The door slammed behind him and above his head came the sound of a bell tinkling. Harry winced. If Severus were anywhere within earshot, he'd have words for him. He'd been instructed more than once that he ought to take more care with closing the door gently. Although, Severus had mentioned placing a cushioning charm against the frame once and had never made good on it.

Perhaps at that, it was the wizard's own fault if he imagined his eight-year-old charge would have all the due diligence of a grown adult.

No one came to greet him when the bell rang, however, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd run the last block home, over the bridge, not wanting to look down into the riverbed. It was too tempting, and so he'd made himself sprint just to avoid opening such a jar of flobberworms.

Truth be told, he'd tried his best not to think hard on any of the things he'd learnt about Toby and Snowdrop's relationship. Especially not on the fact that Tobias and Papagena had allegedly engaged in that strange dance that Snowdrop kept talking about, which Harry was reasonably sure wasn't any run-of-the-mill boogie or jive.

He took a moment at the chairs by the door to compose himself and catch his breath, and then moved behind the counter to hang up his school bag and to begin removing his many outer layers. Severus had finally set up a desk area for him at the very back of the room, with his back to the door, so that while he was there he could get some of his school work done without distractions. Snape had also charmed a small box underneath the desk to work as an ice-box and he'd taken to stocking it with an assortment of snacks for Harry to eat after school.

Inside was one of the quarts of milk that Harry had earned at Gammy's. He filled a chipped mug to the brim and then dug around the rest of the contents of the box until he unearthed a sleeve of ginger biscuits. Then, after a moment's additional thought, he also took an apple, just in case Severus took it in mind to give him a hard time over the biscuits.

With his arms full, he stood from his crouched position and began arranging his finds around the perimeter of the desk, leaving the centre open for his schoolwork to go. Thus situated, Harry pulled his maths homework free from his notebook and began to puzzle over it as he dipped biscuit after biscuit into his mug of milk.

He was at it for a full fifteen minutes before he realised what was so very odd about the scene he'd emerged into that afternoon.

The shop was utterly silent. He couldn't hear any trace of music whatsoever. Severus must have been otherwise occupied, or else he'd have come to greet Harry at the door, and to make sure that he selected the apple—and probably something like a generous wedge of cheese, rather than the biscuits—himself.

He sat up straight and placed his uneaten confection back into the mouth of the sleeve, pricking his ears.

Or at least he imagined he'd pricked them. In his mind's eye, he looked like a horse. Or a donkey. As though imagining himself as one of the beasts would have conferred additional hearing powers onto him.

Yet, the effort was wasted. He heard nothing.

Slowly, Harry stood and inched his chair in, this time taking care to not make a ruckus, and he wiped his upper lip on the sleeve of his shirt to remove his milk moustache. Going heel-to-toe, he crept forward until he crouched beside the swinging door and nudged it open an inch with his index finger, leaning forward until he could peer through the crack.

There stood Severus, but he seemed to not be working. In fact, he was upright, facing the front-end of the garage, with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. A range of emotions flashed across his features until his lips began moving, saying something that Harry couldn't make out.

Which was odd, really, for the garage tended to echo. Just about anyone could be overheard so long as the music wasn't playing at top volume, which must have been how Tobias had eavesdropped on Harry and Snowdrop.

Nothing in the other room was making any sound at all, and only when Severus threw his arms up and seemed to be arguing did Harry realise that he must have employed a privacy spell of some sort.

His curiosity winning out over his good sense, Harry inched the door open another smidge, creeping closer, until, without warning, a loud whine emitted from the hinges.

He allowed the door to fall back into place as he sprang backwards, but it was to no avail. Within seconds Severus was at the door and had it pushed open all the way, glaring down at Harry with annoyance writ large in his expression.

"Does it amuse you to creep around attempting to snoop on others' conversations?"

Harry mashed his lips together and rose to his feet, brushing the knees of his trousers off. They'd accrued a fine cover of dust from their contact with the floor. He shook his head 'no.'

"No? Then what would you call peeking through the door and attempting to listen in when it should have been abundantly clear that I'd spelled the area off?"

"I was only curious," Harry explained, wincing when his excuse sounded a bit whingy. "Usually there's music playing, or you'll come out to see me when I—"

"When you slam the front door?" Snape asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

"That was an accident," Harry assured him.

