Title: Harry Potter and the Summer From Hell

Author: Ladye Black

Warnings: Someone told me the icki-ness wasn't a factor for when someone throws up, so I retract it.

Disclaimer: Of course they're not mine!

Notes: I really wanna thank all the people who have reviewed this fic, you people are a godsend (or whatever higher or non-higher being you'd like to refer to). It's all your support that's kept this fic going, so here's to all of you.

Chapter 8

At precisely seven o'clock, every morning, Severus Snape awoke from a night time's hardly adequate slumber. Damn the sun and a childhood bed that was enchanted to throw you out of it every morning. Snape rolled over and buried his head under a pillow. What was so great about mornings anyway?

Ten minutes later, after deciding that he wasn't going to go back to sleep – he'd tried before and never did – he went to use the facilities that were connected to his room. It was much better than his dungeons, where the bathroom was located several feet down a back corridor from his rooms. He took a shower and then ran through what they had as far as food.

When he finally made it downstairs, another thirty minutes later, he had decided he really wasn't all that hungry and settled for a cup of coffee and some buttered toast. Thank Merlin for caffeine, he thought as he finished his cup and went back for more.

At precisely 9:13 a.m., Harry Potter made an appearance in the kitchen, randomly stumbling and bumping into things. He went over to the coffee pot and studied it through his glasses before deciding that there was, indeed, coffee in the little bugger. Thank God. He clumsily grabbed a coffee mug and poured the remaining caffeinated liquid into it. He then promptly swallowed it in one gulp.

All the while, Snape watched amusedly.

Exactly eleven minutes later, or so the clock on the microwave told him, Potter blinked, looked around, saw his Professor, and greeted him appropriately. "What the hell are you doing up so bloody early in the morning?"

Snape smirked. "Mr. Potter, I am up at exactly seven o'clock in the morning every day," a slight exaggeration. "The question is, why are you up so late?"

Potter shuddered at the thought of being up so early voluntarily. "I'm sixteen, what do you expect? We need our sleep."

Snape ignored the obvious easy answer to Potter's question. "Other than sleep, what else do you expect to do here all day? Might I also remind you that we're stuck here, alone, and unable to use magic."

Potter frowned. "That makes me wonder...how did you know how to use the coffee maker?"

Snape smirked the smirk that he knew infuriated people. It worked wonders on Potter, who took a seat across the table from him and scowled.

"Well?" he pressed doggedly.

"I, too, took Muggle Studies." He hoped that answer was enough.

"Well, yeah, but most Wizard-born forget that stuff as soon as they're out of school." Potter frowned thoughtfully.

Snape half-smiled mysteriously then stood up to put his cup in the sink. "Ah, yes," he finally answered, "but who said I was Wizard-born?"

He left Potter to think about the implications of his statement, and to – most certainly – draw the wrong conclusion. He wasn't even Human.

Deciding to explore the grounds more thoroughly, he headed out the back door where he encountered a small garden just a few feet from the porch. It was overgrown with weeds, but he thought he saw among there some common herbs and spices that could be useful in cooking meals. All the garden really needed was some good care and it would be back to producing its bountiful harvest.

First, it needed weeding; Snape looked down at himself, but not in these robes.

He headed back inside to change into some work trousers and a shirt, but was ambushed by Potter before he made it to the stairs.

"What did you mean?" Well, that was rather abrupt.

"I have no idea what you could possibly mean, Potter." Snape tried to get around the boy, but Potter moved back into the way.

"I meant about what you said about not being Wizard-born." Potter crossed his arms over his chest, clearly expecting an answer.

Snape cursed to himself about not having the height advantage anymore. He and Potter were dead even, with Potter still growing. "I was merely using it as an example, Potter. I did not realize you would take it seriously."

Potter looked unaccountably relieved. "So, you are Wizard-born?" Snape wondered why it mattered.

"What I am," he said firmly as he pushed past Potter, "is of no concern to you." He made his way upstairs, ignoring Potter's call for him to wait.

'Well,' Harry thought as he watched Snape climb the stairs, 'I bollocks'd that one up.' It had been a good opportunity to find out more about the man, unfortunately, Harry had made a mess of it, somehow.

He still wasn't quite sure what he had done wrong, but for some reason it had made Snape mad at him again. He'd also come out of the conversation without learning one thing about his Professor.

The man had talent, he'd give him that. And Harry was more determined now than ever to learn what he could about the mysterious man known as Severus Celaerius Snape.

TBC...

All right, there we go, and so soon! (To me anyway). Er, tell me how bad I did on some of the British terms, if it's bad, I'll definitely change it ASAP.