Chapter Six – House Arrest

"Well, I've done it, Snape. You're coming home with me. You'll be escorted to my house this evening, and then wards are going to be put up around the house to keep you…to make sure that you can't cause any more chaos. There won't be any torture, won't be any restrictions on your freedom except for the fact that you have to stay in the house." Harry neglected, also, to add that as soon as Snape confessed, he'd be sent off for trial and sure execution. But Snape had to already know that, and so it wasn't worth mentioning. Unless he was completely insane, and then it was unlikely to matter either way.

Snape stared at him.

Harry smiled. It was going to be awful living with Snape, but he was going to soldier on. It was seeming like less and less of a good idea as time went on, but now that he had committed to it, he could hardly back out. He wasn't happy about it anymore, but that just meant getting the confession out of Snape would be all the more important.

He spent the day preparing his house for Snape's arrival, setting up the spare bedroom for Snape to sleep in, making sure that anything dangerous was disposed of so that Snape couldn't use it, trying to come up with entertainment enough to last him for however long this standoff was going to be. He also got rid of the alcohol; though it might be highly tempting to see if getting Snape drunk would force a confession out of him, there was the similarly dangerous temptation that he himself would drink and allow Snape to get out. Being a borderline alcoholic meant that it probably wasn't the best idea to keep copious amounts in his house, but up until now, it had never seemed a particularly bad idea.

When Snape finally arrived, it was under such heavy guard that it was difficult to fit everyone in the living room. Most of them were sent off to put Snape in the bedroom and keep him there while the wards were put up around Harry's house. It took about an hour and a half to do it, and all the while, Harry grew more and more uncomfortable with the idea. He had never entertained the thought that he might be claustrophobic, but now that he was faced with the prospect of being trapped here, it seemed a far greater possibility.

Finally, though, everyone except Snape was gone. Harry was told that he could call for extra security at any time, and that he was to use it whenever he thought it might be necessary and not wait for an emergency. Harry thanked them, but privately resolved to never do so; the smug looks on their faces when they showed up at his door would just be too much. After all, he was the supposedly great Harry Potter and he could handle one half-mad Death Eater.

The next few days passed in maddening slowness. Snape refused to come down from the bedroom and refused to eat much at all. Getting him to bathe was something that Harry had thought might help Snape's mood, but it had never actually happened, and Harry was certainly not going to bathe the man. He might be willing to do some things for the good of the country, but that did not extend to seeing Snape naked. The very thought made him nearly sick. Snape fully dressed would suit him just fine. Despite his being dressed, though, Harry couldn't help but notice the very evident marks of torture. He didn't want to talk to Severus about it, but he didn't want to just ignore it. It was an impossible subject to discuss, and so he just ignored it.

Most of his day was spent watching television or reading, with occasional forays up to Snape's bedroom to see if he needed anything, or to just have a chat with him. As far as Harry could tell, the man never moved. That had to be impossible, though, as the man had to use the toilet eventually. But after four days, the toilet upstairs had not flushed once. It baffled and worried Harry. No person could go that long without using the toilet while they were still eating – and Harry made sure that Snape ate regular meals, if only to improve the chances that Snape would grow to, if not like him, at least be willing to talk to him.

Day after day, seeing Snape lying in bed, half-sitting up, eyes half-closed, sometimes smirking but more often not, just staring at the wall in front of him. Harry began to draw the conclusion that Snape was thoroughly insane, and so much so that it was unlikely he could ever be forced out of this catatonic state. Nothing that Harry did ever seemed to get through to him, and while Harry really wanted to just stop trying, stop caring, he couldn't help but think that it was all some sort of test. And if Snape found Harry worthy, then he would finally decide to help him.

But he knew that he was just fooling himself. There were two possibilities. The first was that Snape was insane and incapable of answering him. The second was that this was all some twisted game that Snape was playing, and if that was the case, Harry felt it unlikely that just being nice would win Snape over.

So the days dragged on. Harry pined for his lost alcohol, and consoled himself with his newfound nicotine addiction. He ate hardly more than Snape, because he couldn't see the point. He stopped talking to Snape, because it just seemed pointless. Three times a day, he would take food up, and on those occasions, he would mention something about confessing, but Snape just sat there and stared at him, and did not touch the food until Harry was out of the room.

If this kept up, Harry was going to be insane soon as well.