"Mm. Slamming the door was accidental and attempting to eavesdrop was mere curiosity. We'll make a passable liar out of you yet. Your disseminations are subtle and maintain the veneer of plausible deniability. Perhaps you'd make a fine solicitor," Severus pondered aloud, without a trace of amusement.

"I wasn't—!"

"Give it up." Snape rolled his eyes with a sneer and pushed the door open all the way, so that Harry could see into the garage. Beside the car that Severus was currently fixing was an affable looking man who was perhaps ten to fifteen years Snape's senior.

He was thin. Taller than Severus by an inch or two, and with a head of shockingly red hair which appeared to be receding at the temples and off the crown. His clothing was the sort that people might have imagined those in the country would wear... if those in the country were members of a traveling outfit of circus performers, perhaps: a pair of well-worn tweed trousers and a jacket (in yet another variety of tweed that clashed terrifically with the trousers) that he wore over a puce waistcoat. His cognac-brown brogues appeared recently polished but, otherwise, in bad repair, and his socks—which one could see peeking out from beneath the too-high hem of his trousers—had to have been hand-knitted by a loved one, for they were striped in every colour of the rainbow with no rhyme nor reason apparent in the patterning of the colours. In his freckled hands was a felted, tassel-topped toque that he seemed to be worrying at.

The stranger gave a small wave, paired with a wry grin, in greeting.

Nervously, Harry returned it as Severus ushered him through the door with a light push between his shoulder blades.

"Since you had no intention of allowing us to conduct our meeting without your nose poking through the door," Severus opined, with great drama, "may I introduce you to Mr. Arthur Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office." He swept his arm out in a grand gesture, which came off as patently sarcastic.

"H-hi, Mr. Weasley," Harry stuttered, shuffling forward until he stood before the man.

Despite living with Severus, he'd had very little exposure to other witches and wizards, and what he had seen had impressed upon him the importance of keeping a chary eye out. Certainly, he was instantly mistrustful of anyone claiming to be from an office that specialised in the misuse of things.

His conversation with Severus a month earlier was instantly brought to mind.

'Hypothetical and confidential.'

Harry tried not to visibly swallow as those words echoed in his conscience. Severus had said hypothetical meant imaginary.

Well... it certainly wasn't imaginary that Harry had been adding Potion Mu to all of the oil changes he'd been overseeing, without Severus' knowledge or say-so.

Confidential meant it had to be a secret.

He resolved not to say a word about the matter to Mr. Arthur Weasley. At least that'd do Severus proud.

"I... I am without words," Mr. Weasley said in answer to the boy's greeting, much to Harry's amusement and surprise. Mr. Weasley's smile twitched with what appeared to be nerves and he bent a bit at the waist, raising his hands to his head as though he'd have liked to doff his hat (which was, of course, impossible, for he'd already removed it).

"I... do forgive me, I never imagined—"

Severus cleared his throat and Harry heard the distinctive tapping of the toe of his boot against the polished concrete floor: a clear indicator of Snape-ish impatience. "I'm sure it's quite alright, Arthur."

"Yes... well... it's not every day one gets to meet Harry Potter, is it?" Mr. Weasley asked, his tone approaching wonderous. He fingered the cap between his hands. "Spec-tacular—"

Severus grunted.

"—ah! To, er, make your acquaintance, young Potter." Mr. Weasley held his hand out, which shook a bit, and Harry eyed it with quiet distrust before Severus nudged him bit, reminding him of his manners.

"It's good to meet you, sir," he said, solemnly.

"I suppose, Arthur, now that Harry has joined us, it would not be out of the question to ask whether you are satisfied with your investigation," Snape broke in. He was standing a pace behind Harry with his hands clasped behind his back, leaning forward with intent.

Sighing, and looking to Harry with a bit of apology, Arthur Weasley's mouth twisted ever so slightly. He shrugged and pushed his toque back onto his balding head. "I hope you realise that I do not mean to insult you by coming to call. It is the stardard practise of our office to open preliminary investigations into all muggle businesses where work is being done by wizards. That you are also the owner and operator is—"

"Ah, but my father is the owner and operator," Snape corrected him. Harry had to suppress an eye roll at that. Severus did damn near everything for Snape & Son. Had Toby responsibility over the books or scheduling ledger for even a single day, they'd have been out of their lease (and their home) within the month, if not within the week.

