Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms
Summary: When Harry blows up his aunt during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out.
In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End.
Chapter 7
Harry couldn't decide whether the next couple of days were an improvement or not.
Snape and he came close to another argument once or twice, but whenever they did, Snape would cut himself off, grimace as though somebody had made him swallow an entire lemon, storm out of the house and not return for several hours.
A part of Harry was curious where he disappeared to. The rest of him couldn't care less as long as it was somewhere Harry wasn't.
Despite that, Harry didn't exactly feel safe. As much as he wanted to believe that Snape wanted the summer to pass as uneventfully as Harry did, it just seemed too good to be true.
There was nothing he could do other than wait for the inevitable explosion, so Harry decided to enjoy the calm for as long as he could.
Much to Severus' chagrin, he became intimately familiar with the local library. The nosy librarian seemed to have no life outside of it. She asked questions that did not concern her and recommended books she'd found since Severus' last visit.
At home, tempers had seemingly settled. Severus was not so foolish to relax, knowing the stalemate was temporary at best. Even so, with every day that passed in relative peace, the end of summer felt that much more within reach.
"What's with the flowers?" Harry asked after a lazy morning he'd spent in the sunniest section of the greenhouse, his nose stuck in his Astronomy book and looking up the constellations of Snape's night sky flowers. ('Wrong page!' the flower pot occasionally informed him.)
Snape acknowledged his presence with an irritated twitch of his eyebrows. He was filling jars with a foul-smelling paste Harry desperately hoped were going to his Potions supplies and not the fridge. "There are over fifty species of plants growing in the greenhouse, several dozen of which could be loosely classified as 'flowers'."
If every teacher answered questions the way Snape did, no student would want to ask questions in class, ever. "The dark blue ones with constellations," Harry clarified. "In the sparkling flower pot."
A muscle in Snape's temple twitched at the word 'sparkling'. He screwed the lid onto a full jar so forcefully that Harry doubted anybody would be able to get it open without magic. "Professor Sprout enjoys traveling," Snape said after a long pause. "She sometimes acquires plants non-native to Britain that she knows I would appreciate for potion purposes."
Harry tried not to look like somebody had whacked him on the forehead. It was hard to imagine Snape being on friendly terms with anyone. "So what are the night sky flowers for?"
Snape's lips curled. "They're called centaurea nocturna."
"I feel like I've seen them before. Just not the constellations."
"They are closely related to the non-magical centaurea cyanus." The ignorance must have shown on Harry's face, because Snape added, "The common cornflower."
Harry hummed even though he wasn't sure what a cornflower looked like. "So what can they do?"
Snape reached for an empty jar and the large container of pus-colored paste. "They are essentially useless for potion brewing."
Harry frowned. "But you said–"
"Professor Sprout is of the impression that no home is complete without something 'pretty to look at'." Snape's tongue curled around the words with sarcasm that didn't sound malicious.
Harry stifled a grin, imagining Snape being greeted by a sparkling 'Hello, sunshine!' in the mornings. "You should put it in the house, then."
Snape seemed unsure whether to take Harry's words as an insolence or not. "It was," he said without explanation, slamming down his last jar with a finality that made Harry flee the kitchen.
The night sky flowers mysteriously found their way onto the kitchen table.
Snape froze halfway through the doorway that evening, stared at the flowers and dropped his brows into a glare not unlike one usually reserved for students caught in the hallways after curfew.
"What?" Harry asked without looking up from his dinner, pretending like his pulse wasn't racing.
Snape exhaled deeply and pretended as though Harry hadn't spoken.
Overnight, the flower pot travelled from the sunny kitchen onto the living room table. This time it definitely wasn't Harry's doing, though the flowers seemed to appreciate the extra shade.
Harry almost wished he was still spending his nights on the couch. He'd gotten used to the faint whispers of the painted forest clearing, and he had a feeling that the flowers looked even better in the dark.
"Why did you attack your aunt?" Snape asked him one evening.
In stark contrast to the rain outside, an acrylic sun shone through the trees of the painting, casting a yellow-golden light.
Harry sent him a look of suspicion, but Snape was only paying half attention. "I didn't." Snape's brief glance looked neither incredulous nor mocking, so Harry added, "She said something, and I... It just happened."
Snape kept reading in silence. Harry no longer expected him to answer when he said, "You should work on your temper."
