Part 1

"It is the decision of this court that Severus Snape is remanded over to the custody of Harry Potter as an indentured servant for the rest of his life. He will lose all rights and privileges inherent to a member of Wizarding society."

For one second, the shock of the verdict held Snape perfectly still, but then he sighed, disappointed. He should have known better than to think he'd somehow be forgiven for his past. As he was brought forward, his hands bound in front of him, Potter scowled at him. Snape glared back, ineffectually perhaps, but he would never allow himself to be cowed.

"On your knees, Snape," the guard said, his wand drawn. His hand went to Snape's shoulder, pressing him down.

Snape's first inclination was to resist, to rail against this latest ignominy, but it would be futile. Best save his energy for a fight he had a hope in hell of winning.

Potter took his wand out, too.

Gritting his teeth, Snape knelt.

It was better than a death sentence at forty. Where there was life, there was hope. A magical tingle went through him. He felt the spell settle. It made him incapable of hurting Potter in any way. It was permanent, too. Even if he got out of this, he'd still never be able to pay Potter back for what was coming.

A second spell was cast. This one was the tracking spell. There would be nowhere he could run to in the world that Potter couldn't track him down within a few minutes. He could only hope that if the chance came for him to escape, that Potter wouldn't care enough to go after him.

"Get up," Potter ordered, sounding as if he hadn't enjoyed having his mean, old teacher at his feet.

"Do as your master says," the guard said, poking him with his wand.

Snape climbed slowly to his feet. Master? Not Potter. Never. He might not be able to fight outwardly, but there were ways of making Potter pay for this humiliation. And Snape planned to use every one of them to make this experience as unpleasant for Potter as it was going to be for him.

Potter took his arm and Apparated them without giving Snape any warning. He opened his eyes and found himself in a surprisingly comfortable sitting room. A big fireplace dominated the wall across from them, two chairs and a matching sofa sat in front of it.

"Did you buy the books with the house?" Snape asked, taking in the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that ran along the entire length of one wall. "I hadn't realized you even knew how to read."

Potter's eyes flashed with fury. "You know, I can't believe you're stupid enough to try to provoke me. I own your life."

"Forgive me for not being impressed that a nineteen-year-old boy --"

"Shut it, Snape. You're not going to goad me into killing you. No matter how much I might like to." 

"Why not?" Because, really, Snape could make this a whole lot worse if Potter wanted.

Potter looked at him and smiled. "I'm not going to let you off that easily. I want you to suffer. And you will."

Fabulous, Snape thought. "Do you think I'm going to do anything you ask? Surely, you're not that stupid. Oh, wait. You're Harry Potter. You define stupidity."

"You'd better get used to doing what I want, Snape. This is your life now." It was rather surprising that Potter wasn't more gleeful about it.

Snape shrugged. He didn't care. His one goal in life now was to make Potter as miserable as he was. "Do your worst."

"Come with me," Potter ordered.

Snape thought about refusing, which would be futile with a Wizard who could move him. He followed Potter silently out of the room and across the polished wooden floor of the entryway, into a modern looking Muggle kitchen. Who knew Potter was well off enough to afford such luxury?

They went down a flight of stairs, and at the back of the house, Potter stopped. "You're in here." The door opened to an empty room, bare, in fact, to the bricks. The floor was stone, and there was a pile of blankets on the floor.

"My, what luxury," Snape said, stepping into the room.

"Take off your clothes."

That startled Snape. "Why Potter, I didn't know you cared."

"Not if you were the last Wizard on the planet." Harry took out his wand and snapped out a phrase too fast for Snape to catch.

His clothes disappeared down to his pants. He resisted the urge to cover himself. His body, never beautiful to start with, was emaciated and dirty from his stint in Azkaban.

"Still not washing your smalls." Potter laughed nastily.

Snape bit his lip, saying nothing. He hated Potter in that moment more than he had before, which, all things considered, was quite a lot.

"These are for you. Too bad they're not black, but you know, prison clothes don't come in that color."

A pile of mud gray clothes were thrust into his hands. Potter raised his wand and said, "Go to bed, you bastard. You'll have a lot to do in the morning and you need your rest. Nox."

The door shut. Snape tried it, and was not surprised to find it locked. There was a bit of light in the room from the high window. It was likely spelled so that he couldn't break it. Moving to the wall, he reached up and tapped it with a finger. A mild shock hit him.

The door opened. "You can't get out," Potter said, smirking at him. "The only way out is feet first. And as I said, that's not one of your options."

Snape said nothing, trying to maintain what was left of his dignity as Potter's smirk faded to disgust, and he left.

For the next few minutes, Snape examined the walls and floor and ceiling, looking for possible means of escape, should that prove possible. There were none. Not that it would matter. With no money or contacts, he had nowhere to go. Given Potter's attitude right now, he'd probably chase Snape down to the ends of the earth and drag him back for the sport of it.

He felt as if the world were closing in on him. He was suddenly exhausted, and he sat down on the pallet.

Although he hadn't expected to be exonerated, he also hadn't expected to be convicted like a common Death Eater who hadn't worked for the side of Light. Dumbledore had left testimony, saying that he'd ordered Snape to do what he'd done. That Snape had been a loyal servant of the Light. The Wizengamot had ruled it inadmissible. Everyone knew, of course, but no one cared.

Snape sighed again, lying down in the bedding. At least it was warmer here than Azkaban. And perhaps safer. There were no Death Eaters trying to get even with him for betraying their Lord. Those in Azkaban were now bound to the place, their magic stripped from them. They were less than squibs. At least, he'd been spared that, too. Even if they'd made a show of breaking his wand, his magic had been left intact.

He snorted to himself. What he had was one enraged nineteen-year-old boy with dominion over every aspect of his life, and free rein to do as he pleased. A boy he had abused and protected alternatively for six years. Maybe Azkaban would be safer.

Snape woke to the sound of Potter's voice ordering him to, "Get up."

Opening his eyes, Snape was greeted by the unwelcome sight of Potter standing in his doorway, dressed in his Auror-trainee robes.

"Get up, you lazy bastard. There's no laying around while I have to go to work." Potter scowled at him.

"Lying," Snape corrected automatically.

"What?" Potter looked apoplectic.

More alert now, Snape realized his error, but Potter's language skills had always been appalling. "I said --"

"You're not the teacher here. In fact, you're nothing. Less than nothing." And Potter sounded as if that pleased him.

No doubt it did. Snape tried not to care. He bit his lip to remain silent. The only way to get through this was to try not to provoke Potter. It was a good idea in theory, but he suspected the practice was going to be difficult.

"Get up and get dressed." Potter folded his arms over his chest.

"And if I don't?" Snape didn't move. He was warm and relatively comfortable, something he hadn't been in a very long time. If he could arrange it, he'd like a few more hours sleep. And, it was impossible not to push Potter.

For one second, Potter didn't look sure how to answer that, but his jaw tightened and he scowled again. "Then I'll cast Petrificus, and dress you myself. You won't enjoy it. I guarantee that."

Snape supposed that he wouldn't. "Fine. Leave and I'll dress."

Potter's eyes narrowed in a way that Snape already knew didn't bode well. "You have no right to expect privacy from me. I own your miserable hide. I might as well see what it looks like."

Pretending that he didn't care, Snape rose from the bedding with as much grace as he could manage. He reached for the clothes he'd dumped on the floor next to his pallet the night before. The draw-string in the trousers' waist were all that kept them on his hips. The shirt said 'Property of Harry Potter' on the pocket. It made Snape want to laugh. Or cry.

"God, you're an ugly bastard, aren't you?"

There was nothing Snape could say to the truth.

Potter wasn't looking for conversation, anyway. "I have a list of chores for you to do today. Not only that, I want you to bathe, and wash that greasy hair. It's disgusting, even for you."

He wondered if Potter thought there were any kind of amenities in Azkaban. But even as much as he'd like a bath, it seemed like too much of a concession. However, he did need to use the facilities. "Where is the toilet?"

"Next door over to the right," Potter said, but didn't move out of the way.

Snape debated the wisdom of forcing his way past Potter, but decided that might come too close to violence for the spell he was under. "Unless you want to have a mess on your hands, I think you should let me pass."

Again, it looked like Potter was weighing his options, but eventually, he stepped aside. "I have to go to work. I expect this list of chores to be completed by the time I get home this evening."

Snape made a noncommittal sound as he passed.

The room was stark and plain. A white tile bathtub, a white toilet, and basin. After Azkaban, it was pure luxury, and Snape didn't care as long as it worked properly.

When he returned to his room, the list of things Potter wanted done was affixed to his door. Potter, thankfully, was gone.

Snape went up the stairs to the ground floor. It was nicely decorated, much better than he would have expected from Potter. He fixed himself breakfast and read the Prophet, which had been conveniently left for him, even if Potter had managed to get the pages out of order.

After dumping his dishes in the sink, on top of Potter's and what looked like last night's dinner, Snape wandered out of the kitchen.

Now that he'd eaten, looking around and getting the lay of the land, so to speak, was the first order of business. He climbed up two flights of stairs, and started on the second floor. It had four bedrooms, all with sitting rooms and bathrooms attached. Everything in them, the bedding, the draperies, the towels all looked brand new.

The first floor had three bedrooms, and one was double sized, and clearly inhabited. There was an adjoining door to not only a sitting room, but also to a well furnished office. Again everything seemed brand new.

However, Snape was sure the house was old. It had the feel of history to it.

Without disturbing anything, Snape searched the room from top to bottom, not sure what he was looking for. Perhaps all he wanted was to get some measure of the man who slept there. There was nothing at all telling about the rooms besides the fact that Potter was stupid enough to leave them unguarded with what amounted to an enemy in his house. If he'd had his wand, he would have arranged it so that Potter learned a painful lesson from his carelessness.

 Alas, those days were gone. And even when it had been his right, his duty, it hadn't done any good.

After going through everything, Snape went downstairs to the kitchen and made himself a pleasant lunch. He brought it into the sitting room. Eating slowly, enjoying every mouthful, he couldn't remember the last time he felt so pleasantly full.

The bookshelves beckoned him, and Snape was surprised by the wide ranging topics. Clearly, Potter had bought the books with the house. No nineteen-year-old he knew, and certainly not Harry Potter, had interests in philosophy, ethics, history, and religion. The selections included treatises from some of the greatest Muggle and Wizard thinkers of all time.

It would take Snape quite some time to get through all of them. Many had been on his reading list for years. He sighed, happily.

He pulled one of the history texts out. After an hour, he put the book down. Leaving the lunch dishes, he prepared himself a cup of tea and found some chocolate biscuits. Contented, Snape settled into the sofa and opened up the book again.

Several hours later, the pop of Potter's Apparition into the room disturbed Snape's concentration on his book. He turned to scowl at him for his rudeness.

"What are you doing?" Potter asked, his tone filled with outraged disbelief.

Snape would have thought that it was obvious what he was doing, but then, Potter wasn't very bright. "Reading," he said, blandly.

"I told you I wanted you to do that list of chores." Potter's tone was a bit too autocratic for Snape's taste.

"I saw it." It seemed unlikely to Snape that Potter was actually stupid enough to assume he'd do what Potter wanted, simply because he'd ordered it. Or perhaps, he was giving Potter too much credit for intelligence.

 "What part of indentured servant do you not get? What part of obeying don't you get?" Potter yelled at him, his face turning red with his outrage.

Snape shrugged. Yes, he'd given too much credit.

Potter pulled his wand out of his sleeve. The book Snape had been reading flew out of his hands and returned to the bookshelf.

"You may not read my books without asking me first." Unfortunately, Potter hadn't lowered his voice at all.

Snape considered putting his fingers in his ears in protest, but that probably wouldn't help matters. For the moment, he'd have to listen. Potter ranted about his books again.

If Snape asked for the books, Potter would say no. The control issue was clear. It would serve Snape better to wait, and just read them when Potter wasn't around.

Potter sniffed. "And I told you to bathe."

"I'll bathe when I feel like it." Which Snape had meant to do today, but not because Potter had demanded it. Now, it would have to wait a few days.

"You'll do it when I tell you to do it. In fact, you'll do it now." Potter's tone was like ice. "You have no choices here, no rights."

"What are you going to do if I don't?" Snape knew he was dancing on thin ice, but if he could establish some control, it would only help his cause in the future.

Even before he finished speaking, Potter had his wand out and Snape's hands were bound. A moment of panic knifed through Snape, but he pushed it back. This was Potter and he wasn't going to hurt him.

"I'm going to force you." Potter cast Petrificus and then Mobilicorpus. As Potter left the room, Snape floated behind him like a balloon on a tether.

He was deposited in the bathtub, and Potter said, "Induviae Removeo."

Snape's clothes vanished. The water was barely warm, and Snape thought perhaps he should be grateful it wasn't ice cold, especially given Potter's mood.