"My apologies, I don't wish to insult him either. Incidentally, where is he? I may assume, I trust, that he is well aware of your... abilities?"

Snape grunted his assent. "I can't account for his comings and goings, Arthur. You'd have to agree to come back when I could arrange for him to be here. We can certainly do that, if it's important for you to collect a statement from him. In answer to your second question: my father is well aware that I'm a wizard."

"Ah, well—"

"He was also well aware that without my job at Hogwarts, I was quickly running out of options when faced with a lack of funds and my many duties as Harry's guardian. His intent in hiring me on to work underneath the auspices of his hospitality at his shop was altruistic in nature."

"Er..." Arthur pulled a well-worn notebook from his breast pocket and flipped through. "It seemed to us that he'd only just opened the shop in the last month or so?"

"Is entrepreneurial spirit now penalised under the statute? Particularly for muggles over whom our government holds no jurisdiction?"

Arthur coughed, a bit of impatience enlivening his blue eyes. "You know well it isn't, Severus."

"Then I fail to see—"

"You refuse to see," Mr. Weasley snapped, also closing the notepad with a smart motion of his wrist. He stowed it away in his jacket once more. "This is not personal. In fact, I have no reason to dislike you, even though as a parent of some of your former pupils—particularly from Gryffindor—you'd be forgiven for assuming I did. You've certainly made your enemies," Mr. Weasley sighed, holding both hands up as though asking what could be done about such a thing.

"I, however, had no complaints about the disciplinary actions you were forced to take with either Bill or Charlie, and am merely glad that you've... er... retired before you were faced with my twins."

"Good Lord, man. You have twins?"

"And a boy young Harry's age, and also a daughter," Mr. Weasley proudly affirmed, smiling a bit, finally.

"That's..." Severus paused and shook his head. "Six..."

"Seven. Although I think you may have liked our Percival. He's only just started this year."

"I would have liked him? What is he? A Ravenclaw?"

"No, no," Mr. Weasley dismissed, smiling with pride, "He's as Gryffindor as we come, us Weasleys. But he's a bit more of a stickler than his brothers. I imagine he would have appreciated the structure in your classroom."

"Mmm," Snape grunted, without commitment.

"Anyways, Severus: I'm not here with a chip on my shoulder. Merlin knows enough other parents would have been, but they don't work in my office. This is all quite standard."

"And your conclusion?" Snape asked, raising his nose in the air. He stepped away as though bored by the conversation and began gathering tools into a metal bowl that he often used for keeping track of stray bolts. "It can't be lost on you that there remains a great deal of work for me to complete today."

"Well, provided you mean to turn that sprogger by hand—"

"It's a spanner."

"—I see no reason why I should have anything of note to report back to my superiors. You... er... you do turn it by hand, don't you?"

"I stir my potions by hand as well, Arthur," Severus drawled with an unkind smirk. "Laziness does not become us as wizards any better than it becomes the muggles. Some of us find use for a bit of elbow grease now and then."

"Just so," Mr. Weasley agreed with a nod. Harry couldn't help but notice, however, how the man's eyes shot to Severus' oily hair and how he winced ever so slightly at the word 'grease.'

"Well, given that it's all in order—and I mean to close the investigation, mind. Full marks!—er... I wonder if you wouldn't have a look at my Anglia?"

Snape blinked, his face registering either surprise or dismay. "You drive a car?"

"Oh well, I haven't exactly taken to the roads yet," Mr. Weasley babbled, turning red in the face, even as he smiled with fond affection over his pet project. "But I have high hopes for her road-readiness one day soon—"

"Ah," Snape replied, his voice going silky. He raised a finger to rub over his lower lip, which pulled away from his gums and briefly exposed his lower mandible's jumble of yellowed teeth.

"And does a great stickler for the law such as yourself intend to attain a muggle driver's license?" he asked, his hand dropping from his mouth as his lips ticked up in a sly grin. "Or to pay for a tax disc?"

"I... I will if it is required of me," Mr. Weasley stuttered, looking flummoxed. "Is it?"

"Oh, it would be quite irresponsible—and illegal—to take your Anglia on the road without both well in hand." Snape lifted his nose in the air and gave a regal little sniff, which Harry thought was laying it on a bit thick.

