A tapping noise at the window woke Harry from a restless slumber.
He fumbled around for his glasses, jamming them onto the bridge of his nose as he sat up and looked around, disoriented.
It was the blue hour before dawn, and he was in Mr. Snape's spare room.
A whirlwind of thoughts and recollections from the day before swept through him like a maelstrom — the brief trip to the Dursleys', their return to Spinner's End, the hours sitting at the table, his fight with Mr. Snape in the potions lab…and, worst of all, he cringed as he vaguely remembered waking up from a nightmare last night, Mr. Snape looming in the doorway.
He wracked his mind for details about the event, but it was blurred by a haze of sleep in his memory. As far as he could remember, Mr. Snape had performed a spell to fill Harry's glass with water, and then he'd stormed off, an odd, strained look on his face.
At least he hadn't shouted at Harry or grabbed him and shook him like Uncle Vernon usually did. But Harry would probably face some sort of punishment this morning for causing such a disturbance last night. And it was humiliating to think that the man had seen him in such a state — he must've been crying out or thrashing loudly to draw the man's attention.
Harry sighed, glancing at the clock, noting that it was just after six. He wished that it was earlier — that he had more time before he had to get up and leave this room and face Mr. Snape again. It wasn't very Gryffindor-ish of him, but he was tired. Tired of always looking over his shoulder, wondering what would happen to him next. The solace he'd felt during the week of staying at his mum's house had completely faded, replaced by a leaden weight of constant anxiety in his stomach.
The scratching noise started up at the window again, and Harry jolted, remembering why he'd woken up in the first place. He let out an eager gasp as he tugged the curtain open — he recognized that noise!
"Hedwig!" He exclaimed, the joyful word bursting out of his mouth too loudly in the early morning calm. He clapped a hand over his mouth, waiting tensely to see if thundering footsteps would echo in the hallway and draw nearer to his room.
But even as he waited with bated breath, he couldn't stop a massive grin from breaking out across his face as he saw his faithful companion standing on the windowsill, hooting quietly to be let in.
When a moment had passed, he opened the window as quietly as he could. Fortunately, the wards that Mr. Snape had set to keep the windows locked the first night seemed to have faded, and Hedwig fluttered inside, landing on his shoulder. She seemed torn between irritation, worry, and relief at seeing him, alternating between glaring at him, pecking him, and trying to groom his untidy hair.
"Hi, girl," he said softly, gently stroking her head. "I'm so sorry you were on your own for so long. You won't even believe what's been going on since I left the Dursleys."
She squinted at him appraisingly, and then gave him a sharp nip as though to say — I'm mad at you, but I suppose I forgive you. She held out one foot, and Harry noticed that she was carrying a thick packet of letters.
He hurried over to his trunk, digging around until he found a packet of owl treats, pouring out a generous helping on the desk for Hedwig to enjoy.
Something deep within his chest unclenched as he untied the letters, recognizing Ron and Hermione's handwriting on the envelopes.
Clutching the stack of parchment as though his life depended on it, Harry climbed back into bed, laying down so that he could shove the letters under his pillow if he needed to.
Harry,
The first letter in the stack, dated from about a week ago, was written in Ron's untidy scrawl.
I'm getting seriously worried, mate! I've told Mum that you don't seem to be getting my letters, and she said you're more than welcome to come stay with us. But she also said that you can't just run away from home, and you have to have permission from your relatives to come here. So can you ask them? My house is kind of crowded, but there's loads of room to play Quidditch in the garden. Fred and George always want to play on the same team, Percy refuses to play, and then I get stuck with Ginny. Don't get me wrong; she's decent, but Fred and George are older so it's not fair. We could really use you on our team!
And it would be better if you come stay with me instead of with Hermione — she's been sending me timetables to complete my summer homework, and I don't have the heart to tell her I haven't cracked open a single textbook yet.
Anyway, don't tell anyone, but Fred and George have come up with a plan to rescue you if we don't hear from you, so WRITE BACK SOON!
-Ron
Harry found himself simultaneously beaming and blinking back tears as he finished the letter. It had been nearly a month since he'd last seen his friends, and he missed them like he missed Hogwarts. He could almost hear Ron's voice as he read the missive — the friendly concern, the mentions of Quidditch, the complaints about Hermione's homework obsession — it all felt like home.