Potter raised his wand again, and it was all Snape could do not to cringe. A flannel lifted and rubbed at a bar of white soap. Snape wanted to move away as it came at him, but he couldn't move and was forced to allow it to wash him. Invisible fingers washed his hair, poking painfully into his scalp.

Seething, Snape bit his lip and bore it, almost grateful that the spell held him still. There was no doubt in his mind that he'd be attempting murder right now were he free. He was literally shaking with rage by the time Potter finished with him.

"Finite Incantatem," Potter said.

He was freed and a towel landed on his head.

"Get up, and dry off," Potter ordered, sounding as it this had been a chore for him.

Good, Snape thought, maybe he won't do it again. Before he could move, he took a deep breath, clamping down on his fury. He seriously thought about trying to kill Potter, but the strategist in him knew he'd never get close. Besides which, the spell wouldn't let him do anything. Wrapping the towel around his hips, Snape pushed past Potter.

The sight of his empty room after the luxury of the house was another slap in the face. He wasn't sure why he expected better from Potter, but he had.

Potter stood in his doorway again. "Go to bed."

"Without my supper?" Snape asked, nastily. "Is this punishment for being naughty?"

"I'll bring you something after I eat."

That was a surprise. He expected to miss dinner.

The door closed and no doubt locked. Wearily, Snape sat down on his pallet. After some time, probably at least an hour, but Snape had no way of knowing, Potter opened the door, and set a tray on the floor. He left without a word.

Snape examined the toasted sandwich. Beans on toast. God, how he hated it. He'd eaten more than his share of it as a child. There was some part of him that wanted to toss it on the floor and step on it. However, starving himself was stupid and counter-productive. He choked down half of it before giving up.

His hair was still damp when he lay down to sleep. He hated sleeping with wet hair. He hated sleeping naked. And he hated Potter, hated him with a nearly maniacal passion.

What he hadn't hated was today. It was the first mostly stress-free day he'd had in more years than he could count. He could do with several more days like this one. Even given how the day had ended, the peace had been worth it.

Unbearably tired, Snape closed his eyes and willed sleep to come quickly.

"Hey mate," Ron said, cheerily as he came into the Auror trainee changing room with the rest of his group. "How did it go today?"

They had been split into separate teams for specialized wand training. It was one of the few things Harry was good at. But after the rest of the week, it wasn't going to matter enough to make a difference.

With a towel over his head, Harry massaged his scalp, trying to get most of the moisture out of his hair. "Fine."

"Are you still coming by for dinner tonight?" Ron asked, stripping off his clothes and grabbing a towel from his locker.

At least that would put off the inevitable fight with Snape until later. After a week, Snape had done nothing in the house, except eat and read, and make a mess. "Yeah. At least I won't have to fix my own dinner."

"I thought you got Snape as an indentured servant. Shouldn't he be cooking?" one of the other guys asked.

"Or is Potter going easy on the guy?" someone else snickered. "Like always."

"Actually, I think he's only been with Harry for a day or two, right Harry?" Ron asked, giving Harry an encouraging smile.

"Yes," Harry said, ignoring the other men. He was not in a sociable mood. And he wasn't up to the usual teasing and horseplay that went with their camaraderie.

"Wait for me, then. We'll Apparate together." Ron walked towards the showers.

Harry let the sounds of the locker room bounce off him as he concentrated on not thinking about anything at all.

"Dinner will be in half an hour," a sullen Pansy Parkinson said, heading back towards the kitchen without another word. Dressed in plain gray robes, her long hair pulled back into a tail, she was a far cry from the elegant girl Harry had known at school.

Most of the Death Eaters who had been convicted of capital crimes, murder or rape, had been executed. Those in Azkaban were the ones the Ministry could not pin an actual murder on. They had been charged with lesser crimes, extortion, robbery, property damage, and all manner of terrorism, and had been sentenced to life in prison.

Pansy fell into the third category. She had been a Death Eater, though a minor one, and she was considered safe enough to let out into society as an indentured servant.

"She's so well behaved. How did you manage to do that?" Harry asked. Snape could learn a thing or two from his former student. Of course, Snape was probably too good to actually do it.

"The first couple of days all she did was sit around and eat," Hermione said.

"The same with Snape. All he does is lay about." And eat, too. As much as Harry had no sympathy for Snape about anything, Azkaban was not known for feeding its prisoners very well and Snape looked...well, half-starved.

"Lie about," Hermione corrected, and then smiled at his scowl.

"I threatened her," Ron said, and Hermione looked away, clearly uncomfortable.

"How?" Harry couldn't see that working. The problem with Snape was that there was nothing he cared about.

"I told her that if she didn't work, she wasn't going to get fed."

Harry's heart thudded at that, and for a second, he couldn't breathe. He reminded himself that this was Ron and he wasn't cruel. "Did she obey with just the threat?"

"No. Of course not. It took three days before she was willing to negotiate for food." Ron's tone wasn't quite defensive, and Hermione wasn't looking at either of them.

"Negotiate?" Harry asked, looking between Ron and Hermione. It was pretty clear that Hermione had a problem with what Ron had done, but she hadn't done anything about it. Which meant that against her better judgment, it needed to be done.

"We couldn't make her work and not give her something in return for it. We don't care that she's an indentured servant, and has no rights. We just can't do that," Hermione said, her expression intense, as it was when she felt strongly about something.

Harry could see this was something she was going to do something about. "So what are you giving her?"

"If she does a good job, at the end of the week, she can have something she wants from a list I had her draw up."

"What did she ask for?"

"Foods that she likes, books, clothes. That kind of thing. A bigger bed. Specific kinds of toiletries, more clothes, days off."

"And it works?"

"Not without a struggle sometimes, but it does." Hermione smiled at him. "Having trouble with Snape?"

"That would be an understatement." Harry was surprised by the defeat in his own voice. It should not have been this difficult. Of course, when had anything dealing with Snape not been difficult? It was too bad he couldn't just give him back. But once the verdict was handed down, there was nothing that could be done, short of a full court judgment, or a pardon. Neither of which was at all likely anytime soon.

It wasn't his fault that he was one of the few wizards alive strong enough to hold Snape. Harry hadn't been given a choice. If Harry hadn't agreed, Snape would have remained in Azkaban and allowed to die at the hands of the other prisoners. Harry might hate him, but he did acknowledge that Snape didn't deserve that.

"He's older and has had years more practice at being stubborn than Pansy. But you might try the food for work plan. Everyone has to eat." Ron didn't seem to have a problem with that.

However, Harry did. "I couldn't do that." A familiar ache ghosted in his stomach. It nauseated him.

Ron seemed surprised by his vehemence. "Why not?"

"You've never been hungry, have you?" Harry hadn't told them much about his life with the Dursleys, but surely they had noticed how thin he was every autumn when they were at school. "I can't withhold food."

Hermione eyed him for a moment, understanding and sadness coming into her eyes. "Okay, something else then?"

The scars of his childhood were there, like the scar on his forehead, but that didn't mean he had to acknowledge either of them. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Food is one of those basic things. You need to strike him where he lives, and in such a way that he has to give in." Hermione looked down, clearly uncomfortable.

"I can't think of anything," Harry said. Things couldn't go on as they had been or Harry would lose what little control he had. The forced baths were one thing, but he couldn't force Snape to work when he wasn't there to supervise him.

"You could threaten to thrash him, if he doesn't do what you want," Ron suggested, and in such a way that Harry wasn't sure he was joking.

"Ron...." Hermione looked horrified, but Harry had to admit that he hated Snape enough to seriously consider it.

"I'm serious. Not to actually hurt him, but make him think that you will, make him think that he's going to be facing that. I don't think his pride could handle it." There was a smile on his face as if the idea actually held some appeal.

"The thing is, I won't be able to carry through." Harry might be able to strike out in anger once, but he wasn't going to be able to regularly beat anyone. There had been too much of that in his early life. And even if he managed to do it to Snape, he'd feel lousy about it afterward.

"Then find some way to convince him you will." Ron thought for a moment. "You might only have to do it once, and then he'll know you will follow through."

"I don't know." Harry wasn't sure he could do it once. He might hate Snape, but he didn't want to hurt anyone. Even if that kind of punishment wouldn't hurt more than his pride.

"You have to have a threat to gain compliance." Ron's expression was calculating.

"And you have to be willing to follow through. Because he is going to test you, at least once," Hermione said.

"Dinner is ready," Pansy said, and turned around and left.

Harry looked after her, considering. He wanted Snape to obey him, but mostly he wanted Snape to stay out of his way.

After dinner, Harry was more relaxed. "I bet the twins are having a grand time with Draco Malfoy."

Ron snorted. "From what it sounds like, they seem to be doing better than you are."

"Which wouldn't be saying much, now would it? What do they have him doing?" Harry could not see Malfoy giving in without a fight.

"Same kind of thing as the rest of us. Except they have him cleaning the shop. And they tease him rather badly. I think they are a bit too much for Malfoy." Ron actually sounded as if he felt sorry for Malfoy.

Well, the twins could be a bit much for anyone to take, and someone as perpetually bad tempered as Malfoy was would not get on well with them. "You know, I hate this whole system."

"Me too," Hermione said, sitting down next to Ron on the sofa. "I know there is a huge historical precedent for it, but I still think it's wrong for one person to own another. No matter what they've done."

"It's not really ownership." But it was, and everyone involved knew it. "I mean, technically he's a servant." And no, Harry wasn't going to think about what was on the pocket of Snape's shirts. Somehow the joke wasn't so funny anymore. Harry shook off the feeling. Snape deserved everything he got, and more.

Hermione's expression hardened. "What would you call it? You have complete control over every aspect of Snape's life and he has no recourse at all."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that, especially since he knew it was true.

Ron put an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "I don't know what else they could have done."

"They could have found another way, something other than indenturing them. It's nearly slavery," Hermione insisted, her eyes flashing.

"You know as well as I do that Azkaban without the Dementors is woefully short staffed."

"It doesn't matter. They could have done something else." Hermione folded her arms over her chest.

Ron also had a determined look on his face. "I don't disagree that indenturing them is wrong. But in this case, they had to do something for those who were less violent, those who weren't really a threat."

"I realize that. But to indenture them forever? I think there should be term limits," Hermione said. She had that expression on her face that said she was severely unhappy with the situation. The same expression that she'd had for most of their Fourth Year.

"That's all well and good, but why did I have to get stuck with Snape?" Harry didn't care that he sounded whiney. He hadn't done anything wrong and he'd been given a life sentence with Snape. How completely unfair was that?

"You know the answer to that one already." Ron chuckled.

Harry didn't want to talk about Snape or any of the reasons the greasy git was now part of his life. "Why do you think there should be term limits?"

"Because not every one of them deserves to be indentured for the rest of their lives." Hermione looked towards the kitchen. "She went to a few meetings, and on a few raids. As far as I have been able to tell, she's never hurt anyone."

"That's why she wasn't put in Azkaban," Ron said, but he didn't sound like he liked the idea any better than Hermione did.

Harry, on the other hand, knew better. "I think Snape deserves to be punished for killing Dumbledore."

"He was working on Dumbledore's orders." Hermione said that as if it mattered, as if that should excuse what he'd done.

To Harry, it didn't matter. "The bastard still did it. He still should be punished for doing it."

"It was part of the larger plan. And it worked." Since when did Ron defend Snape?

"Beyond Dumbledore, you know that he let Ginny die, too." To Harry's horror, his voice cracked. Six months ago and he felt as if the knife had just gone through his chest. "He got me out, but he left her. I can't forgive him for it."

"I know. He did what he did to make sure you lived. And as much as I loved my sister," Ron's voice cracked, too, "you had to live to defeat Voldemort. You had to live," he closed his eyes. "But she didn't."

Even though it clearly hurt him to accept it, to think the trade was worth it, Ron obviously had come to terms with it.

Harry never could or would. "I hate him for that. She shouldn't have died."

"No. She shouldn't have. But Snape didn't kill her. A Death Eater did." Hermione's voice had suppressed tears in it. "She was one of my closest friends. And I'll miss her forever, but you know as well as I do, she would have chosen you, too."

"She should have lived." Harry felt the familiar rage rise in him. He wanted to strike out and punish someone for what he'd lost. Snape's ugly, scowling face came into his mind like a bad dream. Yeah, exactly.

"But you know, she wouldn't want you to blame him for that. She was more fair than that, and so are you." Hermione was right, but that didn't make him feel any better about it.

"I hate him," Harry said, not letting it go as he probably should have done.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not that fond of him, either. But your life and his are now intricately bound together."

"Ugh...you make it sound like a real bond or something." Harry already felt sick at the idea that Snape would be a part of his life, anything more than that was disgusting and just plain wrong.

Hermione gave him an admonishing look. "What would you call the indenturing bond?"

"He is bound to me. He can't hurt me or run away from his punishment. I am not bound to him in any way." And Harry could not be more glad about that. All he wanted from the bastard was compliance.

"Have you asked him to brew the Wolfsbane?" Ron asked, clearly wanting to get off the subject.