"I'm not even certain it would survive out on the real roads," Mr. Weasley admitted with an awkward little shuffle. He took another inquisitive look at the tools that Snape carried over to the car that was currently undergoing service and couldn't hide the way his eyes glowed with envious curiosity. "I don't suppose you could... er... take a look at her?"

"Her? Why, Arthur, no, I don't suppose I should be the one to examine your wife—" Snape remarked, ignoring his inquisitor as he settled onto the cold ground, sitting tailor style by the jacked-up front wheel well.

Harry couldn't help but to sigh. Now Snape was most definitely playing the dunce, and he wasn't quite sure why he was other than to be intentionally difficult.

"My—? No! The Anglia! The car, of course!"

"Oh, well that's another matter entirely. If you can manage to get the thing here, I'll be happy to examine it for you. I'll even offer a complimentary tune-up."

"Now, now, Severus; I couldn't possibly accept anything amounting to a monetary gift—"

"A gift? It's no such thing, Arthur. Why, I've been reliably informed by you that I've now avoided being made to teach your most troublesome offspring. This is offered to celebrate that fact. Nothing more, nothing less."

Harry winced. How was it that Snape could make an expensive dispensation he was gifting (yes, gifting) to another sound so terribly unkind?

"Mr. Weasley," he broke in, hesitating a bit. Really, he wanted to do anything that could interrupt Snape being nasty. "Did you say you had a kid my age?"

Mr. Weasley's mouth was a small 'o' of surprise at having been addressed by Harry himself, and after a moment, he broke into a delighted grin and slapped his hands together. "I did! I did indeed. Our son Ronald. Just turned nine a couple of weeks ago," Arthur remarked with great pride.

Harry nodded, although he didn't know what else to say. He was truthfully rather timid around most adults. Severus, for some reason, had never felt like a real grown-up to him, which had allowed the boy a bit of room for error.

This man Arthur Weasley, who worked for the Ministry of Magic and had a wife and six—no, seven—children was a real man. Not at all someone that Harry would want to look foolish in front of. He instead offered up a smile, if a shy one, and Mr. Weasley seemed to understand, even if Harry didn't voice his difficulties aloud.

"You know, if I'm to bring my Anglia in, I don't see why I couldn't bring Ron along with me next time I stop by," Mr. Weasley offered, his mouth cocking into a half-grin. "So long as Severus here isn't opposed, that is..."

"Do as you like, Weasley," Snape managed, even though he held a torch between his teeth, directing the beam of light into the space behind the wheel. "Just don't allow your multitudinous offspring to infest the place. I'm only leasing."

"That's marvelous!" Weasley clapped his hands together again, as though he'd not just been insulted. "And with Easter coming, my boys will be home for the holiday. I'll ask around to see who's interested!"

He looked around the shop again with undisguised wonder, parking his hands on his hips as his gaze tracked everywhere, even the unadorned ceilings. "Wow," he said under his breath.

Harry was beginning to feel a bit doubtful of the new wizard by this point. He was something of an odd duck, at that. There was nothing inherently interesting in the ceiling, nor at the worktable, and even the spanner—or 'sprogger,' as Weasley had called it—was quite ordinary. The man was behaving a bit like a tourist, his eyes growing wider and wider with each new mundane thing they trailed over.

He coughed, perhaps covering for his unintentional ejaculation of joy. "I hope you don't mind, Severus—"

"I already told you I didn't," Severus spat, refusing to acknowledge further that he still ought to be entertaining someone. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a lot of work to do. Please return only when you have the Anglia, or if there is a problem with my case file."

"Er... yes. Delighted to," Mr. Weasley lied, appearing somewhat uncertain. He then turned to Harry and crouched down a bit, so he wasn't nearly so tall. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, Harry. Hopefully, if I have the time and find the means to do so, you may be able to meet my son here in the coming weeks. Anyways, I'll be off!"

And literally, he was. Off, that was.

Went off like a firecracker—as loud as you please. One moment he stood before Harry, and the next he'd spun into an ear-splitting crack that had Harry stumbling backwards and falling to his bottom by Severus' stooped back.

His kuya snorted and removed the torch from between his teeth. "Rude. How typical."

"What was rude?"

"One doesn't disapparate away from right in front of someone immediately after the close of a conversation, and certainly not from within a business. He ought to have gone outside first."

"Well," Harry reasoned aloud, leaning forward until he managed to maneouver into a strange, bottom-heavy squat, "you were kind of rude too, weren't you?"