He quickly read through the rest of Ron's missives, which contained letters urging him to reply or come visit and sharing anecdotes about life at the Burrow. It sounded cozy and fun there — Ron recounted Fred and George's latest pranks on Percy, Ginny's preparations for Hogwarts, and a recent visit from their oldest brother Bill, who'd pierced his ear and gotten a new tattoo, much to Mrs. Weasley's dismay.
Hermione's messages were equally representative of her personality.
Harry,
Ron and I are growing very concerned that you haven't written. I rang your relatives' phone number, but when I asked for you, your aunt told me that nobody named Harry Potter lived there and then she hung up on me. I tried calling again, but I'm with my parents in Morocco right now, and we don't have a good phone connection to the UK.
If you need help and you can't get our owls — or if something is wrong with Hedwig — you should contact the muggle authorities for help. Please take care of yourself, Harry!
I'm learning so much here — there is a version of Diagon Alley here in Marrakesh, and I visited the local archives to learn more about the history. Do you remember the article Professor Binns assigned us to read about the Goblin War in 1538?
Here there was a long paragraph about goblin history that Harry skimmed over, mentally promising his friend that he'd go back and read it later when he was in a more studious frame of mind.
…bought two books on the topic and will lend them to you. Anyway, speaking of books, have you completed your summer homework yet? I finished all of mine last week, but I'm very concerned about section IV of McGonagall's essay. How did you address the prompt about the theoretical differences between conjuration and banishment of items?
What did you get for question 7 in Astronomy?
Write as soon as you're able. I'm having fun here, but I miss you and Hogwarts very much.
Love,
Hermione
Harry smiled as he flipped through the rest of her letters, which contained similar urging to contact the authorities if he needed help, academic treatises about Morocco, and fretting over homework.
These letters hadn't fixed any of his problems, but at least they made him feel less alone. He rummaged around in his trunk, immensely grateful to have his possessions returned — especially his wand and his photo album.
He grabbed a quill and some parchment and sat at the desk to respond to his friends. He wasn't sure how to explain the situation he was in, but in the interest of time, he figured he should be direct and to the point.
Ron,
He scrawled the name and address as quickly as possible. He hated to send Hedwig out with a letter so soon — her quiet, solid presence was comforting, and she deserved a long rest after visiting both of his friends. But he needed to get word to Ron and Hermione before Mr. Snape found out Hedwig was here. Maybe he'd make Harry lock her up like the Dursleys had. Or worse — maybe he'd involve her in whatever punishment he had planned for Harry's nightmares.
No, it was better if Hedwig left again, so that she'd be safe.
As he stared down at the parchment in front of him, Harry remembered something Oliver Wood had told their team last year when they'd gotten word that the Hufflepuff seeker, Bixby, had spattergroit and would be out for a month.
"But that's good news," Alicia had remarked, looking puzzled by Oliver's grim expression. "Diggory's only a fourth year, and he's second string. If it comes to it, I'd face him over Bixby any day."
Oliver had shaken his head. "Bixby is the enemy we know, Alicia. Diggory is a mystery."
Then he'd drilled them endlessly in practice for weeks, trying to anticipate Diggory's seeking style.
The whole thing rather reminded Harry of his current situation. At first glance, it seemed like anywhere was better than being locked up with the Dursleys. But…he was familiar with the Dursleys. Even though he didn't feel safe there, he understood how they thought and behaved. Here, with Mr. Snape, Harry felt completely unmoored and untethered.
As much as he hated to keep running from place to place — as much as he didn't want to inconvenience the Weasleys or disobey Dumbledore — as much as he wanted to be close to his mum's house — he didn't think he could bear to stay here.
He chewed on the end of his quill for a minute, and then resumed writing.
Sorry for not replying sooner. A lot has been happening. I'm okay, but I'm not at my relatives' house anymore. Listen, about that rescue Fred and George were planning — can you come get me as soon as possible?
Severus finally gave up on sleeping at half past six, climbing out of bed and sitting in his chair by the window, staring out at the gloomy morning.
He'd tossed and turned for most of the night, the snatches of sleep he managed to get interrupted by old nightmares — his father sneering at him, his mother weeping late at night, James Potter's taunting expression.
He'd woken up hoping that his memory of the past few days was all just a part of these peculiar nightmares, but then he heard the unmistakable creak of floorboards a few doors down.
It seemed that Severus wasn't the only person in the house who hadn't slept well. The boy was already awake and moving about in his room.