Harry was more than agreeable to that. "I haven't got that far with the bastard yet." They had probably both already twigged on to how he'd not got Snape to do one blessed thing all week.  

"Remus is going to need the potion, very soon. You're going to have to get him to do it within the week," Hermione said, and she seemed concerned that Harry wasn't going to have Snape brew it.

"I know. Now that I've got an idea of how to handle things, I'm going to speak to him about that as soon as I can." Harry smiled. Getting the better of that greasy git would be so good. Harry was looking forward to it.

"That should be fun," Ron said, sounding as if he knew just how unpleasant that conversation was going to be.

Oh, and Harry knew it, too.

Part 2

Snape was startled awake when the door to his room crashed against the wall. Without thinking, Snape was on his feet, reaching for the wand he no longer had. Then, before he could do more than register who it was, Potter cast "Petrificus."

In the low light of his room, Snape could see that Potter's face was red and his expression was outraged. Maybe he should have cleaned up after himself this evening, Snape thought as Potter advanced on him.

"You didn't do anything again today! Do you think this is a game? Do you think you have a choice about this?" Potter's voice rose with each question.

Snape couldn't move, and he certainly wasn't going to say anything. He'd found that ignoring Potter's rants worked best.

Potter waved his wand again, and Snape was forced to hold out his right hand, palm up. What? A flash of fear washed through him. Even knowing it was futile, Snape tried to pull it back.

"Verbero," Potter said, his wand coming down in a slashing arc.

Snape let out a startled gasp as something that felt like a cane or a ruler hit hard across his palm, and before he could react Potter repeated the movement three more times.

Snape breathed out hard. A welt had opened across his outstretched hand and blood welled out of it. Anger, pain, and humiliation washed over him and he trembled in reaction.

As much as he'd occasionally been subjected to torture from Voldemort, it hadn't happened often enough to inure him to it. Usually, he could see it coming, and had enough time to prepare for it. This attack had come out of nowhere. He simply hadn't expected physical violence from Potter.

"This is not a joke, you bastard. You will obey me. You will complete all the items on the list I've made or we'll repeat this tomorrow night." Potter was breathing hard, his eyes blazing with hatred.

Stunned disbelief held Snape's tongue for a moment. He couldn't quite accept that Potter had deliberately hurt him.

Potter took a deep breath, and seemed to be trying to calm himself. "To show what a decent wizard I am, we're going to do this fairly --"

"There is nothing that even begins to be fair about this situation." Snape didn't bother to hide his bitterness. This was just one more unjust event in a lifetime filled with them. And he suspected Potter knew it and didn't care. So much for Gryffindor fairness.

Potter didn't even blink at his words. "If you do what I tell you each day, and you do it properly, then you win points for each thing."

"Points?" Snape choked on the word. He couldn't mean that. No, that indignity was beyond bearing.

But Potter's answering smile said that he did, and not only that, it pleased him. "Oh yes, just like school. Only now it's me handing them out or taking them."

This couldn't be happening. It was a nightmare. But the pain in his hand was bad enough that he couldn't ignore it, and his stomach was churning with acid. As surreal as it was, he'd have to deal with it.

Potter wasn't done yet. "Every time you don't do what I've asked or you misbehave, you'll lose points. And if you end the week with negative points, you'll pay for them. And let me tell you that what I just did will be nothing compared to what I will do to you if you end up with negative points." Potter met his eyes. "It won't be your hands either. I'll shred the skin off your miserable hide."

Without a doubt, Snape believed him.

Closing his eyes, he wanted to deny it, to believe that Potter was better than this. Merlin, how could Potter, even hating him as much as he did, do this?

Why should Potter be any better than the rest of the Wizarding world? The Aurors at Azkaban had taken cruel delight in humiliating him at every opportunity. But the Death Eaters had been worse. And there had been no way to escape them when the guards turned their backs.

Potter's voice brought him back to the present. "However, if you do what you're supposed to do, then you can trade the points for some amenity you want."

That was unexpected. Realistically, he knew that Potter couldn't free him, wouldn't even if he could. Beyond that, it didn't matter. "What amenities?"

"Anything you want -- within reason. Books. Special foods. Clothes."

"Inconsequential things," Snape spat. Nothing of value or substance.

"Things that will make your life better."

"Nothing is going to make my life better." Except getting out of this situation, which had started badly and was quickly becoming untenable. And Snape knew with awful bitter certainty, there was no getting out.

"Too bad. This is your own fault."

Snape wasn't going to argue that question. His hand hurt and his anger was starting to overflow. For one second, he wished he could wrap his hands around Potter's neck and squeeze until he turned blue. He took a breath again and tried to let the anger go. Until he could do something about it. "And if I don't agree?"

Potter laughed at that and it felt like being stabbed in the chest. "What part of 'no choice' don't you understand? If you don't do this I'll beat you until you do," Potter said, glaring.

Snape sucked in a breath. At some other point in his life, he would have said that he knew Potter well enough to know he wouldn't follow through on that threat. But the war had changed them all, and now he wasn't so sure, especially after what Potter had just done.

Judging by how badly his hand hurt, and how it was likely to feel tomorrow, Snape wasn't going to take the chance. If Potter decided to take the negative points out on his hands too often, he might lose some sensation or feeling in them. Having his hands permanently damaged would do his career no good at all. Not that he was going to have a career, but something could change in the future. And his hands were his livelihood.

Beyond that, while the pain wasn't unbearable, nothing was after experiencing Cruciatus, it was considerably uncomfortable. The humiliation...that didn't even bear thinking about. For the moment, he'd have to bide his time, seeming to comply with what Potter wanted.

"Do you understand me?" Potter asked, his tone filled with anger. Though what he had to be angry about was beyond Snape. The bastard held all the cards, and Merlin, how Snape resented him for that.

"Yes."

"I expect you to get up, and make my breakfast in the morning." Potter waved his wand. "Finite Incantatem."

After Potter left, Snape sank slowly down to his pallet, shaking. He lay awake most of the night, his hand stinging, and his mind working through all the different ways he could eviscerate Potter.

Trembling, Harry made his way up the stairs quickly, the sound of the spell hitting Snape's open palm, ringing in his ears. He felt sick to his stomach. Maybe a bath. Anything to clean that foul feeling that clung to him.

In his entire life, he'd never done anything like that, never deliberately hurt someone who was not actively trying to hurt him first. Even sixth year, when he'd cast Sectumsempra on Malfoy, which was probably the worst thing he'd done to someone he wasn't actively defending himself against, he'd really only been testing out the spell. He wouldn't have done that to Malfoy on purpose. Malfoy hadn't been held still by a spell, and he hadn't been unarmed.

But...but...if he wanted Snape to obey him, then Snape had to be forced to it. Simply asking or telling or demanding was not going to work. Not with Snape. So, this kind of action was justified. But...but...it wasn't supposed to make him feel like he'd committed a crime. Wasn't he supposed to feel triumphant that he'd finally got the best of his enemy?

Harry lay down on his bed, trying to sleep, but his mind kept replaying the scene, and every time it did, he saw the welt open on Snape's hand. He saw the pain and hatred blaze in Snape's eyes.

Bile rose in his throat, and he couldn't lie still. Jumping up, he dressed again and went down stairs. Time for a ride. He fetched his broom from the closet, and grabbed his cloak. Harry headed out into the night.

For a long time, he flew without knowing where he was going, but as the graveyard came into sight, he realized where he was.

Ginny's gravestone was cold marble, and Harry sat against it.

"Hi, Gin." He felt silly speaking to her as if she were alive, but he had the most bizarre need to tell her what had happened since she'd died. "It didn't end the way it was supposed to end, did it? You weren't supposed to die." He paused and whispered, "I loved you. I wanted us to have kids and a normal life. I hope I'm still going to be an Auror. But instead of being married to you, I end up with Snape. How unfair is that?"

Harry forced out a bitter laugh, because it was that or cry. "It's not really funny, is it. I hate him so much. I want him to suffer for what he did to Dumbledore. And to you. I just don't want to be the one to make him suffer. It shouldn't be me. He should be in Azkaban. Anywhere, but with me.

"I don't think I can hit him again. Not unless he was trying to hit me first. Maybe it won't come to that. Maybe Snape will take the warning. Maybe using points will be enough incentive to get him to comply. I know I'll lose what little authority I have with him if I can't follow through. And I already know that I can't do that again."

Harry talked for a long time, telling Ginny of his troubles and when he was done, he felt a bit better. It was very late, and cold. He shivered as he mounted his broom for the long flight home.

Deeply resentful, Snape made breakfast for Potter the following morning. His hand ached abominably. It served to strengthen his resolve not to give Potter another reason to use that spell on him again. As he cooked, he thought of all the ways he could make Potter pay for this latest indignity.

"Here is the list of things I want you to do today," Potter said between sips of his coffee. There wasn't quite as much satisfaction in Potter's tone as he would have expected.

Surprised that Potter wasn't gloating, Snape looked at the list. It was mostly household chores. A wave of annoyance went through him. "You couldn't get a house elf to do this?"

"What do I need a house elf for when I have you? Two points for insolence." Potter took a bite of his toast. "Not a good start here, you're already in negative numbers." And there was the arrogance he'd been expecting all along.

Snape ground his teeth and managed, barely, to say nothing.

"There's one more thing." Potter stood and reached for his Auror cloak. "You're going to brew Wolfsbane for me."

"Oh?" Snape gave a brief thought to doing the potion incorrectly, letting his hand slip with one of the ingredients but pride, and the danger it would cause, made him disregard the idea. There were other means of revenge.

"Yes. I've got a lab in the basement near the room you're using. I'm surprised you missed it on your survey of the house. By the way, ten points for going through my things. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Actually, he was sure Potter hadn't noticed, especially since he'd done it a week ago. "I was making a point. You should not leave your things unattended."

"I have subtle wards in the house. I know when you cross into my rooms. Don't do it again," Potter ordered, looking superior.

Snape picked up the list and ignored Potter. The hot water for the dishes stung his hand, and he gritted his teeth, making a show of putting the stack of plates into the water one by one.

As soon as Potter was gone, Snape sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.

It galled him all the more that Potter was enjoying his humiliation. Potter finally had the upper hand, and he was going to take six years of anger out on Snape, unless Snape could think of a way to thwart him. Nothing came to mind immediately. With a sigh of resignation, Snape gave up, and started to work.

He cleaned steadily for several hours, and was surprised to find himself done by early afternoon. After he made himself lunch, Snape went into the sitting room to get something to read. When he tried to retrieve the book he'd been reading, a mild shock hit him.

Seething, Snape sat down and stared at the bookcase, resentfully. He hated Potter so much.

Snape made dinner. He was better than a passing fair cook, but he wasn't going to extend any of his skills. Not for Potter.

After Snape served Harry a plate, he sat down at the table to eat.

Potter looked up. "I won't share my table with you. You can eat when I'm done. Or downstairs."

Snape recoiled as if struck. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten. Then he stood, and walked out of the kitchen. He wasn't hungry anymore. When he heard Potter leave the room, he went back upstairs to clean up.

"Don't waste the food," Potter said from the doorway when Snape would have thrown his dinner in the rubbish bin.

Snape's hands shook with his rage as he pulled a container out of the cupboard and dumped his dinner into it.

"You didn't do badly today, Snape. Five points to you for the cleaning, and another two for the dinner. Though I suspect you're a better cook than that. No matter. It was edible."

Snape couldn't force himself to look at Potter.

"Look at me when I talk to you." Potter's tone was annoyingly mild, but there was steel beneath it.

With a concerted effort, Snape forced himself to turn around. He glared at Potter.

"Tomorrow, I want you to brew the Wolfsbane. It's almost the full moon. Hold out your hand."

"What?" Snape hesitated. He wouldn't be able to brew tomorrow if he couldn't hold either a wand or a stirring rod.

"Do it."

Snape held out his hand and gritted his teeth. He tried not to flinch when Potter drew his wand, but surprisingly, Potter touched his wand to his hand and whispered, "Medicor."

It was a simple healing charm, but it worked to close and heal the welt.

"Normally, I'd leave it to heal on its own, but I don't think you can brew with it open like that."

"I'll need a wand." His had been broken at his capture.

"There's a replacement in the lab. You'll only be able to use it there. And if you try and remove it from the room, you'll buy yourself a world of trouble." Potter's tone was ominous with the threat.

There was nothing Snape could say to that, and so he didn't even try. He would bide his time. Things would change. They always did.

It had been a long time since he'd brewed a potion. How he'd missed it. The exacting science of putting together a complicated potion was a joy he hadn't expected to have again.

It took hours of preparation and painstakingly detailed work, but Snape hadn't felt that content in quite some time.

The lab, of course, was barely adequate. Snape had no idea who stocked it, probably that know-it-all friend of Potter's. Most of the ingredients were non-lethal in and of themselves. No doubt to discourage him from making a poison. Although Potter should have known enough about potions to know that even the most common ingredients could be poisonous in specific combinations. Not that he could inflict it on Potter, but if things got bad enough....