"Pray tell what the proper etiquette is when one is the victim of an unjust interrogation."

"Er... well it probably helps if you're nicer, I think?"

Snape only shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, as though Harry was just about the biggest dullard he'd ever met in the whole wide world. "By law he has the authority to enter our establishment and push his freckled snout into my business. There's no law that says I have to make it easy for him, or to set out a plate of twee refreshments—"

"I didn't say to give him snacks," Harry moaned, rolling his eyes. "I meant you should be more... more polite, I think?"

"Here's my only offer, and you may take it or leave it, but it's the only one you'll get: the day I see Arthur Weasley on the streets of Diagon Alley, and neither of us is there for business we have with each other, I will be as congenial as you could expect. So long as he is here on business—principally, his own—I will treat him with all of the respect he deserves when executing the duties which come with his office."

Harry thought that through. Although he knew that there had to be a catch hidden within the words, for the life of him he couldn't find it. Faced with such a defeat, he shrugged and agreed it sounded awfully reasonable of Snape.

"Good. Glad you see it my way."

Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying he didn't. That's what Snape actually wanted from him, anyway. Instead, he smiled, even though he felt like taking the 'sprogger' from Snape's hand and clobbering him silly with it.

"Will you check my maths?"

"That depends. Are you finished?"

"Mostly I'm done..."

"Then you may ask me again when you aren't expecting me to give you clues on how to finish."

Harry growled low in his throat and stalked away. He couldn't quite resist kicking the door on the way through, and he hopped a bit when his big toe throbbed angrily at the abuse.

When Harry got back to the desk, he couldn't find the focus required to work on his maths assignment. He stared down at the numbers until they swam before his eyes, jostling on the page as though fighting for supremacy. He might have fancied he was having some sort of episode of magic if it wasn't all so very stupid and pointless.

When he began to doodle in the margins of the page his vision calmed down enough that he no longer felt disoriented, however he was no closer to finishing his homework. After all, he had no desire to.

It didn't help when, upon realising he'd been working in silence, Severus turned his music back on, and Harry was pulled into the fantastical lands and images which Ronnie James Dio's music always seemed to conjure.

Hmmm. Had he been a wizard?

Harry strained his ears in order to listen.

"We're off to the witch, we may never never never come home, but the memories that we'll feel are worth a lifetiiime! We're all born upon the cross, with the throw before the toss—you can release yourself but the only way is doooown!

"We don't come alone! We are fire, we are stone! We're the hand that writes then quickly moves awayyy!

"We'll know for the first tiiiime... if we're EVIL or DIVINE—WE'RE THE LAST IN LINE!"

With a wry shake of his head, Harry could only conclude that he must've been.

He began drawing the devil dog from some of Dio's album covers, only it ended up looking less Anubian and more like a cross between Cur Dog and Snoopy with Michelin Man 'muscles.'

He viciously marked through it and started on a portrait of Ace Frehley instead, which also came out looking decidedly deformed. That was ok though, he at least looked enough like Ace with the face paint to be recognisable.

Thus satisfied, he began drawing little three-dimensional lightning bolt shapes in the space around him, adding in a few Saturn-esque planets for good measure (as he was 'Space Ace,' of course).

Working on his doodles—which evolved into patterns and characters that overtook all the margins on his unfinished homework—carried him through the remainder of side A of the album, and all the way to the final song on side B.

The music was heavy with eastern motifs that evoked a sense of adventure. It had long been his favourite song on the tape.

"When the land was milk and honey, and the magic was strong and truuuue—then the strange ones came and the people knew... that the chains were onnnn, that the chains were onnnn!"

At first, Harry didn't hear the light knocking on the door because the music was too loud, and then, when it grew in volume and insistence, because it matched up to the beat of the song. Instead of rising to see what was causing the new noise, he found himself nodding along until the tinkling of the bell on the door was too delicate of a sound to suit the rest of the music.

He glanced up and over his shoulder to see the head and shoulders of none other than Ms. Tibbons poking through the front door.

"Yoo-hoo? Anyone about?" Her high-pitched, nasally voice reverberated throughout the space.

"Oh!" He leapt to his feet and tripped over his own legs trying to make it to the front desk. "Hello, Ms. Tibbons."