The words sounded only a little judgemental, so Harry bit his tongue. "I guess."
Another pause.
"What was is that she said?"
Harry almost didn't tell him. He couldn't quite tell what made him say, "She insulted my parents."
Snape stared at one section of the newspaper, his eyes unmoving.
Outside, the sky cleared up. The sun in the painting shone even brighter, almost as though it wanted to show the real one how it was done.
"'Both its flowers and its fruit are purple in color. The shrivelfig sheds its leaves in autumn and stays leafless over the winter. It is used–'"
"Based on your essay, I shall presume it survives the winter through willpower alone."
Potter scribbled a sentence in his atrocious handwriting. "'It can survive in extreme temperatures–'"
"Immune to scorching heat as well, is it?"
"'It can survive in extremely cold temperatures due to its aggressive roots'," Potter amended without looking up. "It is used in potions such as–'"
"'It,'" Severus parroted. "For my next Shrinking Solution I will simply toss the entire fig into the cauldron and hope for the best."
Potter rolled his eyes. He pulled his Herbology textbook closer and proceeded to detail the uses of each part of the plant while grumbling mutinously under his breath.
Severus turned a page, feeling his lips twitch.
His thoughts ground to a halt.
"'While its leaves are known for their medicinal properties, the shrivelfig's most important feature is the purple liquid that can be won–'"
Severus stopped listening. He locked his expression into a grim frown for no reason other than counteracting what his facial muscles had almost done in a moment of thoughtlessness.
He searched for the familiar, spiteful aversion that lined all of his interactions with Potter and found it disturbingly absent.
"It says to explain how to keep it healthy." Potter raised his head. "Does it mean what kind of soil it needs and how to prune it and stuff?"
"You own a perfectly good edition of 'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi'," Severus said testily. "I suggest you get to work."
He hoped for a sullen reaction, but Potter merely sighed and flipped open his book.
Severus stuck his nose back into his own and contemplated how much trouble he was in.
Severus spent more time outside of his house than ever before. He didn't know what was wrong with him.
"You've been spending an awful lot of time here," the librarian told him, shelving books close to the table Severus had claimed for himself.
If she stuck her nose into everybody's business the way she did to him, Severus was surprised that anybody chose to visit the library.
"You sure you're taking breathers, and not just avoiding your problems?" she asked, smoothing out a flower-patterned blouse that might have been modern during Professor McGonagall's time as a student.
Severus didn't answer. He ignored her until his point got across and the librarian left.
Harry could think of nothing he'd done wrong since the day Snape had returned from the Dursleys' – and yet.
Snape left the house for longer and longer periods of time. He stopped talking to Harry unless Harry was the one initiating. When he did, Snape's answers were brusque and short-tempered instead of merely sarcastic.
Harry had thought they'd reached some sort of understanding. Apparently not, because it felt like even the tiniest mistake would topple over their stalemate and send them straight into whatever fallout Harry was waiting for.
"Is something wrong?"
Snape wouldn't even look at him. "Nothing of your concern."
Harry would beg to differ. Anything that had Snape in a mood concerned Harry for as long as they lived under the same roof. "Did something happen?" he asked. "Did you hear from–"
"Are you deaf?" There was a dangerous glint in Snape's eyes.
Harry instinctively took a step back. "Sorry," he bit out. "You were acting differently, so I thought–"
"Do not presume to know me, Potter."
Harry bit his lip so harshly that he tasted blood. "Just tell me what I did," he snapped.
Snape pushed himself out of his chair. Harry backed away so hastily that his back hit the kitchen counter, though he needn't have bothered. Snape stormed towards the door, not at Harry.
"The world does not revolve around you," Snape drawled.
Harry's hands formed into fist. "I thought we were doing okay! I thought you–"
"You thought what?" Snape asked coolly.
Harry clenched his jaw. His mouth felt dry. "I thought–"
"Allow me to clear up the misunderstanding." Snape's voice had gone quiet. "The only reason you are still here is because Professor Dumbledore has not found anyone willing to have you. You are here because there is quite literally nowhere else for you to go."
Heat shot up into Harry's head. His throat constricted and made it difficult to breathe.
"Do not mistake necessity for willingness." Snape gave him one last, nasty look, turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.
Harry didn't call after him a second time. His back hurt from bumping into the edge of the counter.