Severus scrubbed a weary hand over his face, full of dread at the thought of facing the boy again today — let alone surviving until Dumbledore got his head out of his arse and retrieved the boy at some unknown point in the future.
He didn't like how the boy's presence had already affected him. It was dredging up memories from his childhood that he was much better off forgetting. It was impacting his productivity in the lab. And Merlin, he'd even stooped to arguing with an eleven-year-old yesterday afternoon.
Yes, he decided, the obvious solution was to avoid interacting with the boy as much as possible from this point onward.
He'd see to the boy's basic necessities — three meals a day, a roof over his head, any medical care if the need arose — but beyond that, he didn't need to talk to him or spend time in Potter's presence. He'd set the boy a schedule, ensure that he didn't run off or stick his fool Gryffindor neck into danger, and keep him alive until Dumbledore returned.
Surely that was all anyone could ask of him.
With a sigh, he stood, feeling much older than his 31 years. The clock had nudged past seven o'clock, and the sooner he spoke to the boy and set him straight on what was going to happen next, the sooner he could find peace in his lab again.
Harry's neck jerked up as he heard footsteps right outside his door, followed by a sharp rapping noise.
Merlin, the man could walk quieter than a ghost!
He frantically shoved his letters to his friends into his trunk — Hermione's half-written, the ink still drying on Ron's — and hurried over to the window, giving Hedwig a light shake to wake her and gesturing for her to fly away as quickly as possible. Inwardly, he cursed himself for not being faster — now he wasn't going to be able to send his friends word of his whereabouts.
Hedwig merely blinked at him as he urged her to leave, looking annoyed, and then it was too late — Mr. Snape opened the door.
"I'm sorry, sir!" Harry blurted out, his voice sounding too loud to his own ears. "It's my owl, sir. I didn't know she was going to show up, honest. I'm going to send her away, but she just — she needs to rest for a little bit first."
If the man was startled by this greeting, he didn't show it. Mr. Snape looked between Harry and his owl, his expression inscrutable. Harry's fists clenched by his sides in the ensuing silence, his muscles tensed and ready to spring into action and shove Hedwig out of the window if he needed to. He didn't care what punishment he received, he'd protect his owl at any cost.
"I don't care about the owl," Mr. Snape said dismissively after a beat. "As long as she stays out of my lab."
He gave Harry a warning glare, but didn't say anything further or make any move towards Hedwig. Still, Harry didn't dare relax or drop his guard.
"Now," the man said, his face pinched, as though it pained him to converse with Harry. "I heard from the headmaster last night."
"You — you did?" Harry asked, thrown by the change in topic. Was Mr. Snape really going to accept Hedwig's presence so easily?
"He is delayed in his task. You are to remain here until he is able to return and retrieve you."
Harry's heart sank in his chest. "How — how long will he be gone?" He asked timidly.
Mr. Snape scowled. "I know as much as you do, Potter. But as it seems that we are to remain in each other's presence for the foreseeable future, it is time to discuss ground rules and expectations. Meet me in the kitchen in ten minutes."
It was an order, not an invitation, and the man swept away before Harry could ask for further clarification.
He nervously stroked Hedwig's forehead. "I'm leaving the window open — if you feel unsafe or if he comes in here when I'm not here, just leave, okay? I'll be fine here — I can take care of myself."
She gave him a skeptical glance and hooted at that.
With a sigh, Harry scrambled to get dressed. If he was on his best behavior, maybe Hedwig would be okay, and he could finish his letters to his friends tonight. But the thought of "ground rules and expectations" made him nervous. What sort of horrible chores and tasks might he be assigned? And Mr. Snape had been feeding him well so far, but now that he was stuck with Harry for a longer stretch of time, would he get sick of having to pay for Harry's food?
He stopped by the loo, racing through his morning ablutions, and made it downstairs two minutes early.
To his surprise, there were two plates of food on the table and a glass of orange juice next to his usual seat. There was also a sheet of parchment waiting for him with spidery scrawl across it.
"You are to follow that timetable to the letter." Mr. Snape launched into lecture-mode without prompting. "If you do not do as you're told, I will be distracted from my work, and there will be consequences. Through your compliance or your disobedience, you have the power to control how enjoyable your stay here is."
Harry gulped, bracing himself as he looked down at the parchment, expecting days full of unmanageable and backbreaking labor.
Instead, the timetable was surprisingly brief.