"Harry! I'm glad to see that someone's in. Do you know if Severus is here, by any chance?" She asked, finally deciding to enter past the door. She fairly skipped her way up to the counter in her low, click-y heels. Her plum pea coat was buttoned up to her throat and her hands were shoved deep in her pockets against the cold air. When she made it to the desk, her cheeks and the tip of her nose were flushed from windburn, and her hair was swept untidily about her head, having been blown about by the unforgiving northern bluster.

Harry frowned and signed through his nose. Obviously, he'd know if Severus was in. Dumb question. He knew it demanded an answer, however, and he summoned a bit of grace to deliver that answer with token civility.

"He's in the garage. Do you want me to bring him in?"

"Oh… well not if he's terribly busy…" she fussed, dithering over something that really didn't need to be difficult.

Harry liked the woman, really he did. And he'd truly gotten over his irritation that she and Severus were apparently an item… but sometimes…

He sighed again.

She just had a certain way about her. A way which had him scratching his head. And that was him. Harry. He wasn't sure how it was that Severus dealt with it.

Perhaps she was different when with him, alone. Whenever Harry was around, she struck him as a bit on the wrong side of ditzy.

"He's probably not too busy," Harry told her, taking pity on her. She looked all too hopeful to see her beau, which always struck Harry into a state of minor incredulity.

He also liked Severus just fine. A lot, actually. Sometimes more than a lot…

But to be that anticipatory about the man's company just left him in a state of puzzlement.

If anyone would have dared to tell Tabitha Tibbons that Severus Snape hadn't personally hung the moon (and for her own amusement, to boot) they'd have been in for one hell of a pagga.

At that parting musing, Harry slipped from behind the counter and rapped his knuckles on the door to the garage.

Of course, Snape didn't hear him over the music (which he'd since switched to a Saxon album after The Last in Line had ended). He knocked a bit harder, to no avail, and was then forced to push through.

Snape was on his back, working at the front wheel. It was probably axle trouble, if that's where he'd focused his attentions. Harry double checked the positioning of the jack before he dared disturb him, in case the car should come down on top of Snape's face.

Of course, Severus always used magic in addition to the jack, but it would have been just Harry's luck if that were the one day where he forgot, and his kuya was to be crushed underneath the Saab 99 Turbo's considerable weight.

His conscience assuaged, he nudged the sole of Snape's hobnailed boot with the toe of his trainer, which caused the man to shimmy forth like some sort of eel through brackish waters, only the dust flying about wasn't silt at the bottom of a river but a mixture of sawdust and garage-grade grit dispersing over concrete.

Snape finally managed to work his way over to the tape deck, and pressed his finger to the stop button. He looked at Harry with a mixture of impatience and concern.

The boy shifted foot to foot and gestured over his shoulder at the door with his thumb extended. "Your bird's here to see you."

As Severus pushed himself to stand and coughed, he spared a glare in Harry's direction even as he headed for the front office. "Excuse me, Potter. My what?"

"Your... ahhhh... Ms..." He coughed. "Ms. Tibbons."

Snape only stood glaring down at him for several moments, but apparently resolved to let it go. He was probably too pleased to be dating the woman to really care if Harry got in a bit of ribbing over it.

He turned and pressed his palm to the door, preparing to swing it open, but then turned back to Harry for a moment.

"Do the oil for the Saab, if you please. You'd save me a bit of time."

"Aye aye, Captain," Harry pantomimed a solemn salute, which was ruined by his goofy smile.

Where Snape had previously looked prepared to enter the other room, he was stalled yet again as he gave Harry an odd look.

Whatever he might have said was interrupted by Tabitha Tibbons calling his name from the other room, however, and Snape's indecision gave way to a strange blush that stretched across his nose and cheeks all the way to the tips of his gargantuan ears.

Harry observed his departure and waited until the door finished swinging closed before he tiptoed to the far toolbox that stood over in Tobias' corner near the back of the garage. It was mostly unused and was hidden behind an assortment of large machining equipment that was also seldom used. It was where he'd taken to stashing his phial of Potion Mu. Near the back of the top-most drawer, mixed in with a random assortment of screws and bolts that had long ago lost their homes.

He fished it out and gently closed the door back, until it snicked closed.

Once he neared the car again he no longer bothered in being so quiet. Changing the oil was usually a loud business, as was anything that went on in a garage, and Severus wouldn't wonder why he was banging about. The glass phial was now safely stashed in his trouser pocket, out of sight.