He'd known this would happen. Snape had gotten tired of his game, so now they'd revert back to how things used to be. Everything that had happened in between had been some weird, manipulative farce.
Harry couldn't believe how close he'd been to believing he'd make it through the summer. He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hand and tried to feel vindicated instead of betrayed.
Severus was torn out of his thoughts by what he initially believed to be a horde of buffalos poltering down his staircase. What little there'd been of his good mood evaporated. No doubt this was the pay-back for the day before.
"There are less obnoxious ways to express your discontent," he said without looking up. His mood plumaged further when he received no answer.
Potter began rummaging through drawers with more noise than a swarm of greedy pixies might produce.
Five minutes into the morning, and Severus already had enough. He slapped his Prophet onto the kitchen table. "If you cannot behave like a socialized–"
Potter looked him dead in the eye and dropped the plate he'd just pulled from a drawer. The dish shattered into a hundred pieces, shocking Severus into silence.
Potter held defiant eye-contact while reaching for another, tearing Severus out of his stupor. "Explain," he bit out, slamming the drawer shut with a wave of his wand. "Now."
Potter's eyes glistened. He didn't try prying it open. "You said you wouldn't hurt me."
"And so you've made it your personal goal to change my mind?"
Potter raised his chin. "So do it."
Severus was itching to do exactly that. Stupid, rebellious boy. That's what Severus got for pampering him like all the other adults in Potter's life.
Potter waited. He looked to be expecting – even inviting – a blow, a victorious glimmer in his eyes.
A sick feeling rose up in Severus' throat. He tore his eyes away so he wouldn't have to look at the product of Petunia Evans' parenting.
He grabbed Potter's shoulder. The boy flinched, but let himself be pulled along without a struggle.
Severus tried not to place the odd mix of emotions on his face, but he caught glimpses of triumph, resignation and – most puzzling of all – relief before aiming his eyes straight ahead.
"What's in there?" Potter asked once they'd reached their destination, all prior reactions morphing into wariness.
Severus reached for the door knob. Opened to the inside, it led to a second bathroom. Opened to the outside, it led to...
"This is where you brew potions," Potter said quietly.
Severus had promised detention, so detention was what the brat would get. He shoved him down in front of an empty working station and wasted no time finding the most unpleasant work available at such short notice.
"These boxes contained either frog brains, salamander innards or highly potent leech juice." He opened one of them and slammed it down in front of Potter.
Potter jumped and recoiled from the stench.
"They all need to be cleaned and refilled before the leftover content dries into a crust and renders them too contaminated to reuse." Severus narrowed his eyes, drawing callous pleasure from Potter's look of confounded indignation.
"Get to work," he ground out. He loomed over Potter's shoulder and watched until he felt calm enough to deal with the ceramic shards on his kitchen floor.
"Back again?"
"Whoever decides to sire offspring intentionally must have lost their minds," Severus griped.
"Sure." The librarian sounded infuriatingly indulgent. "Any requests?"
Severus spared a moment to despise being addressed like a regular. "No."
The librarian patted his shoulder in passing. Severus refrained from hexing her only because practicing his self-restraint was his entire reason for coming here.
"I'll pick some different genres. You make yourself comfortable or browse till I'm back."
Severus dropped down at the nearest desk, leaned his head on one hand and tried to ignore the babbling toddler several rows down from his own. The library had a tragically well-stocked section of children's literature.
"Would it push you over the edge if I asked how the kid's doing?" The librarian put down a small pile of books next to his elbow.
"No." Severus picked up one of them at random. "Having to form an answer would."
A historical crime novel. He had no idea how the librarian knew he'd enjoyed the last one.
"Fair enough." The librarian wore a shiny, brand-new looking name tag. It said 'Roslind Bardsley' in a small, printed font and 'Miss Rosie' in large, hand-written capital letters above it. "Give me a shout if you change your mind."
Severus would not. He gave the librarian – Bardsley – a nod so she would stop looking at him expectantly and leave.
Harry finished 'detention' with sore hands, stinking of leech juice and fuming with anger. He couldn't take this much longer. He refused to. Snape could keep playing his stupid game all that he liked, but Harry was done.
Why was Snape insisting to keep Harry around when he so clearly loathed every second he had to look at him? If only Snape let him talk to the headmaster, he was sure they'd be able to figure something out.
