cup of coffee. Adding enough sugar to send a toddler into the fourth dimension, he took a sip, and then grimaced when he remembered once more that he couldn't taste it. He downed half of it in one go and set the mug aside with a sigh.

"S'wrong?" Potter asked through a half-chewed mouthful of noodles.

"Never you mind."

"Did something happen when you were with Vol—him? Has he made plans yet? Has anything happened? Where is he, anyway?" The boy pushed his bowl aside as he talked, giving his full attention to Severus, who rather wished he wouldn't. "Is he at Draco's house? Is he still in hiding? Has the Ministry—"

"Enough," Severus snapped, shutting him up in an instant. "These are not the sorts of things you should be wondering, Potter. You are a fifteen-year-old boy and should be focusing on fifteen-year-old boy activities. It is not your job to think about war efforts."

"But—"

"Enough, I said." He drained the last of his coffee and reached for the pot to pour himself a third cup when there was a knock on the door. "And that should be Lupin. Late as usual, but I suppose we've all grown to accept that at this point."

"Is it that day already?" Potter asked. "I thought he wasn't supposed to be here until tomorrow."

"There has been a change in plans. Remain seated, and eat your tea."

Leaving the boy there, Severus ventured out into the living room and looked through the spyhole to see Lupin's blurry visage. Sighing deeply, he wrenched the lock aside, and opened the door to find himself looking Arthur Weasley in the face.

For a split second, Severus found himself yet again blindsided, unsure of what to say. He snapped out of it quickly enough to speak before Weasley could open his mouth, saying snidely, "I do believe you have the wrong house. The Ministry is some distance away from here."

"For the record," Remus fucking Lupin murmured from behind Weasley, eyes averted and expression suitably ashamed, "this was in no way my idea."

Black burst into the house without preamble, barking and yipping at a volume his neighbors had likely never heard beyond the sound of their own screaming arguments. Severus didn't hesitate to aim a sharp kick in the mutt's direction as he grabbed both Lupin and Weasley and yanked them inside before slamming the door shut. "Shut up!" he hissed at Potter's disgusting godfather. "Do you want the entire town knowing you're here?"

"Merlin forbid your neighbors think there's a dog somewhere in this shithole," said Black, who'd transformed the instant the door closed—only to be knocked near flat on his ass when Potter raced out from the kitchen to seize him in a hug.

"Sirius! What are you doing here?" the boy wheezed, as Black lifted him clear off the ground with a bone-crushing hug of his own. "I didn't know you were coming!"

"I wanted to surprise you," Black said with a grin, ruffling Potter's hair til it stood on end. "How have you been? I'm afraid we've been running Ron's owl ragged with all of our letters, and by the way, yours haven't had much detail, you know, as if someone's been keeping you from writing—"

"I've not so much as looked at the boy's mail," Severus snarled before he could stop himself.

"All right, let's not start a row before we've even been here five minutes," Lupin said quickly, cutting them all off. He looked uneasy; there were shadows, more prominent than usual, under his eyes. "We're not here for a fight. Remember, Sirius? We're here to see Harry, to check on his Occlumency progress, and ensure the situation is still going smoothly. No more than that."

"Right, right," Black agreed. He still had an arm round Potter's shoulder. He looked round the room, wrinkled his nose, and nodded decisively. "Right. I want to see the storage room."

"Of course," Severus said without skipping a beat, "when hens grow teeth."

"I'm not sure what hens have to do with this, Sniv, but I can arrange that if I need to."

"Get out of my house," he said next. "All if you. Now."

"You spend far too much time at my mouldering pit. You can call this returning the favor, because I believe it's time I've snooped around your mouldering pit." Black ruffled Potter's hair again, looking entirely too smug. Severus wanted to punch him in the fucking face. He resisted the temptation, just barely, and forced himself to instead focus on Lupin, who was still guiltily avoiding his gaze.

The wolf didn't take long to cave at his glaring. "I apologize, Severus," he said, reaching a hand out and then assumably thinking better of it as his arm dropped limply back to his side. "It hadn't been my intention to bring anyone with me today."

"And I'm sorry for arriving unannounced," Arthur cut in. He was fiddling with his crooked glasses. "When Remus mentioned he was going to be visiting today, I convinced him to bring me along."

"Is something wrong?" Potter asked suddenly. He pulled away from Black and straightened out of the sideways slump he'd fallen into while leaning into his godfather. "Why are you all here? Sorry, that was a bit rude, but…"

"We're all just a tad concerned about some of the details we've heard from both Severus and Remus," Arthur said quickly, "but Harry, there's nothing to worry about. Everything is fine."