The set-up for the oil change was so second-hand to him now that he could almost perform it on autopilot. He assembled each thing he'd need in a line, as would a chef managing his mise en place. Of course, it helped that such a level of preparation was also a part of Severus' scrupulous methodology for potioneering.

With all of his parts assembled, he began to drain the existing oil into a pan and fumbled with the old filter, removing it. It was a difficult job, as it required him to pitch forward into the engine compartment so far that his feet didn't touch the ground, but he eventually managed and pulled it free, preparing the new filter and fitting it on.

Struggling to free himself by kicking his short legs, Harry finally felt the ground beneath his toes once more and relaxed, using his hands against the grill of the car to push himself back out from under the bonnet. He let out a small sigh of satisfaction and crouched to lift the heavy cannister of fresh engine oil.

With deft fingers, he unscrewed the oil reservoir cap and fitted a metal funnel into its mouth. The cannister of oil he was made to tip with the assistance of his elbow anchored as a fulcrum for its great weight. He barely managed to avoid over-filling the engine, but tipped the can back at the last moment.

Finally, he withdrew the dipstick and examined it, wiping away a fine layer of dirty engine oil with a spare rag. The phial of Potion Mu he removed from his pocket.

It was stoppered with a medicine dropper-like top, and he used the tiny rubber bulb on the end to squeeze two drops onto the dipstick.

"A-hem."

His clumsy fingers almost dropped the open phial, which would have spelled disaster. He caught it with his greasy fingertips and had to brace the glassware against the inside of the engine compartment as he strengthened his hold, carefully fitting the topper back to the phial.

Loud, echoing steps slapped against the concrete behind him until the owner of the noisy pair of boots stood directly over his shoulder, looking down under the bonnet along with him. A hand, long-fingered and pale, reached around his side to pluck the glassware from his tight grasp.

"I—"

Anything he might have said died on his lips as he spun around to see the murderous look that Severus was directing at the phial of potion he held between index finger and thumb.

"This is Potion Mu," he announced, without asking any questions.

Both of them knew that questioning Harry would get him nowhere. Now was no time for his games of cat and mouse.

Harry gulped. When Severus stopped antagonising him for laughs, it was usually quite serious.

"You added Potion Mu to the oil line. You have been adding Potion Mu to all of the oil lines."

Harry took a rattling breath and backed up until his bottom and hands met the grill of the car and he could go no further. He could have sworn that he was seeing black spots at the edges of his vision as his heart hammered in his chest.

"Answer me."

The low rumble of impending rage which surged beneath Snape's silken voice was enough to incite Harry to draw a deep breath of life-giving oxygen. He'd not realised that he'd ceased breathing upon being confronted in the act.

"Y-yeah..."

"Yes. You have been." Snape nodded, slowly. His black eyes had shifted from the tiny bottle of potion to rest on Harry's face. "And at what point did you authorise such a significant adulteration to our procedure with someone old enough to know better?"

Harry's ragged breathing was so pained that he'd begun to wheeze.

"I... I didn't..."

Snape's free hand shot to grasp him by the shoulder and he turned him around with a rough motion. Harry was propelled towards a stool that sat near one of the front-most worktables and forced into the seat. When Harry looked up, askance, it was to his vision blurring when Snape snatched the glasses from his face.

"Breathe, Potter. Put your head on the table, close your eyes, and breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth."

For several moments, Harry struggled to do just that. Whenever he seemed to not be breathing as much or as regularly as Snape wanted, the man would thump him on the shoulder and order him to inhale once more, taking over directing his airflow with verbal commands.

"Now out again."

When Harry finally got himself under control, he picked his head up off the table and turned terrified green eyes to his kuya who was standing at the corner with his weight braced against the surface. Snape stared him down with dispassionate black eyes and a mouth that was twisted a bit to the side. His thin arms were crossed over his chest, and Harry realised that for once he could actually see the man's skull and snake tattoo. The dark grey boilersuit he had taken to wearing about the garage was tied by the sleeves about his waist, and underneath it he was wearing the short-sleeved KISS t-shirt that had come with Harry's renewal of his membership into the KISS Army.

It was truly a strange thing to see the older wizard's arms, and Harry might have stared at the wiry black hair that covered his forearms and the assortment of brewing-related scars that stretched across his skin had he not still been terrified that Snape may well have chosen to kill him.