Harry didn't know why Snape wasn't jumping at the possibility of getting rid of him. If he wasn't doing it out of his own accord, Harry would just have to make him.
Potter became more difficult to handle with every passing day. Alongside the dish a barrier seemed to have shattered, and now one petty act of rebellion followed the next.
Potter left Severus' books lying spine-up on the living room table, the pages dog-eared and wrinkled.
Severus laid spellwork onto the books that made them snap after each person's fingers that touched them with the intent to cause damage.
He locked himself in the guest room for an entire day, ignoring all of Severus' demands to cease being childish.
Severus spelled meals into the room and decided to enjoy the respite.
He plucked out galleons-worth of plants from the greenhouse, claiming he'd thought they were weeds despite never having touched them before.
Severus made him clean up the mess, salvaged what he could and locked the greenhouse shut.
The Potions work Severus set him up with had close to no effect, but Severus refused to be baited. He endured the disobedience, kept his temper in check and reminded himself that as long as he waited it out, Potter would soon return to school and be somebody else's problem.
Not all the streets in the neighborhood were as shabby as the one Snape lived on. Beyond the narrow brick houses and broken street lamps that lined Spinner's End, the buildings grew further apart. Bushes and trees were sprinkled in between asphalt and cobblestone, and the air felt lighter without the fumes of traffic to cloud it.
Harry wasn't supposed to know this. He wasn't supposed to know how anything in Snape's home town looked other than the house, Snape's garden, and the small corner shop where they got their groceries. Once Snape realized that Harry had gone behind his back and left, he'd be furious.
Harry stumbled over a narrow pedestrian zone crammed full with tiny, homely looking shops and found it difficult to care. He'd spent the past days drowning, distracted from the water steadily rising past his chin by only the company of a teacher who hated him.
He'd needed to get out. He'd needed to be on his own for even just one hour. Breaking one of Snape's rules was just an added bonus.
For the first time in ages, Harry felt like he could breathe.
He lost half an hour poking around a tiny shop selling knick knacks. He petted a stray cat prowling through the chairs of an outdoor café and looked at all the flavors of an ice cream shop, knowing he had no money to buy any of them.
It wasn't Diagon Alley, but the sun was warm and the air smelled of spices from a nearby street vendor.
Most importantly, there was nobody watching his every move. Harry didn't have to be afraid of messing up – accidentally or on purpose. He didn't have to try puzzling out why Snape did the things he was doing, and whether or not Harry's failure to do so would get him in even more trouble.
Harry pushed the thought aside. He was enjoying himself. He was more relaxed than he'd felt in weeks. This was fine. Harry was doing fine.
After days of drowning in anticipation of something Snape stubbornly dragged out until Harry could no longer bear it, he needed the break. At this point, Harry didn't care what Snape would do in retaliation.
Harry didn't know what he'd been thinking.
"Professor," he tried, but fell silent with one scathing look from Snape.
He considered calling for help. But what Muggle would be able to protect him from an adult wizard? He almost hoped that all Snape would do was cause a scene. Being screamed at by one's teacher in front of strangers couldn't be more humiliating than it was in front of his classmates.
Except Snape didn't start yelling. He didn't say anything at all. He jerked his head, turned on his heel and stormed back in the direction he'd come from, blindly expecting Harry to follow.
Harry was so unnerved by his silence, he didn't dare disobey. By the time they arrived at the house, Harry considered the very real possibility that he'd finally found a misstep Snape wouldn't be willing to let go.
"Sir," Harry started again after stepping into the hallway, but his voice faltered as soon as Snape turned his head.
His lips were pinched so tightly they were a single, white line.
Harry braced himself – at this point he couldn't even blame his teacher for exploding – in vain. Snape turned on his heel. The front door opened and closed behind him.
Harry let out a shaky breath. He drew in fresh air, not sure what he was feeling. The house was silent.
Snape didn't return for the rest of the day. Harry waited until it was dark outside, ate dinner alone and went to bed early. He turned in his sheets restlessly, thinking of everything that had happened over the summer when sleep wouldn't come.
All of a sudden he could only think of the more pleasant parts of it.
"I think I went too far," he whispered to Hedwig after giving up on getting any sleep, stroking her feathers and feeding her small pieces of meat.