He was a master at his trade, and he could brew what he wished from less than adequate supplies. There were any number of potions he could brew that would serve his purposes, should he decide that he couldn't bear the situation any longer.

There might come a time when the life he was living became too awful. It was bad enough now, but Snape could foresee a future where he couldn't bear it. The bitter truth was that there was no getting out of this, no amnesty, no pardon. The only reprieve that would come was one he created.

As long as he had access to the lab, there would be a way out. It was a failsafe that he would need to endure the coming weeks and months and very possibly years.

Snape was pulled from his dismal thoughts by the timer for the Wolfsbane going off. He checked the brew, and saw that it was the right shade. It smelled disgustingly correct as well. Using his wand, he poured off three goblets of it, and put a no-spill seal on them. Potter could deliver them to the werewolf when he wished.

Before he left the lab, he considered the wand he'd been given. Potter probably hadn't done more than spell the threshold of the door to each room, possibly the threshold at the top of the stairs as well. It would be just like him to not follow through and do the walls as well. Perhaps he could slip the wand into his room by cutting a small hole in the wall.

He couldn't do much with it in there, but at least he could transfigure the pallet into a real bed and it would give him enough light to read by. The spell for the transfiguration would only have to be reset every month or two. At least, he'd sleep better.

With a bit of effort, Snape managed to bore a small hole in the concrete wall, near the floor. The wand slipped through easily enough and he was able to do the transfiguration without a problem. When he'd finished, he cast a glamour on the bed. If Potter examined it closely, he would be able to see what Snape had done, but a casual glance into the room would show a pile of blankets on the floor.

He was pleasantly tired when he'd finished, and it was past time for lunch. Upstairs, he made himself something to eat and sat at the table.

The wards chimed, startling him. With a sigh, he got up and went to the door. Everyone came to the house this way, except Potter, who Apparated in. He wondered why no one used the Floo. It was hooked up. And he'd seen Potter speaking to people with it.

"Lupin," Snape said, unsurprised, as he opened the door. "I presume you are here for the potion."

"Good guess, Severus." Lupin gave him a wan smile, no malice, or any other emotion in it. "But then, you always were rather intelligent."

Biting his lip on a retort, Snape stood aside, and let Lupin in.

"How are you getting on?" Lupin asked solicitously, as if he actually cared about the answer. He followed Snape into the kitchen.

"Wait here," Snape said, going down stairs to retrieve the goblets. When he returned, Lupin had wondered into the sitting room, and was leafing through the book that Snape had been reading a few days ago. So, the spell only worked on him. Anger seethed through Snape at yet another slap in the face.

When Lupin would have put it back in the bookcase, Snape cleared his throat. "Leave it on the table."

Lupin looked at him askance, but nonetheless did as he asked.

"Here." Snape handed him the carrier with the three goblets.

"Thanks. I appreciate --"

"If I'd had the choice, I assure you, I would not have wasted my time with this," Snape snarled at him.

By all that was holy, he hated all of them. The Order could have come to his defense, could have fought for him. A few had done so, Minerva, and more surprisingly, Kingsley Shacklebolt, but none of the others. Most of them wanted to believe the worst.

"I know. I'm sorry --"

False sympathy, especially from Lupin of all people, was beyond anything he could bear. "Spare me your platitudes, Lupin. I don't want to hear them. If you'd cared at all about my predicament, you should have tried to do something when it would have done some good."

Lupin straightened up and looked at him, sincerity written all over his tired face. "I did. I tried to tell the court --"

"Don't lie to me, I was there. You were as useless as every other Order member. Ignoring the ugly facts." But the truth was he hadn't known Lupin had tried. He would have said it didn't matter, that nothing would have helped, but....

"You are an ungrateful bastard, aren't you." Lupin had what sounded like a real note of anger in his normally bland voice.

"Me, ungrateful? Being made into a servant for the rest of my life is something I should be grateful for? Being forced to serve a former student? Being told that I'm no longer--"

"Yes?" Lupin asked, and his yellow eyes met Snape's.

Snape's breath came in ragged pants. Murdering Lupin would do neither of them any good.

"You could have been executed with the rest of the Death Eaters who were convicted of murder," Lupin pointed out, his usual calm returning to his tone.

"Except of course, that I wasn't a Death Eater." Snape hated the whine in his voice. He hated that no one acknowledged any of the good he'd done. Only the evil he'd been forced to do.

"I know. And the Order knows. Dumbledore should not have asked this of you." Lupin sounded like he really meant it.

As much as he wanted to believe that someone beyond McGonagall or Shacklebolt had actually gone to his defense, Snape couldn't. "You might inform --"

"He knows, too. It's just that he's young and angry." Lupin sighed. "He lost a lot in the war. You might try and understand that." Lupin said it as if Potter were actually the wronged party, rather than Snape. That did not endear him to Snape at all.

Snape flexed his fingers, thinking about the wand downstairs. "I lost more than he did. He's free. He can come and go as he chooses. Do what he wants." And that was the rub, wasn't it. Potter could have been decent about it. They could have worked something out. All Potter wanted was to hurt him, to humiliate him, just like all the other Potters he'd known.

Lupin looked down, his shoulders slumping.

"Nothing to say to that?" Snape sneered. They were all so self-righteous. It made him sick.

"What's going on here?" Potter asked as he came into the room, his face showing his annoyance.

"Severus was just giving me the Wolfsbane potion." Lupin held it up as a visual aide.

"So, I see." Potter smiled at Lupin, and then turned to Snape, the warmth fading from his eyes. "Twenty-five points for that."

Twenty-five? Added to the five point deficit he already had, Snape was certain he'd never recover by Friday. Even as his stomach twisted at the points' loss, Snape couldn't quite fathom what had just happened. He'd believed, hoped, that Potter wouldn't use violence to control him. Obviously, he didn't know Potter as well as he'd always thought. Potter was looking for any excuse to humiliate him.

"Harry?" Lupin had that concerned look in his eyes.

It made Snape want to vomit. "If there is nothing else?" Snape walked away without waiting for an answer.

Potter showed up in the kitchen after Lupin left. "What was that all about?" 

"What are you talking about?" Angry beyond caution, Snape simply didn't care anymore. If he were going to be beaten, then he'd give that little bastard a reason to do it.

"Why are you angry?" It was so clear that Potter had no idea.

Snape was shaking with rage. How could anyone who was supposedly of the light be so impossibly careless and cruel? "You are such a stupid, thoughtless child. You have no idea, do you? It's all a game, isn't it? Cruelty comes easily to you, doesn't it? You are just like your father."

Potter's eyes blazed. "I don't know what is wrong with you, but you will not speak to me like that. Ten points for the rudeness."

"Well, let's see that's, what, forty points down, now isn't it? Shall I try for fifty?" Snape took a step towards him. He couldn't actually harm Potter, but maybe he could just startle him. Any kind of satisfaction would do at this point.

"What? Even with the ten I just took, you're still ten up. Look at the counter." Potter pointed to the wall.

How could he not have noticed the points glass? He was ten points up. It infuriated him even more.

"You thought I took points for making the Wolfsbane?" Potter sounded as if he couldn't believe that.

Snape was too angry to answer. He'd actually thought it was for arguing with the werewolf and forgetting his supposed place.

After a pause, Potter said, "Is dinner ready?"

"Give me a few minutes." Snape carefully controlled his voice. Relief made him weak and he hated Potter all the more for the casual fear that ruled his life.

"Fine."

<hr>

Part 3

Harry slid into the seat next to Ron at their favorite pub and was very pleased to see the glass of ale waiting for him. Hermione had late classes on Wednesday nights this term, and he and Ron had fallen into the habit of sharing a pint and a meal after training.

"How'd you do on the basic evidentiary module? Ron's face was bright with pleasure and that alone said he'd done well on it.

"I did okay," Harry said, noncommittally. Okay was pushing it a bit. He took a long drink from the glass and tried not to think about it.

The light in Ron's eyes didn't dim and clearly, the subject wasn't going to be dropped as he'd hoped.

"I thought that was pretty easy, too. I wish all my classes at school had been like this," Ron's tone was buoyant, enthusiastic.

It hadn't been easy at all, not to Harry. They'd been asked to find clues on a crime scene. Five had been a pass. Harry knew he didn't want to know the answer, but he was a good friend and he asked, "How many did you find?"

"All ten." Ron's smile was incandescent. "Plus the two extra credit ones."

Harry forced a smile, trying to be happy for him. "That's great."

Finally understanding, Ron's smile faded. "Should I even ask?"

"Six."

"That's not too bad. It's still passing." It was so clear that Ron was trying to be supportive and Harry did appreciate it.

"And in a real investigation that would go over so well, wouldn't it? Sorry sir, I found some, if not all of the evidence." Harry hated it more that he wasn't picking up the information as quickly as he should.

"We've only been in training a few months. You'll get it. I know you will." Just like the good friend he was, Ron sounded sure and encouraging. He wanted Harry to succeed.

"Six months. Two people have already been dismissed from the program. And Benson wasn't doing that much worse than I am." Harry was half-afraid he'd be next. Or that he wouldn't be.

"They are not going to let you go, mate. That much I can promise you," Ron said, sounding bloody sure of that.

Unfortunately, Ron was probably right. And it galled Harry. "Yes. Instructor Belington has already told me that I had more...how did he put it...leeway than some of the other students."

"You told him you didn't want that, right?" Ron didn't phrase it as a question.

"He's still carrying me, waiting for the Boy-Who-Killed-Voldemort to finally pick it up." It galled Harry all the more that he needed the extra time and help. If he'd picked it up the way he should have done, it wouldn't have been an issue.

Shaking his head, Ron picked up his glass and took a sip, setting it down on the table with a thud. "He's not carrying you. Whatever else needs work, you're brilliant at magical spells and defense."

Harry could not believe he was actually saying that, as if one thing had anything to do with the other. "That isn't going to help me, if I can't do an investigation properly."

"It might save your life, and that of your partners," Ron said.

Harry gave him a baleful look. His magic was strong, but, "It takes more than that to be an Auror. It takes specialized skills and not everyone has them."

"You could quit." At least, Ron sounded reluctant to suggest it.

Except that he couldn't. It was simply too important to walk away from. Trying harder was his only option. "This is what I've always thought I'd do."

"There's no rule that says you can't change your mind. Especially if you don't like it."

"What makes you think I don't like it?" Harry asked. But really, liking it had little to do with being an Auror. At least, for Harry.

"Oh, I don't know. The look on your face most of the time. You look like you wish you were any place else."

Harry's face heated. He hadn't realized it showed that badly. "This is what I want to do. I thought that if I killed Voldemort and somehow survived, then my life would be normal. I'd marry Ginny and have six kids and be an Auror and ...."

"Things change, Harry. I think that's what life is about." That was easy for Ron to say since his life had gone just as he'd expected it would.

Harry laughed bitterly. "When did you start to grow-up?"

"About the time Voldemort killed my sister." And there was still a note of disbelieving pain in Ron's tone.

And it was worse for Harry, he knew the truth of it. "To get to me. If Snape...."

"No. Don't blame him. It's not fair," Ron said and it sounded as if he really meant it. "I'm not saying I like the greasy git, but he didn't kill Ginny. Voldemort did."

Harry could not accept that Snape had nothing to do with it. "He could have done something. As it was he didn't help the matter."

"He actually did, if you remember." Ron frowned. "Perhaps not with Ginny, but I don't want to think about what would have happened if he hadn't got you where you needed to be."

Harry didn't like thinking about it, either. "You sound like you think he's innocent."

"No. I don't think that at all. He killed Dumbledore. And even though he did it on Dumbledore's orders, there's part of me that thinks -- I don't know -- that he should pay for it." But Ron looked down at his hands when he said it.

"You don't sound sure." Harry wanted Ron to be sure, to back up Harry's conviction that he was right in his treatment of Snape.

"Are you?" Ron still didn't sound sure at all. In fact, he seemed to be concerned about it. Too much so.

"Yes," Harry said, automatically. "But...."

"Harry?"

"It's hard dealing with him every day. It's such a huge struggle, seeing him, making him do what I want him to do. I hate him so much." Harry was tired. He fought long and hard, and when he'd won, he'd thought it was over, but then the struggle had gone on again.

"I take it it's still not going well with you and Snape."

"No. It's better. A bit, anyway. The points idea has helped a lot." But it didn't make Harry feel any better about the whole thing. He didn't understand why, either.

"I bet it's great to take points from him like he used to do to us." Ron chuckled, clearly amused by that idea.

It wasn't fun. That was the whole problem. It was wearing, and Harry hated it. "I'd rather not have him there at all."

"Well, it's not like you can give him back, you know."

"Yeah. Let's order." Harry picked up the menu and looked at the specials for the night, pushing Snape from his mind entirely.