7:30 a.m. — Breakfast
8:30-11:30 a.m. — Schoolwork
11:30 a.m.-12:00 p.m. — Prepare lunch
12:00 p.m. — Eat lunch and clean up
1:00-6:00 — Free time
6:00 p.m. — Dinner
7:00-9:00 p.m. — Free time
9:30 p.m. — Bed
"I do not take breaks for lunch, so you will be responsible for preparing your own lunch and cleaning up after yourself. In addition, I will not tolerate running or shouting inside of this house. If I catch you in my lab or my greenhouse, the consequences will be…dire."
Harry blanched, recalling the man's furious, glittering eyes the night he'd broken into the greenhouse.
He frowned down at the paper in front of him, uncomprehending. He was going to have seven hours of free time per day? And his only chore was to make lunch?
"But sir," he said. "I don't—"
"The timetable is not up for discussion, Potter," Mr. Snape interjected brusquely. "I will be checking your schoolwork each evening to ensure that you are working on it and not merely dawdling and wasting your time."
But Harry wasn't complaining about the schoolwork; he was baffled by the rest of the timetable. "The free time, sir — I don't understand. What am I supposed to…do?"
Mr. Snape sighed, as though Harry was absolutely incompetent "I don't care, Potter. Read a book or go outside. No magic unless you are in danger. And no pranks on myself or muggles."
"So," Harry said eagerly. "I can go over to my mum's house during my free time?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry knew he'd made a fatal mistake. He'd learned from a young age to never let the Dursleys know when he actually wanted something, because they'd use it as a weapon against him.
Mr. Snape frowned. "No. In fact, add that to the list of rules. You are not to set foot in that house."
Harry's heart sank. He should've known the easy schedule and the man's acceptance of Hedwig was too good to be true.
"It's sat untouched for a decade, Potter. You're liable to break your neck over there, and I certainly do not have endless free time to supervise you."
Mr. Snape didn't sound vindictive about it like he'd been expecting, but Harry's resolve to ask Ron to come rescue him strengthened nonetheless. What was the point of being here if he couldn't visit his mum's house?
Apparently the conversation was over, because Mr. Snape gave him one last warning look and then disappeared up the stairs.
It was only as he started picking at his breakfast that Harry realized Mr. Snape hadn't punished him for his nightmare last night.
Harry glanced nervously up at the window of Mr. Snape's potions laboratory as he stood outside 15 Spinner's End. He felt like he was breaking the rules somehow, even though he'd followed the timetable as closely as he could all day. He'd worked on his Charms essay and made himself a small sandwich for lunch. It was just after 1 p.m., and his free time had officially begun.
It felt strange to have the entire rest of the day ahead of him without any other tasks or chores to do. He waited another minute, but Mr. Snape didn't swoop down to berate him, so he tentatively started walking down the block.
He felt bad for abandoning Lucy after walking her one time, and he wanted to make it up to her and Mrs. Caldwell. So he'd retrieved some of his muggle money from his trunk before leaving the house, and now he walked to the downtown area, keeping a far berth from the corner store where he'd asked for work a few days ago.
Instead, he headed straight for the local Tesco, where he picked up a package of dog treats for Lucy and some biscuits for Mrs. Caldwell. Then he stood in the aisle with the cleaning supplies, staring at the products there for such a long time that one of the store clerks started walking past every minute or so, giving Harry a suspicious look.
Harry had no intention of stealing, but he still felt like he was doing something wrong as he grabbed a bottle of dish detergent, a multi-surface cleaning solution, and some dust cloths off the shelf.
He clutched his purchases protectively on the way back to Spinner's End, flinching when he heard a voice call out his name. But it wasn't Mr. Snape — it was Mrs. Caldwell, sitting on her rocking chair on the porch.
"Hullo, Harry. I was wondering if we'd see you again."
"Hi, Mrs. Caldwell!" Harry called. "How'd you know it was me?"
"When your eyes don't work, you learn to recognize footsteps and voices very quickly, lad."
Harry smiled as Lucy let out a short bark and started waddling over to greet him, perhaps smelling the dog treats in his shopping bag.
"Sorry I couldn't come by yesterday," Harry said as he drew closer. "I was — um, busy."
Mrs. Caldwell smiled kindly. "Don't worry on our account, dear. I'm sure a young man like you has plenty of more interesting things to do with his summer."