In fact, remembering what it was that he'd been caught doing in the first place was enough to bring back his panic in a roaring wave that seemed to deafen the outside world—

"Don't do it again, Potter!" Snape called to him.

Harry was brought back by his kuya snapping his long fingers in front of his nose several times.

"I'll not have you passing out on me when I'm due an explanation. Keep breathing, and don't you dare go all starry-eyed," he sneered.

Harry gulped but tried to do as he was told. It was a bit difficult, however, to concentrate both on his breathing and keeping an eye out for Severus' anger at the same time.

The man was well and truly into his lecture, enumerating the myriad ways Harry's actions could see them either beggared or locked up in wizarding prison, and he paced as he ticked things off on his long fingers.

"—I told you I had no plans on using Potion Mu at present for the clients, did I not? I vividly remember having a conversation with you in this very garage about the Statute of Secrecy and the necessity of keeping the very invention and misapplication of Potion Mu to our own car under wraps—"

Harry felt as though he were catching perhaps one word in ten, but when he could remember to, he nodded every so often between his bouts of breathing.

It was growing easier, at least. Snape was angry, but he was pacing-mad, not cursing-mad or throwing-things-mad.

He'd seen all sorts of mad while living with his aunt and uncle, and if at the height of his anger Snape only made it to pacing, he figured he may very well survive the ordeal after all.

With that realisation, he no longer felt as though he had to watch his breathing anymore. Instead, his eyes tracked Snape in a back-and-forth motion. Rather like the eyes and tail of that black cat kitchen clock he'd seen on some American-made telly programmes of late.

Snape was angry alright. He threw his arms up over his head as he stalked, and sometimes enunciated a point by jabbing his index finger into the air, and once he even gripped his fists at his sides as he stomped his booted foot as hard as he could onto the ground.

He only did that the once, however, as he followed it up cursing in pain when the shock seemed to have radiated up his foot and shin to his knee.

"You almost dropped the bloody phial! What if it had shattered and gotten everywhere?! Hmm? Do you realise what cleaning that shit up was like for me? It took me hours! There's no way I could find every spot of it if you spilt it within the engine compartment, which is filthy already! Do you have any idea what kind of mayhem might have resulted from Mu getting out into the environment? You don't even know how long it remains effective!"

Harry shook his head in confusion, not at all sure what Snape was now on about.

The man sighed dramatically and paused in his circuit, turning to face the boy who was sitting in a stooped position on the high stool.

"It could have been a major environmental disaster! One that no one may ever fix! I don't bloody well want to be known as the wizard who destroyed all of Britain because I couldn't keep an experimental potion under wraps!"

"It couldn't have destroyed all of Britain," Harry pushed back, his brow creasing as he grew a bit surly. Snape simply had to be exaggerating.

"You have no bloody idea how long that potion's properties last, nor how thin it can spread itself! What if its properties exist and manifest at a subatomic level!? What if it were to infect every living thing it came into contact with or made every surface impassable!? What then?"

"Severus, if you can stopper it in a phial and it doesn't go past the rubber bit, and you and me didn't get sick from being covered with it, it's probably not gonna do all that—"

"THE POINT IS THAT YOU DON'T KNOW, HARRY!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably as a bit of Snape's spittle flew into his face and speckled his glasses. He removed them to clean them on his shirt and blinked down at the folded-up pair of spectacles he held in his hands.

All too suddenly, he thought he might actually understand Snape's point. If only because his kuya sounded... scared.

Not angry but frightened beyond belief.

Of course, he couldn't quite tell whether it was his reputation being tarnished which worried him so much, or something else, but... Harry definitely hadn't meant to put Snape in the position of fearing for himself.

But then, Snape never really did seem to fear for himself.

When Barclays had called, it wasn't losing his home that had bothered Severus so much. It had been losing...

Harry.

At that realisation Harry's mouth went dry and he gulped back a desolate sob.

He'd never intended...

Oh. Oh, God.

Harry dropped his glasses into his lap and pushed his hands over his face and into his fringe, trying to stop the self-pitying tears before they started. Snape deserved better than to have to comfort him when it had been Harry who had started the whole mess...

"Sev'rus... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he whimpered.

A/N: I don't actually know how to change the oil on a '70s model Saab 99 Turbo. I'm sorry for pesky inaccuracies.