"Severus?"

Snape turned from the sink, and the dirty pots he was washing, to see Draco standing at the edge of the kitchen. Draco was dressed in plain black robes, and looked more subdued than Snape thought he should be.

"What are you doing here?"

Draco's smile was tentative, as if he weren't sure of his welcome. "The twins brought me to see you."

"Just like that?" Snape asked, suspiciously. None of them ever did anything without a reason.

"One of my rewards for good behavior. I've seen Pansy, too," Draco said, wryly.

Snape hadn't realized that they were all under the same system of reward and punishment. "Sit. Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please." Draco sat down at the kitchen table. At one time in Snape's life, he would have said that Draco didn't even know where the kitchen was. Time changes all things, Snape thought with some disgust.

Snape made the tea and sat across from Draco. "How are they treating you?"

"I'm surviving." Draco sighed. "You?"

"The same." No matter how fond of Draco he might be, Snape would never be able to bring himself to speak of it to him.

"The twins aren't awful. In fact, sometimes they are very funny. But sometimes...they can be ...hard to take." Draco closed his eyes, shuddering.

It wasn't hard to imagine just how arduous living with the twins could be. Having had them in class, Snape could sympathize. "I can imagine that they can be...trying."

"They tease me constantly. Not viciously, but it never ends." The look on Draco's face said he wasn't dealing with it as well as he could. Draco wasn't socialized to deal with anything other than sycophants or enemies. He'd never simply been allowed to have friends.

Snape blamed Draco's parents for that and he felt sorry for Draco. That he couldn't do anything to help was a constant irritant under his skin. "Have you tried ignoring them?"

"First thing. They simply...tried harder." A look of despair crept into Draco's eyes.

"How did you finally dissuade them from going too far?" Snape wondered if he could find a way to deal with Potter.

"I lost it completely. I started screaming at them and didn't stop. They finally understood that they had pushed too hard." Draco met his gaze, allowing Snape to see how humiliated he'd been by the loss of control.

No amount of yelling would aid in the situation with Potter. "I take it your situation is bearable, now?" Snape pushed away the helplessness, perhaps there would come a time when he could do something.

Draco nodded. "Mostly. What about you? Potter can't be easy to live with."

"You have a gift for understatement." Snape let some of his bitterness out in a snort, but he wasn't going to go further than that. "It's fine."

There was a look that Draco got sometimes, when he thought Snape was having a problem or in trouble, that he was wearing now. It was nearly protective. "I know that Potter can be difficult," Draco said again.

Conceding that Draco would not give up, Snape sighed. "That does not even begin to describe it."

Draco looked down. "Is there something--" he cut himself off before he could finish. There wasn't anything either of them could do about their situations.

"I understand that Granger has decided to take up the indentured issue," Snape said into the awkward silence. He was constantly surprised at what foolish things that girl did.

"I never thought I'd be grateful for anything that concerned her, but I am now. She's tenacious enough to get something done." Draco looked as if he were trying not to be hopeful, but it was clear that he couldn't help himself.

"I hope she's more successful this time than she was with the House Elves." His disdain was feigned. He honestly believed that if anyone could do it, it would be Granger.

"She will be. I can't believe this is permanent." Unsurprisingly, Draco sounded a little desperate.

Snape could understand that. He didn't allow himself to dwell on the endlessness of his life right now. "Even if she were successful, it will take her years to accomplish it."

"I know. But I have to have something to believe in or I'll go mad."

For him, there was no hope of anything better. He would never be freed. And that was a burden he felt to the depths of his soul. At some point, it would be impossible not to give in to the despair that hovered over everything in his life, but now all he could do was accept it and adapt.

"You don't think she'll manage it?" Draco asked, clearly hoping for reassurance.

"On the contrary, she'll keep at this until she wins. She's that kind of Gryffindor. Besides, with you, Pansy, and many of the other young Death Eaters, none of you actually did anything wrong."

"Other than being on the wrong side." Draco sounded bitter as if he'd been betrayed in some way. And hadn't he been, though probably not in the way he thought.

"And let's not forget, you have the wrong ideas about Wizarding society." That was the larger issue. Draco and the others had to be punished so that anyone else with the same ideas who hadn't acted would change their minds, or think twice about expressing them. At least, that was the theory. Snape believed that the reality would be much different.

"That too. But they can't change how I think." There was a touch of his old belligerence in Draco's tone.

That rather pleased Snape, but the reality of the world would not change. "No, but if you tell them, they can and will punish you for it."

"Rather severely," Draco said with less anger than Snape would have expected. Perhaps he was learning something.

"Do you still think that way?" Snape asked, wondering if Draco had actually changed.

Draco had a rather perplexed look on his face. "I hadn't actually thought that way to start with. Okay, not after Voldemort let my father die in prison."

"You tried more than once to do The Dark Lord's...Voldemort's bidding." That had cost both he and Draco more than either of them had ever expected.

"I was ambitious enough to believe he might reward me for doing it. I wanted to be that ruthless. To be like my father." Draco's shoulder's drooped and he looked down. "In the end, I wasn't able to do it. I suspect I disappointed everyone."

It saddened Snape to see Draco so defeated at his age, but it wasn't as if he hadn't made the same mistake. "Not everyone. I think you've found that you didn't want that after all?"

Draco nodded. "I was much younger then."

It had only been three years, but Snape suspected that was a lifetime to Draco. A lifetime for all of them.

"I hope that Granger will win your freedom." Snape believed she would do it eventually, but it would take time.

"But not yours?"

"I am a different case altogether. I murdered Albus Dumbledore." His voice still cracked when he said it. Their society would never forgive him, but more than that, he was never going to be able to forgive himself.

"But..."

"There are no buts, Draco. They will never forgive me for that."

"No. They won't." Potter stood in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest, and his expression angry. "Would you serve dinner now, please?"

Snape nodded, and stood to do his master's bidding. It burned a hole in his gut every time Potter ordered him to do something, and he obeyed.

The look in Draco's eyes no doubt matched his own. But Draco stood as well. "Let me help you?"

After dinner was served to Potter and the twins, Draco and he sat down to eat their share at the kitchen table. Neither of them seemed especially hungry. Draco used his fork to move his food around his plate.

"You know, Granger isn't being horrible to Pansy," Draco said as if it were shocking information, not something he really should have known.

Snape had to wonder if Draco paid any attention at all. "And I doubt she will be."

"I never thought about the consequences of any of it." The look of self-loathing on Draco's face said all that needed to be said.

No one Draco's age ever considered the far-reaching effects of their actions. Not until the worst happened. And then they were always shocked. "You were so young. Don't be too hard on yourself."

"It's hard not to be. Those decisions got me to where I am now. And really, this is no place I ever thought I'd be." A bleakness had crept into Draco's tone.

It worried Snape. "I think I know that better than anyone else. You'll have to learn to live with it." Because that was all anyone could do. That and make amends. It galled him all the more that this might be his paying for his own mistakes. If it were, then the price was unearthly high.

"I'm nineteen. I can't bear the thought that this is all there is to my life."

Snape was sympathetic. He did understand. "You don't have many options, right now. But things can change."

"I have none either way, really. If I'm freed, I'm not sure what I'd do. I never finished school and I don't have any kind of skills." Draco's assessment was correct. If he were turned out into the streets, he would likely starve.

However, Snape knew that Granger wasn't going to let that happen. Not like that anyway. "Perhaps you should think about what you want to do when you're freed. It will be a while, no matter what. You'll have some time to plan for it."

"That's good advice. Thank you." Draco seemed calmer, more accepting.

"Sit," Potter said, after Snape had finished the dishes. It was Friday, and Snape hated Fridays. He hated them with a singular passion. Fridays were the accounting for the week.

He sat, but could not bring himself to begin the bargaining. His life had been reduced to the number of points he earned each week. It brought him the things he should have had by right. His gut twisted with dread.

"It looks like you're still in positive numbers, despite everything you've tried to do to change that," Potter's tone was faintly amused as if it were a joke to him.

Snape breathed out, trying to let the rage and humiliation go. It had been a long week. All he wanted was to collect whatever books he could and retreat to his room to read them.

"You've got eight points."

"I thought it was five."

"You got three for dinner and clean up. Try not to say anything nasty and lose them in the next five minutes." Potter's expression was triumphant for a moment, but it faded quickly.

Snape could almost believe he wasn't getting any pleasure out of this.

Almost.

"You're far too kind," Snape said in a perfectly flat voice. He had nothing left to give, even for a row.

"I thought so," Potter answered back, just as unemotionally. "What do you want?"

My freedom. "Books."

"Big surprise there. Do you actually care about anything else?" Potter's tone had a fair amount of scorn in it. "Choose five from the bookcase. That should last you the week."

"Feeling generous, Potter? What a surprise," Snape said with a sneer. He hated that both the points and the books were doled out without any consistency. Potter was only consistent with the twenty-five points for the Wolfsbane.

"Not especially, Snape. Don't push me or you'll start next week in negative numbers."

He usually started every week in negative numbers anyway. This week, however, he was brewing the Wolfsbane and that usually helped his accounting.

"I'll take down the wards, go and choose whatever you want." Potter went into the sitting room.

Snape followed him, watching as he took down the wards.

With a sigh, Snape went to the bookshelf and pulled out one of the titles. He slowly leafed through it, his fingers running over the pages. The thing he missed the most was his books. That his library at Spinner's End was gone forever was a pain in his chest he could not assuage.

Even some small access to Potter's books didn't alleviate the need to have them. To be able to browse through the books and parchments, to smell them, to touch them, to know they were his. He put the book he'd been looking at back, and pulled another one.

After a while, Potter sighed behind him. "Can we move this along?"

"I don't want to choose incorrectly." Snape would never be able to express to Potter how important it was.

"It's not a major decision," Potter snapped.

"Not to you, of course. I --"

"Don't start with me. Just choose the bloody books, and let's be done with it." Potter's impatience rolled off him in waves.

Snape took a deep breath and tried to will back his anger. He needed this after the stress of the week, and dealing with Potter. "Looking for the right books is part of the process."

"Process? You're joking. You're picking some books to read!" Potter's face had turned red. He had no idea, not a bloody clue what this was about.

And Snape wasn't going to give him more fuel for mockery. "It's so clear you know nothing at all about books. About having them or enjoying them. I was right, wasn't I? You bought the books with the house."

"It doesn't matter where I got the books," Potter said through his clenched teeth.

"You're a foolish, illiterate boy."

Potter looked like he was ready to explode. "Either you pick the bloody books right now, or you'll lose your chance to do so."

Something snapped in Snape. He picked up a vase and threw it at the fireplace. "Bloody hell, Potter. Can't you just let me be for a few minutes? You control every aspect of my life. Let me spend five minutes enjoying this one, pitifully inadequate joy of my existence."

For a moment, Potter looked stunned by the outburst and Snape wished with all he had he could call it back. It gave Potter too much pleasure to see how this life mortified him, how it hurt him. Snape tried never to let anything show.

"Why should I do anything for you?" Potter's tone held none of his usual belligerence. He sounded as if he were actually asking a question that required an answer.

There was no reason Snape could give him. All he'd wanted was a bit of time to enjoy the books. To maybe leaf through them. To smell the paper or parchment they were printed on. It wasn't a lot to ask. Defeated, Snape let his shoulders slump.

"I don't understand...." Potter said, quietly.

Snape breathed out, fighting for control. He wanted to strike out, to throw something else, but at this point, he knew just how useless it would be. "That is so apparent that a blind wizard could see it."

"Why does everything have to be a battle with you?"

"I assume that's a rhetorical question." The tightness in his chest eased a bit.

"I'll be back in an hour to put the wards back up. Clean up that mess and choose your books." Potter walked out.

Snape retrieved the book he'd been looking at. The joy had gone out of it. After cleaning up the vase, Snape chose four other books at random and went downstairs.

Part 4

Harry knocked on Minerva's door. It was strange coming back here, and even more strange that she invited him with only a vague excuse of tea. "Headmistress."

"Harry, do come in," she said, opening the door. "And I think you're old enough to call me Minerva."

He was never going to be that old, Harry thought, but he smiled at her. "Thanks, Minerva."

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, as Harry settled into the comfortable chair by the fireplace. She took a seat across from him.

Harry nodded, and she waved her wand at the tea set. A teapot poured tea into two cups, and she handed one to him.

"Thank you," Harry said, stirring in two sugars and a splash of milk.

They sipped their tea in silence for a moment.

"So, um...Minerva...." He wondered how rude it would be if he just came out and asked why she wanted to see him.

She smiled at him and the twinkle in her eyes reminded him of Dumbledore. "I know you're wondering why I asked you up here, and I'll come right to the point. I want to borrow Severus for a bit."

Startled, he tried not to let it show. "Excuse me? Why?" That was completely unexpected. He hadn't thought she'd cared about Snape one way or another.

"To brew some of the more complicated potions for the infirmary." She said it as if it were the most commonplace thing.