It had been easy to ignore while Snape had made him so angry he wanted to scream, but Snape had been right. Harry was only here because there was nowhere else for him to go. Dumbledore knew how much they hated each other. He wouldn't have sent Snape if he'd had any other option.
The large, heavy key Snape had given him for the wardrobe lay on his bedside table. Harry eyed it listlessly, wondering why Snape had given it to him. He'd had no reason to. Yet, there it was.
Before Snape had decided to shake things up yet again, Harry's summer had been fine. Snape – at least for his standards – had been acting decently. If Harry could, he would take back everything that had happened and go back to that.
In the morning, Snape still hadn't come back.
The lump in Harry's throat swelled with every minute that passed in silence. He kept the key of the wardrobe in his pocket like its weight could somehow make up for the hollowed-out weightlessness inside of him.
He had his answer now: If this wasn't enough to make Snape break his promise, then nothing would be. But even without crossing the line he'd drawn, there was no way he would let Harry stay after what had happened.
Anxiety thrummed underneath his skin in a jittery shiver. In an attempt to appease it, Harry dug up the old cleaning supplies and started to stress-clean, uncaring that Snape had told him to cut it out the last time he'd tried. He needed to do something. He couldn't sit around waiting for Snape to come back and kick him out.
He quickly ran out of rooms to tidy up. Snape wasn't the type of person to leave anything messy, and Harry wasn't so suicidal to approach the study or Snape's bedroom, so he took to the garden in an act of desperation. He couldn't get into the greenhouse (he cringed as he thought of the reason Snape had locked it), but there were weeds growing alongside its outer walls, as well as the house and the edges of the brick wall framing the property.
The sun had crawled high by the time there were noises from the house. Harry, glad to have remembered to keep the door open, sprinted inside in time to watch Snape step out of the fireplace with an unreadable expression.
As soon as he spotted Harry, his face closed off even further. Harry realized that his hands were full of dirt and buried them into his pockets in a futile attempt to hide them from sight.
Snape's weary sigh took him aback. "Sit."
Harry didn't dare disobey. He sat down on the couch and waited, clenching and unclenching his hands in his pockets. They were sticky with sweat.
Snape stayed on his feet and made no move to start talking.
Harry didn't feel like he was expected to say something – though then again, he'd done a pretty lousy job judging Snape so far. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, which was usually a safe (if pointless) bet.
Snape let out another sigh and closed his eyes.
Harry bit harshly on his lip. He'd guessed wrong, again.
"I believed this conversation to be over," Snape finally said. "I had thought... I'd assumed we'd come to an agreement."
Harry hesitated. "I thought so too."
"Then how am I to understand your actions of the past few days?" An icy fire burned in Snape's eyes – low and simmering as opposed to the fiery rage Harry was so accustomed to.
"I guess I'm just that much of a spoiled brat," Harry bit out, thinking Snape might appreciate the opportunity to insult him.
If anything, the look on Snape's face darkened. "Try again."
Harry couldn't say for sure what it was – the forced calm in Snape's voice, his crossed arms building a barrier between him and Harry, or the physical distance he put between the two – but he felt like for once, Snape was actually waiting to hear the truth.
"You started acting," Harry hesitated, struggling with the right words, "like before."
Snape's gaze was so intense that it was uncomfortable.
"You did all those things, with my trunk and the keys and giving me back my wand," Harry tried, "and I thought... I don't know. I thought we'd be fine for the rest of the summer."
Snape waited. If his patience was waning, he didn't show it.
"You just went back to being all," Harry gestured vaguely, "you know."
"Potter," Snape warned.
Harry grit his teeth. He couldn't believe Snape was actually gonna make him say it. "You were actually being decent for once," he snapped. "Then you just... weren't. I don't know what I did, but you can't expect me to believe what you told me if you just... randomly change your mind."
Snape set his jaw. It was hard to guess what he was thinking – though if he started to rage and scream about Harry's nerve, at least they'd be one step closer to the world sliding back into balance.
"You will not disregard the rules I've given you. You will especially not run away a second time."
"Or you'll make me go back?"
"... No," Snape said after a pause. "Your relatives are no longer an option."
"Then what?" Harry asked dully.
Snape didn't answer at first. "Though I have been at the beginning," he said slowly, "I am no longer strictly opposed to the idea of housing you for the remainder of the summer break."