Harry reached down to pat Lucy on her soft head. "No, really. I liked coming here. I'll try to come every day. Yesterday was — an exception."
Mrs. Caldwell hummed thoughtfully. "Something to do with your aunt, I presume?"
Harry frowned.
Had he mentioned an aunt last time he was here? He didn't think so.
"Of course," Mrs. Caldwell continued. "I'm shocked that she let you visit Cokeworth at all. She isn't here in town with you, is she?"
Harry froze in place. "I'm — I'm sorry — who —"
"I'm talking about Petunia, dear. You're Lily's boy, are you not?"
Harry's mouth fell open.
"Mrs. Caldwell…how…" was all he managed to stammer.
Mrs. Caldwell patted the chair next to her. "You might as well call me Eve, dear. I'm your great aunt, after all."
Harry was still gaping in disbelief at the woman in front of him fifteen minutes later when she served tea with the biscuits he'd brought.
"I suppose it's a bit of a technicality," Mrs. Caldwell — Eve — remarked as she dunked her biscuit in her tea. "I didn't mention it on your first visit because I didn't want to scare you off. I wasn't sure what you knew about the family, and how growing up with Petunia might have…influenced you."
Harry knew what she meant, because he had a feeling that Dudley would have some horrid things to say if he was visiting this shabby house and town.
"Your grandad Tim had an older brother named Alan. Alan was my childhood sweetheart, and we were married in '43."
She sighed, her expression distant, and for a moment, the only sound was the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
"He died in the war," she said softly. "And I remarried. So that's why I say it was a technicality. Still, the Evanses were my neighbors for years, and I considered them family of a sort."
Harry imagined his mum as a little girl, sitting on the same chair he was currently using.
"But — I don't understand. How did you even know who I was?" Harry asked, still bewildered.
Eve's smile grew wistful. "As I said, when your eyes stop working, you learn to use your other senses. I started going blind when your mum was a baby, and as a result, I knew her by voice alone. You sound just like her."
As always, whenever he learned new information about either of his parents, he wanted to joyously drink it in and weep simultaneously.
"My voice?" He whispered, pressing a hand to his throat in wonder, feeling his vocal chords vibrate.
She nodded. "I imagine you probably have a nice singing voice, if you tried. Your mother was quite musical, although she wasn't very disciplined about it. I taught her piano lessons for most of her childhood. She loved to play but hated to practice the songs I assigned her."
She snorted, shaking her head fondly at the recollection, and Harry's eyes burned at the sudden and precious gift of information Mrs. Caldwell — Eve — had just bestowed upon him.
Of course, Harry had never tried to sing or make music of any sort. The very idea was laughable — the Dursleys hated when he spoke at all, and he'd probably be boxed on the ears for humming, let alone daring to sing.
"My mum played the piano?" Harry repeated.
Eve nodded. "So did Petunia. Petunia was the better player, because she practiced. But your mum was more naturally musical."
Harry tried to imagine his sour-faced aunt as a girl, sitting in this house and playing scales. Petunia had never so much as hinted at being musical for as long as Harry had known her, and he wasn't sure if it was because the memory was painful for her, or if she had merely viewed the piano as a means to an end — another accomplishment to add to her list so she could attract a wealthy husband.
"Such a shame what happened to that family — your family," Eve sighed. "When I heard that Lily and her husband died — so young and so soon after Tim and Rose passed — well. I was in shock for months after. And then I heard a rumor that Petunia had taken you in. I've wondered about you for these past ten years."
Harry swallowed thickly. All those years, he'd never even imagined that he had distant relatives out there who knew of his existence, even dimly.
"Mrs. Caldwell — Eve. How…how did my grandparents die?" Harry asked, afraid of the answer.
Voldemort had pursued his parents ruthlessly, after all. Was it really such a stretch to think that he might've murdered his mum's parents as a way to taunt her or get information on her whereabouts?
Eve's response surprised him.
"Cancer," she told him solemnly. "Same as what happened to a lot of people in Cokeworth back then, especially people who worked in the mill before it shut down. Something to do with the chemicals they were using in there. My second husband, Ben, died a few years ago in the same manner."
Harry mulled over all of this new information as he walked Lucy around the neighborhood. He felt oddly melancholy, and at first he thought it was just because he was thinking so much about the family he could've had if his mum and grandparents hadn't died.
He sat down against the trunk of a large oak tree in the park, and Lucy plopped down next to him.