Maybe it was, but the request surprised Harry. "Why him? I mean, can't you buy the potions from any legitimate source?"

"We can buy them from a wholesaler, and at a reasonable cost, but they are standard remedies. Severus brewed the potions using his own recipes, and they were generally much more effective than what we can buy."

"Oh. How did you know I was letting...." Harry felt very reluctant to say that he forced Snape to do anything. He was sure McGonagall would not approve.

Her face had that 'I know everything' expression. The same one Dumbledore used to have. "You do know that Remus Lupin works for me. I know where he's getting the Wolfsbane from."

Harry closed his eyes. Snape would probably enjoy it, and part of Harry wanted to let him, and another part wanted to deny him.

"I'll pay a fair wage for his services," McGonagall added, after a moment's pause.

"It's not the money."

"I rather thought it wasn't."

"How can you, of all people, forgive him?" Harry found it impossible to believe that she could just forget what Snape had done.

Her eyes blazed intensely. "Because I know what Albus meant to him, and what it took for him to make the choices he had to make."

"I hate him for it." But even he could hear that he wasn't as vicious as he'd been even a few months ago. Something had changed. Maybe he was just worn down by the constant battles.

"And Albus as well, since he was the one who instigated the whole thing?" There was something that was just too knowing in the way McGonagall was looking at him.

"Yes," Harry snapped without thinking. Then he realized what he'd said. "No, of course I don't hate Professor Dumbledore. Snape killed him."

"I don't deny that or that Severus is going to have to live with what he's done for the rest of his life. I'm sure it's no easy thing to do." She actually sounded sympathetic towards Snape, as if he should have compassion, rather than anger.

Harry looked down and ran his finger along the arm of the chair. She might be able to forgive and forget, but he couldn't. "Can I think about it? The brewing, I mean?"

"Yes, of course. I do hope that you will allow it. I think it will be a good thing for everyone," McGonagall said, sounding so disappointed in him. Harry wanted to wince.

"I'm going to stop in to see Remus, since I'm here. Thank you for the tea." He couldn't quite bring himself to let Snape do the brewing, to give him any kind of pleasure. Harry knew he was being completely unfair. And he knew it reflected badly on him, but it just wasn't in him to forgive that easily.

"You're most welcome. Please come back and visit." She stood and ushered him out.

He made it back down to the entrance, and Dobby popped into existence.

"Dobby, you startled me." Harry smiled at him, wishing he was as glad to see Dobby as Dobby was to see him.

"Dobby is sorry to be startling Harry Potter." Dobby sounded hurt, as if he actually could tell what Harry had been thinking.

Harry quickly reinforced the Occlumency on his mind. "It's okay, Dobby. I was just going to see Professor Lupin."

Dobby smiled, his big watery eyes bright. "Dobby is seeing Auror Tonks going to see Professor Lupin, too."

Maybe he'd skip the visit, after all. As much as he loved Remus, he hadn't been feeling much like seeing him, anyway. And the thought of interrupting them, even if they weren't doing anything, made Harry's chest feel tight. "Maybe I'll just go, now."

Dobby's ears drooped. "When is Harry Potter asking Dobby to be his house elf? Because Dobby is wanting to be Harry Potter's house elf."

He had sort of promised Dobby. "I'm not ready for that quite yet."

"Dobby is thinking that Harry Potter is getting another elf."

"I wouldn't do that. If I ever get an elf, it's going to be you. I promise." Harry smiled at him.

But Dobby looked up at him, reproachfully. "Dobby is hearing that Harry Potter is making a house elf out of Professor Snape."

"Not you, too. I have to go." Harry pushed open the door to the school and walked out.

After his unplanned lunch with Gawain Robards, Harry was dead tired. He Apparated right into his bedroom. But try as he would to relax, sleep would not come. Finally he gave up. As he came down the stairs, he heard a laugh come from the sitting room.

Curious, he looked in. Snape sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, talking to McGonagall as her head floated in the flames.

"Well, you old tabby, I know you didn't call me just to make me laugh," Snape said, but even Harry could hear the affection in his voice.

And it shocked Harry. When was Snape nice to anyone who wasn't a Slytherin?

"Oh, I don't know, Severus. I suspect you could use a laugh." She grinned at him, but her smile quickly faded.

Snape sighed. "What I could use...I can't have."

"I'm sorry," McGonagall said, sounding very sad. "I wish there was something I could do."

"You've done far more than anyone else --"

"If you'd let me, I would have done more then." Her tone was faintly admonishing.

"They refused to allow Albus' Pensieve testimony. After that, there was nothing anyone else could have done." Harry could hear the bitterness in Snape's voice.

"I could have demanded to testify. Corroborated your story." She made it sound like she wanted to and Snape hadn't allowed it.

"Minerva, you know they had already decided to convict me. All you would have done was endanger your position at the school. There weren't enough people to back you up." The bitterness was even stronger, but with it was a strain of resignation.

However, none of it made sense. Harry could not believe Snape would sacrifice his defense for any reason.

McGonagall's expression changed to anger. "I'm deeply disappointed in many of my fellow Order members."

"Nothing can be done about it now." Snape sounded as if he were disappointed too.

Harry thought about what he'd said and done to discourage people from helping and felt a jab of guilt. But he dismissed it. Snape had got what he deserved. It was Harry, himself, who had been the one to end up with the undeserved sentence.

"No, there isn't anything either of us can do right now, but there might come a time." McGonagall sounded like she was trying to cheer him again.

But Snape's expression darkened. "I don't expect anything from anyone."

"Feeling a bit friendless, I think?" And for some reason McGonagall sounded amused.

Harry wondered why.

"You're not, you know. Kingsley asks after you. And Remus, though I expect he sees you occasionally."

"Lupin picked up the potion this past week, in fact."

When had Snape and Remus started to get along well enough for Snape to say Remus' name without a sneer?

Harry had forgotten that Snape had brewed the Wolfsbane this week. He wondered why Snape hadn't reminded him.

"And Hermione is working on your case, as well as that of the rest of the indentured servants. She's quite tenacious about it."

"She won't win with me. With the others, perhaps. They didn't actually do anything wrong."

McGonagall nodded. "Their nasty attitudes and general belligerence did not serve them well."

"Twenty-two teenagers and young adults were indentured for life because they weren't nice to the right people. I think that's a bit harsh."

Harry hadn't thought of it that way before. It seemed harsh to him as well. More than harsh, completely unfair.

"But then," Snape continued, "the world is a harsh place."

"You know, he is a compassionate young man."

"I haven't seen it."

"He's got a blind spot where you're concerned. And really, you're no better."

"Oh, I never noticed." Venom dripped from his words.

A voice in Harry's head, that might have been his conscience, said Snape had every right to be angry. But Harry wasn't ready to listen to it. Snape deserved what he got.

"I suspect you both got off to a bad start and never recovered. Pity, you're a lot alike, the both of you." McGonagall chuckled at that, as if it were some kind of joke.

"I hate him, Minerva. He's made my life hell for a very long time. This," he waved his hand, "is nothing new."

Harry wanted to object to that. It was Snape who started it when Harry first walked into his classroom. "Mr. Potter...our new celebrity." The words were permanently seared into Harry's mind. Too bad Snape didn't like the results of what he'd sowed. It served him right.

"I expect that it isn't anything new, except now he has the upper hand. I'm assuming things are no better?" She seemed concerned.

"No. They are the same. I assume that since you didn't mention your meeting with him that it did not go well, either."

"He didn't say no outright." But the disappointment in her tone was a knife into Harry's already tender chest.

"That's not permission."

She winced. "I'm sorry. It's unconscionable that you've been put in this situation."

"I tell myself it could have been worse, that I could have been kept in Azkaban. That my life would have been forfeit there within a month."

"You don't believe that?"

"I'm beginning to think not. I suppose I'd better go. He'll be home soon." He smiled at her. "Thank you for calling."

She nodded and the fire went out. Snape sat back on his heels and put his face into his hands.

Harry's chest felt tight. He'd never considered that Snape might have friends. Or that he might wish to talk to them. The truth was, he'd never considered Snape as anything other than an adversary. Someone he wanted to get the best of. Someone who he'd finally done that with.

The problem was that he didn't get the joy he'd expected out of it.

Talking with Minerva never did anything good for Snape's mood. Her compassion was both balm and acid in his soul. That Potter hadn't agreed to allow him to brew for the school didn't surprise him, or it shouldn't. He should learn not to expect anything but the worst from that spoilt brat.

He heard a noise and looked up to see Potter standing in the doorway. "If you saw I was speaking to someone, you might have left and allowed me some privacy," Snape said without thinking, again. Six months and he still hadn't grown used to the situation. Not that he ever would.

"Ten points for insolence," Potter snapped, glaring at him.

Well, that wasn't an uncommon response. Snape clenched his teeth on a rejoinder, or tried to for a moment. It didn't work. "You stupid, inconsiderate brat, take whatever you want. I don't care anymore."

"You'll care when I take it out of your hide, you miserable bastard. Why can't you ever act like a civilized person?" Potter's tone was filled with menace.

And there was a part of Snape that was concerned about what Potter might do. Mostly, however, he wanted to kill him. "You wouldn't recognize civilized behavior if it bit you on the arse. You are a whiney, brainless child. You should not be in charge of yourself let alone anyone else."

"Too bad, I own you. I can do anything I want with you, and there is nothing you can do about it. So, shut it and accept it. And maybe we'll both survive this."

Snape breathed out sharply, trying to rein in his fury. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to make dinner. Hermione and Ron are coming over and I promised them roast beef. Yorkshire pudding might be nice, too."

"When are they coming?" Roast beef would take at least two hours to prepare and cook.

"In half an hour."

He could have guessed. "You couldn't have mentioned this to me a bit sooner? There isn't time to prepare it properly --"

"That's not my problem. It's yours. Deal with it." Potter turned around and went upstairs.

"Fine." Snape growled, swallowing back his annoyance. It was starting to burn a hole in his belly.

The Muggle telephone was a great invention. Snape called one of the local pubs that delivered food and put the bill on Potter's account. Because there were restrictions on Snape with regard to having money, Potter had set up accounts with Gringotts and a Muggle bank so that Snape could order whatever he needed by phone or Floo. It worked out well. Especially now.

The food wasn't as good as his, but it was edible. He'd had it delivered for lunch a couple of times, when he hadn't felt like cooking. Potter had never said anything about the expense.

He set the table for three. And told himself to relax. But it was Friday, and Merlin, how he hated Fridays. This week was worse, too. Potter had forgotten to give him points for the Wolfsbane, so with the ten he'd just lost, he had two left. Zero points would be acceptable, but negative numbers concerned him.

It likely concerned Potter as well. Snape had not failed to notice that something always happened to ensure that he didn't end up in negative numbers on Friday afternoon. Not once since this repulsive system had started. Despite that, he wasn't stupid enough to test that theory.

It wouldn't kill him if the worst happened, but there was only so much degradation he could deal with before it broke him. The frustrations, the boredom, the constant demands, were all starting to wear on him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door chimes. Aside from Potter, no one Floo'd or Apparated into the house. Potter hadn't said anything, but Snape assumed it must be some kind of security wards.

He opened the door.

"Snape," Weasley said as he came in. It never failed to amaze him that Weasley turned out to be such a fine looking wizard. Tall and sleek, and if his hair was still as obnoxiously colored as it had ever been, his skin was no longer covered with freckles and that made all the difference.

Granger nodded to him, and Snape had to resist asking her how her work for the indentured was going. While Weasley had outgrown his awkward adolescent looks, Granger looked much the same as she had when he'd first met her. Her hair was bushy and untamed, though now she at least tried to suppress the unruliness by tying it back into a tail.

He led them into the sitting room, and retreated back to the kitchen to wait for dinner to arrive. When it did, he carved up the roast and set it, and the pudding, on plates. It smelled good, but looked a bit overdone for his tastes.

When he set the plate in front of Potter, he looked down at it and then back at Snape, his eyes blazing with fury. "You didn't cook this, did you?"

Snape was not ready to do battle over the dinner. He was tired and just wanted the day to be over. "Of course, I didn't. It takes two hours to cook it from scratch, if I had a roast to cook in the first place, which I didn't."

"Were you just going to pass this swill off as your own cooking?" The look on Potter's face said he wasn't in the mood to listen.

Usually Snape understood what would set Potter off, but this time, he was at a loss. "I had no intention of discussing it, one way or another. It's not bad. Admittedly, I'd do a better job. If I'd had the time."

"Where did it come from?" Potter asked, his voice controlled, but Snape could hear the suppressed fury.

"Whitehead."

For some reason, that was the wrong answer. Potter's face went white and then red. "You served me and my guests pub food?"

"I don't see why not. It's perfectly edible." Snape shrugged to cover up the worry at Potter's reaction.

"It's fine, Harry. Really. Why are you so upset?" Granger, ever the peacemaker, said.

