Note: I do not own Harry Potter.
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CHAPTER FOUR
Harry woke up at seven o'clock, a full three hours before his scheduled Occlumency lesson with Snape. Sunlight streamed through the dirty window as he dressed. As an after-thought, Harry dug into the bottom of his trunk for the jar of his mother's possessions and sat it on the desk. He tried to imagine her sitting at this desk while she and Snape spoke of their future at Hogwarts, but recalled from Snape's conversation with his father that his childhood room had been the attic. For all Harry knew, this room may have been a simple guest room, or perhaps the bedroom of another relative.
The hall was empty as he opened the door, and Harry took a moment to look more closely at the upstairs arrangement. Across the hall stood a small, functional bathroom, and to his right were two more doors, both shut. At the very end of the hall, a narrow, wooden staircase had been lowered, leading up to a square hole in the ceiling - Snape's old bedroom.
Harry was curious to see it, but didn't want to chance being caught snooping by Snape. Instead, he turned left and headed downstairs.
If he had expected to see anyone in the kitchen, it would have been Tobias. As it was, Harry inadvertantly walked in to see Snape standing over the kitchen sink scrubbing out the dirty dishes from the night before. A piece of half-eaten toast sat on the table, abandoned as the wizard worked in his task.
"Uh... good morning." Harry offered, uncertain how to act in the man's presence so early in the morning.
Snape didn't turn around, didn't return the greeting. "There's not much to eat. You'll have to have toast or beans until my father returns tonight with groceries."
"That's fine." Harry replied quickly. "Toast sounds fine. Where... um..."
Snape pointed to the toaster and bread box with the scrub brush, then returned silently to his task.
The bread had been bought at a muggle grocery store, Harry realized as he recognized the label. He took two pieces and stuffed them into the toaster, and set it to the lightest setting. "Is your father a muggle?" he asked. "I'd always assumed you were pureblood, being Slytherin and all."
"Mr. Potter," Snape began. "Just because you are in my home for the summer does not excuse your impropriety. I am your professor, I deserve a little respect."
"Yes, sir." Harry corrected himself, barely containing the urge to roll his eyes. "Is your father a muggle, sir?"
"Yes, Potter, my father is a muggle." Snape replied. His voice was thick with barely suppressed irritation. "He works at the butcher shop."
This new information - freely given - surprised Harry, who had yet to see evidence of any sort of meat in the house.
"Do try to act a little less surprised, Potter, it's an insult to me as your host."
At that moment, Harry's toast popped up, and he grabbed it quickly, tossing it onto a paper towel. The refrigerator - a small, yellow thing that looked like it had come out of the seventies - was a disappointment to Harry, who preferred his toast with a bit of butter. The contents of the fridge were sparse - a small container of milk, a jar of strawberry jelly, ketchup, and pickles sat on the top most shelf, while the bottle shelf seemed completely dedicated to beer.
Trying to hide his disappointment, Harry took the jar of jelly.
"Where are the butter knives, sir?"
"That drawer to your right." Snape replied, now drying the dishes.
After Harry had scraped a bit of the jelly over his toast, he returned the jar and sat down with his breakfast at the table. It was odd, not having to make breakfast for anyone else, almost as odd as fantasizing about his eleven-year-old mother eating a snack perhaps in the very chair he now sat in. Would Snape have stood by the sink when he was eleven, or would Lily have made him feel comfortable enough to sit down at his own dinner table?
"Aren't you going to finish your breakfast, Professor?" The question was presumptuous, and Harry almost wished to take it back as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Snape looked to the half-eaten toast on the counter as if seeing it for the first time. "Worry about yourself, Potter. I'm an adult, perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
"Will your dad be able to get back into the house on his own?"
"Curious today, aren't you?" Snape sneered. "The wards on the house recognize my father, Potter. They will work for him the same way they work for me."
The nuaunces of ward magic eluded Harry. Blood magic apparently afforded him protection with the Dursleys, because he and his Aunt were related by blood. Grimmauld Place was protected by a Fidelius charm, something that could only be broken by the Secret Keeper. Of the two, Harry supposed blood magic was what had been used to ward the Snape home.
Snape was leaning on the kitchen counter now, staring out the window that looked over the river towards the woods and the park. Slowly, he turned around and looked at his pupil who was licking jelly from his fingers.
The professor was considerably paler than usual, Harry noticed, with the exception of the dark circles that were beginning to form beneath his eyes. The attic bedroom had probably not been comfortable even when Snape had been a boy, and now as a full-grown adult, it was probably less so. It was not so difficult to imagine his own reaction should the Dursleys ever force him back into the cupboard under the stairs - he wondered if Snape felt the same way about his attic.
"Are you alright, sir?" Harry doubted that Snape would admit to being ill, even if he was suffering from the worst influenza the world had to offer. The man was notoriously never sick during the school year, and with his laboratory at his disposal, it was little wonder. Yet, there was something about the man that was decidedly off. Harry had yet to see Snape perform any magic at all since his arrival, and while Snape was often strict about the use of wand-waving in his classroom, it seemed impossible to imagine a wizard restricting the use of his magic inside his own home.