As he looked at the park equipment that his mum and aunt had probably played on together as children, he realized what was actually bothering him.
Ever since he discovered his grandparents' will and learned that they died before he was born, he'd been wondering if they'd been killed by Voldemort. And…if that was true, it would make sense that his aunt despised him and hated magic.
After all, if Lily's world had gotten their parents killed, then of course his aunt would be reluctant to be associated with Harry. Of course she would hold a grudge against anyone magical.
But to hear that they'd died of a muggle affliction…well, he supposed she just hated him on principle — because he was an unwanted burden and a reminder of her roots.
He scratched behind Lucy's ears absentmindedly, smiling as her tongue lolled out.
"At least you don't mind having me around, right, Luce?" He asked. She yipped in reply, nudging his hand with her wet nose affectionately.
"I've been thinking," Eve told him when he returned with Lucy. "About the matter of paying you for walking Lucy."
"Oh, I couldn't accept payment," Harry interjected immediately. Now that he had access to his trunk and his muggle money, he had no need for financial help.
"I may not have much, Harry, but I have my pride, and I don't accept charity," Eve told him firmly. "Now, what would you say to some piano lessons? It's been years since I had a student, but I still have all the knowledge up here."
She tapped her temple with a smile.
Harry felt his own grin break out. Ever since learning that his dad played Quidditch, he thought of him whenever he got on his broom. He longed for an activity that would give him a similar feeling of connection to his mum.
"That sounds brilliant!"
"It's settled then. We'll start tomorrow — provided you can come back tomorrow. Are you staying with your aunt?"
Harry shifted nervously in place. "Er — no. Not right now. I'm actually — um, it's kind of a long story. But do you know Mr. Snape?"
To his surprise, Eve chuckled. "Sorry, dear. It's funny to hear you call Severus 'Mr. Snape.' I remember when he was just a boy, running around with your mother and trampling my begonias."
"So they were friends?" Harry asked eagerly.
Eve nodded, although her expression was troubled. "Thick as thieves, those two were. They even attended the same boarding school up in Scotland. It was a shock to everyone when they were both accepted there — that was the beginning of the end of your mother's relationship with Petunia. And the Snapes — well, no one expected them to have ties to a boarding school in Scotland, but apparently Severus' mother, Eileen, had attended the school herself."
Harry interpreted this to mean that the Snapes had been rather poor — and that Mr. Snape's mum was a witch.
"Anyway, something went wrong between them when they were teenagers. I never found out what. Severus was a very angry young man, and he never spoke with me during that time. And Lily didn't confide in me about it. As far as I know, they never reconnected before her death. It's quite a pity, if you ask me." She shook her head. "Far too much death and tragedy in this little town."
That…made a lot of sense, Harry supposed. If he had a falling out with Ron or Hermione for some reason and encountered their child one day in the future, he'd probably feel conflicted too. Of course, he liked to think that he wouldn't be so cross and angry towards his friend's child, but…maybe that was just Mr. Snape's personality?
Eve turned sightless eyes on him with an appraising look. "You're staying with Severus, eh? How's that going?"
Harry scratched his forehead, unsure of how to condense the past few days into a coherent statement. "It's…okay, I suppose. He doesn't like me very much, but he has to keep me for a while longer until my teacher returns and finds somewhere for me to stay. There was…an issue at my aunt's house."
Eve hummed thoughtfully.
"Severus…made some choices in his youth that he deeply regrets, I think. And he doesn't know how to live with that, so he hides himself away in that house. He's a hard man. But he's not a bad man. Still, if he gives you any problems, you come straight over and let me know, and I'll set him straight."
Her eyes had a steely glint that reminded him of Professor McGonagall, and he could see what a formidable woman she must've been in her younger years.
She reached over and patted him on the hand, and Harry's eyes unexpectedly watered. He couldn't remember another adult ever volunteering to stand up for him.
The warmth of his discussion with Eve suffused his chest as he left her house, promising to return the next day. After a moment of deliberation, he decided to take the long way, looping around the other side of the block so that he'd pass his mum's house before he'd get to 15 Spinner's End.
His shopping bag felt heavy in his hand, as though he was carrying illicit weapons and stolen goods instead of cleaning supplies that he'd bought with his own money.
Through your compliance or your disobedience, you have the power to control how enjoyable your stay here is.
Harry cast a nervous glance over at Mr. Snape's house as he crept up through the back garden of 17 Spinner's End.