"It's disgusting. I can't believe this. I wanted you to make it." Potter sounded like nothing so much as a spoilt child.

"As I said, if you'd given me the time, I would have," Snape explained patiently or perhaps not so patiently since he was rapidly running out.

"You should have said something!" Potter yelled, standing up and facing Snape. "You are so arrogant about everything. Too good to do the work I want you to do. Too good to cook for my friends. You never do what you're supposed to do."

"Harry!" Granger's eyes were wide and, clearly, she thought his reaction was out of line.

"Shut it, Hermione! I've had enough of this. Of him. I'm going to take this out of his hide." Potter rose from the table, drawing his wand, and advanced on Snape.

For a moment, Snape was struck dumb by the threat of violence. He took a step back. There was no place to go, of course, but perhaps he could deflect Potter. "Potter --"

"Don't speak to me. You did this deliberately to embarrass me, just like you always do. Only this time I can do something about it, and I plan to."

"I was actually trying to comply with your wishes, you ungrateful brat. You asked for something, and I gave it to you. And now you don't like it. You might have some consideration when you demand something of me." Snape hadn't meant to lose his temper, to scream at Potter, but the frustration boiled over and he couldn't control it.

Weasley, who had been watching the whole scene with wider eyes than Granger, finally sighed. "Don't take it out on him. You know it's not his fault."

Potter stopped dead and looked at Weasley, his expression betrayed. "Since when do you defend him?"

"I don't. I'm not," Weasley sputtered, but he also didn't take his eyes off Potter.

"Fine," Potter said, but his tone did not say he was ready to back down. He turned to look at Snape. "Fifty points for this."

"Bloody Hell!" A tremor of disbelief and fear shot down Snape's spine. He could not believe Potter, could not believe he could be so intolerably cruel.

"Harry!" Granger looked horrified.

"Don't you dare 'Harry' me. He belongs to me and I can do anything I want with him. You can't stop me," Potter snarled at her.

She stood up, too. If there were one thing about Granger he both hated and admired, it was her courage. "No, you can't do what you want with him. Not while I'm here."

"Then you can leave," Potter yelled.

But really, Potter should have known that Granger was made of sterner stuff than that. She wasn't about to back down. "I can see this isn't about him. You're going to tell me what it is about, right now."

Potter's expression was pricelessly incredulous, for one second anyway. And then, he picked up one of the plates of food and threw it against the wall. He turned to Snape, something of the rage had gone out of him, not enough for Snape's peace of mind, but he didn't seem actively violent anymore. "Get out," Potter ordered.

Not having Granger's courage, Snape retreated. The counter in the kitchen showed negative forty-eight points. Even if he'd had the Wolfsbane points, it wouldn't have helped. He thought about retreating further, into his room, but he needed to hear what was being said. And he was fairly certain they were too far along to remember to put up a silencing charm so that he couldn't.

"Harry James Potter, I expect an explanation of this behavior right now." Hermione sounded just like what Harry had always thought someone's mum would sound like if she were angry at her children.

Harry was suddenly exhausted and he sat down, heavily. "Hermione, did it ever occur to you that I might not want to talk about it?"

"I think the real problem is that he failed his practicum yesterday. I suspect that he was suspended from the program today," Ron finally said, looking at Harry for confirmation.

Humiliation washed over him, and he wished he could deny it. "That would be why I had lunch with Gawain Robards this afternoon."

"What did he say?"

Harry shuddered just thinking about how awkward and embarrassing that conversation had been. "A lot of crap. But on the up side, he said I can take the practicum again next week, and if I pass it they'll let me back into the program."

"Which is exactly what you shouldn't do and you know it," Ron said. "You hate what you're doing."

"It's all I've ever wanted to do with my life." Oh, he knew he was clinging to a dream, but he had seen so few of them realized, he couldn't let this one go without a fight. "And I don't hate it."

"Are you sure of that? Have you even considered other options?" Hermione asked, her tone softening. But it was more than apparent she thought he should consider doing something else.

He didn't want to think about his other options, not when there was even the smallest chance he could have this option. Things would get better. They had to. "If I don't do this, what will I do? I'm hardly qualified for much of anything."

"There is a world of things for you to do. Have you ever thought about what you would like to do?" Hermione's tone had become admonishing.

Harry shook his head. He'd always known he'd be an Auror. Well, if he survived Voldemort. Nothing else occurred to him when he'd tried to think about it, which admittedly hadn't been that often.

"Maybe it's time you did, mate." Ron seemed to want to encourage him, but Harry knew Ron would be just as lost if he were told to find another career.

"I just can't see myself doing anything else. And if I pass the practicum next week, I won't have to." He was going to be an Auror. There was nothing else he wanted to do.

Hermione sighed loudly, conveying her displeasure. "Why do you keep pushing at this? You know you hate it and we know you hate it."

"No, I don't hate it. I just need to catch on." He wasn't ready to give up all of his dreams yet and he wished that they would understand that.

"You spend a lot of time studying and, well, far be it from me to discourage you, but...." Ron trailed off, but he sounded like Hermione did, like Harry should want to leave the program.

"What are you going to do about Snape?" Ron asked. His concern for Snape was starting to seriously irritate Harry, nearly as much as him thinking that Harry should leave the program.

Harry drew in a breath and met Ron's gaze. "I can't believe you care that much."

"I don't like seeing you treat him so unfairly." There was a self-righteousness in Ron's tone that sent another shard of annoyance into Harry's gut.

"Why? It's nothing to you." Besides that, it wasn't any of Ron's business. The only reason Harry put up with him saying anything was that Ron was his friend.

"Not for him, for you. What does it say about you if you hit someone who can't hit you back?" Ron sounded way too grown-up for Harry's peace of mind.

"Nothing good," Harry conceded, and realized once again that he was being unfair. It was getting harder and harder to push the thought away. Maybe in his hatred of Snape, he'd lied to himself to justify what he was doing. "I'm not going to beat him, if that's what you're worried about."

Ron's expression said that it was. "It's not only that. You're treating him...badly."

He'd never wanted to actually harm Snape. Only to get the better of him. Only to pay him back for years of abuse. But how fair was that, if Snape couldn't fight back? Even as a first year, he'd fought back. "Ron, please, just let me alone about Snape."

"Snape doesn't deserve to be dehumanized the way you've done." Hermione's disappointment was plain.

It felt like another pin sticking into Harry.

"It's no different from when we were in school, and he was doing it to us." There was a huge difference. Snape had been horrible then, but what Harry was doing was worse. More than that, both Ron and Hermione knew it.

There was no denying it anymore.

Finally, Harry understood why everything had felt wrong. Every time it should have felt good, triumphant, he'd ended up hating what he'd done. He hated taking points. He hated the look of despair he saw in Snape's eyes. And mostly, he hated himself for allowing this to go on much longer than it should have done. "I...I don't know how to change it now."

"What do you mean? It's all up to you," Ron said, looking down.

It was just so hard to imagine doing anything else. And he could admit that he wanted to. "We both got so wrapped up in the points that we can't see beyond it."

"Then stop using them," Hermione said, as if that were the answer to everything.

"How can I make him comply? You starved Pansy to make her do what you wanted." That bothered him more than taking points from Snape. At least, he'd always made sure there was food available for Snape.

"But we've treated her as fairly as we could. We've never made her do what she doesn't want to do. She has to work to eat. We can't afford to give her a free ride. It's hard enough making ends meet with her there. But what she does is negotiable. And we've been trying to give her as much freedom as we can."

Harry hadn't realized that things hadn't gone on as they started with Pansy. "I don't know what to do."

"Try negotiating with him. Let him have some freedom. Let him do some of the things he wants to do. Don't make him do that many things he doesn't want to do." Hermione made it sound so easy, as if Snape weren't impossible to deal with.

"He's a servant. He's not supposed to have freedom. He's not supposed to do anything he likes. He's supposed to do what he's told." As he said it, something coiled in the pit of his stomach. Something that felt like shame.

Hermione shook her head, her expression sad. "Snape is a victim of an antiquated system. A system that is too black and white for the modern day world of gray. And Snape is as gray as they come."

"He's such a bastard." And of course, that was the bottom line with Harry, the thing he found hardest to get past.

Ron snorted. "That is true. But he's also good at what he does. Or did. And he was on our side."

"I thought you hated him, too." Harry could not believe Ron was still defending Snape.

Ron's smile was chagrined, as if he couldn't believe he'd said such a thing, either. "I do. But I'm starting to see the bigger picture of things."

"You're spending too much time listening to Hermione." Harry tried to make it sound lighter than he meant it. Everything was changing too fast for him to keep up.

"Probably true since I live with her." Ron's smile dimmed. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm fine--" It was such an automatic response that he couldn't say anything else, even to them.

"You're not," Hermione said. "You've lost weight. You're miserable."

"My life hasn't turned out the way I thought it would." As much as it hurt to admit it, he wasn't going to make things better, unless he did face it.

"Maybe you should find a way to change it," Hermione said. She made it sound as if it were some easy thing to do.

It wasn't easy. Harry wanted it to be the way it was supposed to be rather than trying to adapt to some new way. "Maybe."

"Harry...." Ron obviously knew him too well. "You should start with Snape."

"Oh joy, my favorite subject." Harry let out a huge sigh. "I suppose I'll have to go deal with him. Harry looked at them hopefully and asked, "Do you want to eat some of this dinner first?"

"No. I think we'll just go. Let you get started." Hermione stood and so did Ron.

She kissed his cheek and Ron punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Harry said as they left. Before he went in to deal with Snape, he cleaned up the plate, and fixed the wall. That done, there was no more procrastinating. He squared his shoulders and went into the kitchen.

Snape sat at the table, his hands tightly clenched together. If Harry hadn't known better he would have said Snape looked scared. But why would he be? It wasn't as if Harry was going to actually hurt him.

Sitting down at the table, Harry was surprisingly without words to start the conversation. He had to do something, he knew that, but what exactly, he wasn't sure. If this were to go on, they would probably start to destroy each other. "What shall we do about this?"

Snape's face had gone completely blank, whatever had been there before was gone.

The silence stretched between them.

"Potter, please. Don't destroy my hands." Snape's voice was a harsh, angry whisper.

"What are you talking about?" Because, really, Harry had no idea. "Why would I hurt your hands?"

Snape blinked at him. His face was dull red, but he couldn't or wouldn't say anything else.

Harry waited, hoping to wait him out, but ultimately, he had to break the deadlock. "Why? Why do you think I'd hurt you?"

Snape shook his head, his eyes still focused on his clenched hands.

"Tell me, damn it." Harry was already tired of this game. He just wanted this confrontation over with and in away that neither of them felt savaged by it. That was probably too much to hope for.

"What would you have me say? Do you want me to beg? I will." Snape's eyes were tightly closed, as if he could not bear the sight in front of him, the sight of Harry.

Hurt by that, and still not entirely sure why, maybe it was just being thought of in those terms. Terms he'd gone out of his way to foster. Harry hated what it said about him. "I just want you to tell me why you think I'll hurt your hands?"

Snape's expression changed to incredulous, or maybe it was annoyed, but under it was fear. "You have no idea? You said you were going to 'take the points out of my hide'. What exactly does that mean to you?"

"Bloody Hell. I wouldn't --" Harry cut himself off before he could say more. He'd known Snape believed him by his compliance. He hadn't ever considered what Snape might be living with to comply.

"Wouldn't you? You've done it already." Snape flexed his right hand.

He had. And even if he knew he couldn't do it again, Snape didn't. And he'd wanted it that way. Wanted him afraid. Wanted him worried. Harry felt sick. "I'm not going to --"

"What are you saying, Potter? You're not going to...beat me for the negative points? Snape peered closely at him, as if he could tell just by looking whether or not Harry would hurt him.

Harry felt ashamed and he looked down at his own hands. "No."

He could hear Snape breathe out in relief and felt even worse.

Snape cleared his throat, and his voice was deadly calm when he said, "So, this has all been a childish joke to humiliate me further."

"No. It wasn't like that." Harry heard the prevarication in his tone. He tried again. "I wanted you to obey me."

"And so you tortured me with a threat you never intended to follow through on." Snape's tone had turned into a low dangerous growl. He wasn't even trying to hide his anger. "You are every bit as revolting and manipulative as your father was."

It took an effort not to rise to the bait Snape was dangling. Harry wanted to fight, to defend himself, but knew, really knew that he was wrong. He felt bad about hitting Snape, but that didn't change the fact that Snape was an utter bastard. "You were supposed to do what I said. You needed an incentive." Harry cringed inwardly at the whine in his voice.

"Really? An incentive to obey you?" Snape's voice had a razor-sharp edge to it, and a bitterness that was not undeserved. "I hadn't realized that. And if you'd asked, rather than ordered, we might have worked something out. But no, you must try and force everything to your way. You are --"

Harry couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. "Don't even try to lie to me. I can't believe you'd try and sell me that rubbish. From the beginning, you were never going to do anything I said. We both know it, too."