"I'm perfectly fine!"
If Harry longed to yell back at Snape, it was interrupted by the sound of talons scraping against the window pane. Snape whirled around, glaring at the snow-white owl outside. Long fingers unlatched the window and threw it open, letting Hedwig swoop inside and land on the back of Harry's chair.
"Hey there, girl. I wasn't expecting you back so soon!"
"Undoubtedly your little friends are planning to rescue you from the Headmaster's latest scheme." Snape muttered bitterly.
Harry ignored him, removing the parchment from Hedwig's leg. He opened the letter and drank it in, feeling warmth spread throughout his chest as he read what his friends had written. They were happy that he had found some of his mother's possessions, shocked to learn that she had known Snape in her youth, and worried that he would be spending his summer with the reviled Potions Master. Hermione had gone on for nearly four paragraphs speaking of the deplorable behavior Snape had shown with his father, and urged Harry to let them know immediately if the violence escalated.
If only it had stopped there.
He had just begun to read Hermione's half-hearted apology for relaying the information to Mrs. Weasley when a resounding crash echoed throughout the run-down house.
Snape stepped into action before Harry could register what was happening - the older wizard grasped him by the upper arm and shoved him into the far corner of the kitchen. "Don't. Move."
Shocked, Harry was silent as Snape strode towards the wall that separated the kitchen from the parlour, peering around it cautiously. Snape's shoulders relaxed minutely as he shook his head.
"One might think someone of your advanced years would know how to knock." the wizard drawled, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.
"Come now, Severus," Albus Dumbledore replied soothingly. "Surely you can recall what transpired the last time I knocked on your door?"
"What more do you want from me, Headmaster? Potter is already here, if that's what this is about."
Snape turned and walked back towards the kitchen sink, letting Dumbledore enter the room.
"Ah, yes, hello Harry." Dumbledore greeted, eyes twinkling.
"Hello, sir." Harry murmured, looking towards Snape uncertainly. No doubt the professor knew that Harry had told Ron and Hermione everything he'd seen. Why else would Dumbledore suddenly appear, bursting through Snape's front door?
Dumbledore sat in the chair that Harry had been occupying, offering Hedwig a calm pat to the head. When neither Harry nor Snape moved to join him at the table, the older wizard cleared his throat. "I recently received several letters, Severus, concerning your behavior."
"I hardly think this conversation is appropriate in front of a student, Headmaster."
"On the contrary, as it concerns Harry Potter specifically, this conversation is entirely appropriate, and perhaps long overdue." Dumbledore's gaze hardened, leveling Snape with a single glance. "Petunia Dursley seems to think you threw a specimen jar at Mr. Potter last year. Is this an accurate statement?"
Snape wilted, grasping the counter behind him weakly.
"You know... what he did! What he saw! I wasn't... wasn't thinking. Clearly, I wasn't thinking. It was instinctive!"
Harry watched as Dumbledore nodded slowly, his eyes softening somewhat as his focus shifted towards Harry. "I do not blame you, Severus. Harry was not hurt, and I don't believe you intended to hurt him. But you have many burdens, Severus, and it's beginning to show. To make matters worse, Petunia Dursley is threatening to contact the Board of Directors if I don't attempt to punish you for your behavior."
"That woman is an insufferable gossip, Albus!" Snape cried. "Her greatest pleasure is making my life miserable!"
"Be that as it may, Severus, I have no choice. Every day you are to spend one hour with an appointed councilor. I believe muggles call it 'therapy.' It's supposed to work wonders."
"W-what?"
Harry didn't like the way that Snape's face was quickly draining of all color, or the way that his eyes were glittering feverishly. He wondered why Dumbledore was not looking at Snape, wondered if Dumbledore was angry with Snape for his behavior in front of a student.
"I've fixed your front door, Severus." a familiar voice stated softly. "I'm afraid we were a bit forceful."
When Remus Lupin walked into the room, Snape seemed to lose any control over himself he might have had.
"Are you mad?" he demanded, pointing at the werewolf. "You can't honestly expect him to stay here! There's no room, no food, no protection from him here!"
"I've already approved payment enough to generously cover the cost of food, the nights of the full moon we've already arranged for him to stay at Grimmauld Place, and I'm sure that Remus wouldn't mind transfiguring a sofa to sleep on."
"I've slept on much worse!" the werewolf agreed cheerfully.
"No." Snape replied.
"Severus." The tone to Dumbledore's voice was full of warning - Harry didn't doubt that one way or another, Snape would do as he Dumbledore demanded.
"Fine! Have your way!" Snape growled, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. He walked towards Remus almost drunkenly, avoiding looking at anyone in the room at all. "And while you're at it, you can explain this travesty to the old drunk when he returns!"
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