If possible, Potter looked even more gormless than before. "Details? About what?"

"That's enough," Severus snapped. He didn't need the boy to become fixated on the storage room—not when he knew how to go up the stairs. He would begin Warding the door if Potter showed even the slightest sign of interest. "Potter, go eat your tea."

"But—"

"Now."

The boy had begun to slink off to the kitchen when Black reached out an arm and grabbed Potter by the shoulder. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't order my godson around like a personal slave, Snape. You can stay if you'd like, Harry. You don't need to leave just because Snape here wants to talk about you."

"This is my house, and he is currently under my rules," Severus snarled. "Potter. To the kitchen."

"And he's my godson. Harry, stay," Black said with equal ferocity.

"Everyone calm down," Arthur said firmly, stepping in between the two of them, breaking their line of sight. "We're here to see the storage room, Sirius, and to see Harry—not to have a row with Severus. We're not here to attack him."

"Attack him? No one is attacking Sn—"

"What storage room?" Potter demanded, looking round wildly. "You mean the room upstairs? What's going on? Sirius?"

"To the kitchen," Severus ordered once again, just as Black opened his fat fucking mouth and said, "Arthur came back looking as if he'd seen a Dementor in ol' Snivelly's house, and I'd like to know why. If you're in danger here—"

A boiling surge of hostility and embarrassment erupted in him, ricocheting through his entire body until Severus was no more capable of speaking than he was of turning into an elephant and crushing everyone in the room. "What—did you—tell them?" he managed to ground out after a brief struggle, hands balled into shaking fists at his sides as he fixed Weasley with the most dangerous glare he could muster.

Arthur frowned and adjusted his glasses once more. "I was very concerned, and I told Remus as such. Severus, I've not mentioned anything personal—"

"Then what—is—this?"

"This is a visit to check on Harry's Occlumency progress," Remus said loudly, before anyone else could speak. "Nothing more than that. If you were to allow me—yes, Padfoot, me, not you—to see the storage room, I would be appreciative, but it is by no means necessary. I'm only here to ensure Harry's environment continues to be a safe one. That was the terms of our deal."

Severus forced his breathing to steady. Though there was no doubt in his mind of whether Black would make an attempt to go up the stairs—hopefully breaking his neck in the process—knowing someone else would be there to supervise the bloody creep was…reassuring. "Occlumency is progressing," he said shortly, once he felt capable of speaking at a normal tone. "Potter has—"

"I found out how to kick him out of my head!" Potter burst out.

"Do not interrupt—"

"Really?" Black beamed. "That's wonderful news! You'll be with me, where you belong, before you know it."

He made a soft, frustrated noise without meaning to. Picking up on it, Lupin finally requested that they move to the kitchen so the boy could finally eat his lunch, shooting a pointed look at the mutt when he opened his mouth to presumably protest the motion.

My kitchen is too fucking tiny for this, Severus thought with a faint sense of déjà vu, leaning against the counter and holding back the multiple curses at the tip of his tongue at the sight of Black opening cupboard doors to peek inside.

"Not much to eat," the mutt said.

"I have plans to visit the grocery today, though I fail to see how it's any of your business."

"Lots of dishes in the sink, too. Shabby, too."

"And I'm sure Grimmauld Place is better."

"I'm just saying—"

"Sirius," Lupin snapped, running a hand roughly through his greying hair, "let it be, would you? Harry has been well-fed and has full access to the loo. He's clean and safe. A day's worth of dishes are not going to kill him."

Taking a bite of his likely-cold pasta, Potter nodded and mumbled, "M'all right, Sirius. It's not all bad here."

Unsure whether to feel astonished or vindicated, Severus settled for feeling as though he had a nasty bout of indigestion. "Yes, Black," he said silkily, "it is not all bad here."

Black glowered at him from behind a curtain of hair. Flicking an errant lock away from his face, he asked, "Where's that storage room, then?"

"Sirius—"

"You may view the storage room," Severus said slowly, and allowed himself a twisted grin when both Black and Lupin looked round with startled expressions, "on one condition. I will not tell the boy what your plan here is—seeing as how I have no part in it, of course. If you can sufficiently explain to him what exactly you are all doing here, you may have free reign to search and snoop as you please."

"Ah, well," Remus said carefully, and then looked at Arthur.

"That is…"

Gryffindors, Severus thought bitterly, as none of them would meet his eye, and the room fell silent. Bloody cowards, the lot of them.