Snape's mouth twitched. "It doesn't matter since you didn't bother to ask. We'll never know."

"We...I do know. What I should have done is not an issue any more. It's what I'm going to do in the future. I'm the one making the changes. You have no choice at all." Harry glared at him, hating him for making this so much more difficult than it had to be. And hating himself for allowing his temper to get the best of him, yet again.

"Do you think for one moment that I'm not painfully aware of it?" Snape's look left no doubt at all how unacceptable he found that.

Harry tried not to gloat. It was wrong to want to see Snape brought so low. "I'm trying to do what's right."

"It's about bloody time," Snape's voice had started to rise in anger.

Harry supposed he couldn't blame him. But he did, and he yelled, "You haven't exactly been easy to live with!"

"Did you expect me to simply lie down and allow you to tread on me as if I were a carpet?"

In other circumstances, Harry would have smiled at the image, but now when he was trying to do the right thing, all it did was exacerbate the situation. "I realize that you've been unfairly treated by the Wizengamot --"

"They are not the only ones who have treated me foully."

"You know, you're not so innocent here, either. You bastard! You treated me and my friends like shite for six years," Harry yelled, but even as he did, he knew he was wrong. It burned to admit that Snape had every right to be angry with him.

"That's what this is all about? You've got your revenge Potter. You've treated me like a house elf, like a piece of property, for the last six months. And it wasn't once or twice a week for a few hours, it was every single hour of every single day!" Snape screamed back, his eyes flashing with his anger.

"You deserved it. You bastard!" But Harry couldn't meet his eyes when he said it.

"No one deserves that kind of treatment." Snape lowered his voice. "Does it thrill you to know how fearful I was? Does it make you feel good inside? Finally got one over on the mean, ugly teacher."

Harry only wished it did. That he could keep doing it and not feel guilty. All he felt now was sick to his stomach that he'd treated anyone, even Snape, so badly. "You know, I thought it would. I thought I'd love it. But I don't. I hate this situation. I hate it that you're here and I have to deal with you. And mostly I hate you."

"The feeling is more than mutual, Potter." Snape sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do?"

Harry plucked up his courage and faced Snape straight on. "I think...know...I haven't treated you fairly. But I didn't ask for this, or for you. Really, I didn't have any more of a choice than you did. I can't do anything about what's gone before, but we can try and make your life easier to bear."

"Short of freeing me, how do you plan to accomplish that?" Some of the anger and belligerence had left Snape's tone, making him sound sad and tired.

"I can't free you. I think you know that." At this point, Harry would, if he could have. "It would take an act handed down from the Wizengamot or a full pardon from the Minister of Magic. I think you know that isn't going to happen six months after the sentence." Harry met his eyes. "What would make you happier? Make this easier?"

Snape looked at him for a long time, probably trying to decide if Harry were actually serious or not. Finally, something he saw made Snape sigh. "Not being used as a house elf, for one thing."

Harry didn't have a problem with that. He was sure that Dobby would be thrilled to work for him. At least, he'd be able to pay Dobby. "I detest cooking."

"As I have to eat myself, I can cook for both of us." It was the first time Snape had volunteered to do anything. And he didn't make it sound like a burden either.

"The Wolfsbane. Remus needs that."

"As if I care what the werewolf --"

Despite his best effort to control it, Harry's anger started to rise again. "No. Don't you dare say it. I want --"

"I thought this was about what I wanted." Snape's tone had taken on a defiant whine.

Harry knew he shouldn't let it irritate him, but it still did. "It's about us trying to find a way to live in the same house without killing each other."

Snape actually smiled at that. "If you'll recall, I can't kill you."

"Right. Okay, so what do you want to brew the Wolfsbane?" Given the limits on what he could give Snape, he hoped he could meet whatever demands Snape had.

"My freedom."

"Snape!" Harry yelled. The bastard was impossibly difficult.

"I want a real bed."

Which brought up another subject. "You transfigured the pallet into a bed, didn't you?"

Snape looked gobsmacked and Harry smiled at him.

"I told you that I have wards in the house. Anytime anyone uses magic here, I know it. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Harry wondered how stupid Snape actually thought he was and knew he didn't want the answer to that question.

Recovering quickly, Snape snarled at him. "If you knew I'd used the wand in my room, why didn't you do anything about it?"

"I don't know." Harry shrugged. He couldn't bring himself to take away the simple comfort Snape had magicked for himself. "What about taking one of the rooms upstairs?"

Snape still looked a bit stunned. "That would be adequate. I'd like a wand."

"You can't own one," Harry said, and watched as Snape's whole expression tightened. "I'm sorry. You can keep the one I gave you. But there's no way I can have one fitted to you."

"I should have asked this sooner, but where did that come from?"

"It's unregistered." It wasn't really any of his business where it came from, and Harry was an inch away from telling him that.

"I gathered that."

"Then perhaps you should think about not asking questions that I clearly don't want to give you the answer to."

For a moment, Snape looked like he might object, but he bit back whatever he was going to say.

"Some clothes?" Harry suggested. Snape was still wearing the gray prison clothes that Harry had given him at the beginning. They hung on him, but not quite so badly as they had when Snape was first out of Azkaban.

"Despite what you may think, I don't care that much about what I wear." And that sounded amused enough to be the truth.

Which went against everything Harry had always thought about him. "All those black clothes at school?"

"Useful in intimidation of students, nothing more."

"No preferences at all?" Harry didn't care that much about clothes either, but he cared enough not to wear orange or yellow.

"Are you going to buy me clothes?" It was clear Snape was having a hard time believing Harry would actually do it.

"Well, I'm not going to make them. I thought we'd go to --"

"I can't go anywhere."

"You can, if I take you." As much as he'd rather not go shopping, he would.

Thankfully, Snape shook his head. "I'd rather not."

"Fine. I'll measure you and get some clothes made. Or better yet, I'll have someone come here and do it."

"You know, I don't understand this change of heart from you. What caused it?" Snape's expression defined suspicious.

"You heard most of it. They were right. I've known it for a while, but...." His face heated. He was not going to tell Snape how badly he felt about all of it. Snape had enough fodder for ridicule where he was concerned already.

"So, you're just going to change everything?" Snape still looked like he could not believe it, and Harry had to concede that he had cause not to.

"Unless you'd like to continue with the points system?" When Snape shook his head, Harry said, "Thought you might see it that way."

"All right, then. What about Minerva's offer?" Snape manage to keep his voice flat, but Harry could hear the hope in it.

"I'll tell her yes. It will give you something to do during the day. And you can keep whatever she pays you."

"If you'll recall, I can't own anything, and that would include money." The bitterness hadn't eased.

Harry suspected it never would completely. "I'll keep it for you. Put it into a special Gringotts account."

"It's not going to do me any good." Snape's tone had lost some, if not all, of his belligerence. If he didn't sound exactly happy, then he didn't sound actively distressed either.

That was as good as Snape ever got, Harry supposed. "You can continue to spend money the way you have since coming here."

"I'm spending your money, not my own."

"So, I'll set it up so that you can spend your money. Does it matter that much?" Harry didn't care what he spent. He wasn't going to tell Snape, but it was unlikely that Snape could make a dent in his Gringotts' account.

"Except that it's in your name."

"Are you going to argue with everything I say?"

"I did when it was costing me points, why would you think I'd stop now?" But he smirked when he said it.

"I live in hope." Harry yawned. The day was starting to bear down on him. "I'm exhausted. Can we talk about the rest of this tomorrow?"

"I'll be here."

"Pick one of the other bedrooms and go to sleep."

"Still giving orders?" At least, there was a touch of amusement in his tone.

Harry chuckled. "I doubt I'll stop any time soon."

"I expect not." But Snape didn't sound as if that annoyed him. Or at least not any more than anything else did.

Part 5

The next morning, Snape didn't get up to make Harry breakfast, and really, that was fine with Harry. After last night, he was too tired to worry about it. Beans on toast was one of his favorite breakfasts, and Snape never made it.

At lunch, he fire-called McGonagall.

"Headmistress...Minerva?" Harry said, sitting on a bench in front of a ministry fireplace. It wasn't the most private place to have a conversation, but he wanted this done before he got home.

"Harry, dear. How are you?" McGonagall said, as if she hadn't seen him last week.

"I'm fine. Thanks. I hope you are, too."

She nodded and smiled. "What can I do for you?"

"About that request you had? The one about the infirmary?" Harry hoped he didn't have to mention what and who, since saying that in public would not go over well with many of the people working here.

Her widening smile said she knew what he was talking about. "Yes. I remember."

"Well...I've decided that it would be all right. For him to do it."

"Shall I get in touch with Sev --" At the shake of his head, she cut herself off. "Erm...get in touch with him?"

"That would be fine." Harry paused for a moment to let the people walking by get further away. He really didn't think they were listening, but he was too paranoid to take chances. "There was something else, too."

"Oh?" McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Dobby. I'd like for him to come to work for me." Harry glared at someone who had got too close. She moved away quickly.

"You know, he's a free elf. He can choose his own employment." McGonagall's tone said he should know that and, of course, he did.

It just seemed polite to let her convey the news to Dobby. "Can you ask him if he'd like to work for me? I'll pay him whatever you're paying him. More if he'll take it."

"I doubt you'll get him to take more. But I'm sure he'll be just thrilled."

"I hope he can start today." Harry hoped that wouldn't be a problem. Everything needed to be settled soon, and as soon as he could get Dobby to take over the housework, that would help move it along.

"I'm sure that will be fine with him. Was there anything else you needed?"

"No. Thanks. I appreciate this."

"You've done the right thing. I think you know that."

He knew she wasn't talking about Dobby. It wasn't something he wanted to think about right now. So, he just nodded and closed the connection.

Snape ignored Dobby all afternoon. As much as his presence meant that Snape wouldn't have to clean anymore, he wasn't going to put much stock in the situation until it was completely resolved. Knowing Potter as he did, Snape would not be surprised if he changed his mind six more times before he got it right. If he ever did.

When he got up to make dinner, he found that it was already made. Bangers and mash. Another one of his least favorite dishes.

When he came in, Potter was thrilled with dinner. He took a huge portion of it and dug in with obvious relish.

Not having been asked to sit at the table -- another point that bode poorly for Potter's continued good behavior -- Snape stood at the counter with Dobby. "Will you cook something more appetizing for me?" he said to the elf.

Potter looked up. "You can eat what I eat. What's wrong with this?"

"Aside from the fact it's disgusting?" It wasn't that he hated it exactly, but he'd eaten it so many times as a child that he doubted he'd ever want to eat it again. Snape scowled at him and then at Dobby for good measure. Dobby cringed satisfyingly, his ears flattening. Potter, however, scowled back at him.

"Too bad. I like it a lot," Potter said, pushing more of it into his mouth. "Dobby even made it without a fight. That was novel."

Snape had thought he'd agreed to do the cooking last night. And if it would keep this kind of thing from being served, he would be happy do it, too. He looked down at Dobby. "Perhaps you might use some imagination when choosing the dinner menu."

"Dobby cooks like he did at Hogwarts," Dobby said, sounding quite distressed.

Snape didn't care. "You used to work for Lucius Malfoy. I know for a fact he would not have allowed this on his table." Lucius had delusions of grandeur, but he did know how to eat well.

"Dobby never cooked for the bad Malfoys. Other elfs cooks for them."

"Let him be." Potter smiled at Dobby. "It's okay. You can go now."

Not having to be told twice, Dobby was gone with a pop.

Which left Snape facing Potter.

"Why must you be so cruel to him? What did he do to you?" Potter asked, sounding tired rather than belligerent.

Snape was sure that would change momentarily. "He's a house elf. He can take it."

"But he shouldn't have to. Besides, you could be one, too." Potter's eyes narrowed, as if fitting him with ears.

"You are not going to continue to use that threat against me. I won't have it," Snape said through his clenched teeth. It galled him to think of months of fighting it out with Potter over every small task.

"I can do anything I want. Not only that, there is nothing you can do about it." Potter's tone was petulant, whiney.

Snape wasn't going to put up with it. He turned to dump his uneaten plate into the rubbish bin.

"Don't waste my food," Potter ordered.

It was too much. Potter hadn't changed at all. He was going to continue to lord it over Snape, no doubt feeling righteous about it, too. Snape's temper broke. "Fine. You can have it back!" He turned quickly to dump it on Potter's head, but the protection spell kicked in, holding him fast, with his plate half-turned over on Potter.

And Potter's expression was priceless, caught between startled and horrified. "Is this your answer to everything?"

With an effort, Snape pulled back his aggression and the spell released him. He carefully set the plate on the counter. Angry beyond words, he turned to leave.

"Don't even think about walking away. I'm not done yet."

Closing his eyes, Snape sucked in a breath. "I am. I am completely finished with you. You are nothing but a spoilt child."

"Me spoilt? I'm not the one insulting a house elf. One, I might add, who does his job witho