Harry stared at him. "You can't be serious."
A crack formed in Snape's collected facade and let irritation shimmer through. "I am aware that given the option, you would prefer to be anywhere else–"
"I've been acting horribly," Harry interrupted. "You'd still let me stay?"
Snape's mouth was tight. "You should not have left this property unsupervised. That is a rule I am unwilling to compromise on."
Harry didn't plan on repeating his mistake. And yet... "I already did it. So now what?"
Snape scoffed. Instead of storming off again like Harry half-expected him to, he closed his eyes and breathed.
"Your obsession with clearly defined punishments," he started. He cut himself off and frowned, making the impression of pondering a challenging student paper. "Your expectations pertaining to reasonable punishments are severely skewed," he tried, slowly as though measuring each word. "I realize now that your misbehavior is born out of the need to discover the extent of my disciplinary actions."
Harry held his tongue. As badly as he wanted to retaliate, he needed to know what Snape had to say.
"Perhaps in your eyes, the punishment will never fit the crime. I would ask you to refrain from breaking the rules out of respect, not fear of consequences."
Harry recognized an olive branch when it was presented to him.
"Fine," he said. He'd been stupid to run away in the first place. He didn't know this city. If he'd gotten lost, he'd have been well and truly screwed until Snape would have managed to track him down. "I'll try."
Snape's eyes bored into his with an intensity that made Harry squirm. "Professor Dumbledore is no longer looking for an alternative as he believes us capable of surviving the remainder of the holidays." He paused. "However, I am not above resorting to either blackmail or pleading to change his mind."
Harry's lips twitched. He hesitated, considering his options even though he'd been doing practically nothing else all summer. Ron and Hermione were still away. The Dursleys – not a chance. It was just like Snape had said. Harry had nobody else.
The silence stretched on.
"I'm certain Professor Dumbledore will be able to think of something."
"I'll do better," Harry said quietly.
"I'm sure. As soon as he's settled you in with whoever he deems suitable–"
"No," Harry interrupted, and immediately wanted to bite off his tongue.
What else could Dumbledore possibly come up with this close to the end of the summer? Another teacher? A complete stranger? He'd told Harry before that staying in the castle wasn't an option.
"I'll do better, here." Harry avoided Snape's gaze.
"You want to stay."
"I'm sorry for before." Harry didn't know what he'd been thinking. Any of the things he'd done over the past few days would have gotten him locked up for weeks at the Dursleys'. "I'll do better. I promise."
Snape was silent for a long while. "Very well."
Harry dared raise his head when the silence threatened to turn awkward.
Snape's mouth moved in a way that made him look like he was chewing on something sour. "I suppose... That is. I am willing to extend an apology as well."
Harry barely caught himself from letting his jaw drop open. "What for?"
Snape seemed to be warring with himself. "A misunderstanding born from lacking communication."
Harry decided not to question him further. The tentative peace between them felt more fragile than ever.
Harry shifted on his feet in front of the living room, a textbook jammed underneath his armpit. If Snape had noticed his presence, he did a convincing job pretending otherwise.
"Is it okay if I study here?" Harry felt weird asking. He'd feel even weirder acting like nothing had happened.
Snape pressed his lips together without looking up. Harry was about to change his mind and barricade himself in the guest room when Snape jerked his head in a way that might have been affirmation.
They spent their time in a silence that was neither tense nor comfortable, broken only by the low volume of the running TV. Harry couldn't concentrate, but he still did his best being productive instead of only pretending to be.
He'd actually managed to make some progress by the time Snape turned off the TV and pushed himself to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked when he realized Snape was on his way to the front door.
"The dittany herbs need repotting."
Harry looked down at his textbook, warring with himself. Snape was almost gone when he turned his head and called, "Can I help?"
Snape didn't look thrilled at the prospect. He was probably thinking of the mess Harry had made the last time he'd been inside the greenhouse. "If you must," he said curtly, stepping outside.
Harry hastily tossed his book onto the sofa and followed.
A/N: Snape: This is fine. Just gotta make it through the summer. Just gotta–
Harry, filled with spite and anxiety: is being a brat
Snape: do not murder the child do not murder the child do not murder the child
Many thanks to To Mockingbird, Igornerd, JustAnotherOutcast and flyingcat!
Let me know what you think!
~Gwen