Part of him knew that he was being an absolute idiot, breaking the rules so flagrantly and so soon into his stay here. He had no clue when Dumbledore would return, and he didn't even know what the consequences would be for disobeying Mr. Snape.
But…he had to visit his mum's house. He just had to, while he still had the chance. In another month or so, he'd be back at Hogwarts, and after that — with his luck, he'd probably be back at the Dursleys again next summer.
And also…maybe some part of him, deep down, wanted to find out what would happen if he disobeyed Mr. Snape. He couldn't comprehend the man's motives or character, and if he pushed him far enough, surely the man's true nature would reveal itself, and then he could stop guessing at his every move.
So Harry reached up and grabbed the doorknob tentatively, relaxing as he felt the faint brush of his mum's magic against his skin. It sprang open like an old friend eagerly welcoming him home, and he slipped inside.
He didn't spend much time there — dinner time was growing closer, and he didn't want to risk being late. But he set down his cleaning supplies so that they'd be there the next time he managed to sneak in here — whether it was tomorrow or years from now.
Harry was on edge for the entire half hour between his return to Mr. Snape's house and dinner time.
Mr. Snape was standing at the stove when Harry walked in, and he didn't look up from where he was sauteing vegetables in a pan.
"Wash up," was all he said.
Harry, who'd been anticipating an interrogation over his activities that day, was all too happy to comply. He hurried upstairs to wash his face and hands, and then he grabbed his Charms homework so that he could demonstrate his progress to Mr. Snape.
Then he presented himself in the kitchen again. To his surprise, only one place at the table was set. He wondered if this was where it began — if Mr. Snape was going to reveal that he knew Harry had gone to his mum's house and deny him food or lock him up — or worse.
But then he noticed that the only plate on the table was in his spot, not Mr. Snape's.
Mr. Snape flicked his wand and wordlessly sent a glass of water floating toward the table. He spared Harry's Charms homework a half-second glance.
"I trust that you can find your way to bed at the appropriate hour?" He raised an eyebrow.
Harry nodded, and with that, Mr. Snape turned and disappeared upstairs.
Harry watched him go, then stared down at the plate of warm food in front of him and the empty spot across the table.
He waited for a minute — wondering if this was a test, and Mr. Snape would come take his food and begin taunting him or yelling at him — but he heard the door to the potions lab close, and then the house fell silent.
He was hardly able to believe his luck — Mr. Snape didn't know he'd gone to his mum's house! And it seemed that he was going to leave Harry to his own devices. As long as Harry met the bare minimum requirements of following the timetable, maybe the rest of his time here could be like today — free, uninterrupted time to visit Eve and Lucy, and plenty of time to sneak over to his mum's house.
He dug into his food with gusto.
It was perfectly fine if Mr. Snape wanted to ignore him until Dumbledore returned. It wasn't like he needed companionship or someone to look after him, after all. He was almost twelve, and the Dursleys had also avoided speaking to him or spending time with him at all costs. He had Hedwig back, and Lucy and Eve liked him, and he could write letters to his friends.
Speaking of which…he needed to finish his letters to Ron and Hermione.
After he finished eating, he washed his dishes and wiped up the counters and hob out of habit. Then he returned to his room and pulled out his letters from earlier this morning.
He skimmed through the letter he'd written to Ron again, surprised to find that his feelings from the morning — his desperation to escape right away — had changed at some point in the day. He had a sort-of great aunt now, and a promise of piano lessons and future stories about his mum. He had access to his mum's house again. And it seemed that Mr. Snape was completely disinterested in where he went and what he did, so long as he stayed alive until Dumbledore returned.
He sat at the desk, staring down at the parchment in front of him.
The enemy you know? Or…the unknown?
After a moment of consideration, he grabbed his quill, his decision made, and began writing.
Dear Ron,
I'm really sorry for not writing sooner. I sent letters, but they were intercepted, and you never received them. Did I mention that it's a really long story? I'll start at the beginning, but first, let me get to the most important bit: I've left my relatives' house, and I'm staying with an old friendacquaintance of my mum's until Dumbledore can sort out somewhere else for me to go.
I saw your note about Fred and George plotting a rescue. I do really want to come stay with you, and I might still need a rescue at some point…but you can hold off for now. I'll keep you updated.
Anyway, back to the story of why I haven't been writing. It all started with my aunt and uncle's dinner party…