Chapter Text
“Boy! Come down and sort out the weeds outside this instant! Don’t think we haven’t noticed you slacking off!”
As if the booming sound of Uncle Vernon’s god awful voice wasn’t bad enough, the thumping from the broomstick being repeatedly smacked into the floorboard of Harry’s room didn’t help calm down his incoming migraine either.
’He better not be using my broom again or I’m blowing him up like I did Aunt Marge, laws on underage magic be damned.’ Harry thought to himself, fists tightening in irritation as he stormed out his room and promptly got stuck in with Aunt Petunia’s flower beds.
It was the summer after Harry’s third year at Hogwarts, and it was safe to say a lot had happened.
Between learning how to cast a corporeal Patronus, discovering that you had an ex-fugitive godfather this whole time and finding out that your best mate’s pet rat was actually a servant of the Dark Lord who also abetted in the killing of your parents, it was a lot to stomach.
And that all occurred mostly towards the end of the year.
But weirdly enough, some good things did come out of it.
For one, he had a new penpal, Sirius Black, who was honestly a lot funnier than Harry had expected someone who had been imprisoned in Azkaban for over a decade to be.
More importantly however, writing back and forth with his godfather made him realise something—he had an epiphany if you will.
He realised that he actually didn’t have to put up with staying at the Dursley’s.
He was the boy who fucking lived dammit, not the boy who just about survived his godawful relatives every summer just because of some blood wards.
Yeah, he knew about the blood wards now.
He found out about the protective magic that supposedly kept Voldemort from getting his nonexistent hands on him.
But let’s just say, he didn’t feel very protected living here.
But I’m sure you’re wondering how did Harry come to obtain such knowledge.
Well Headmaster Dumbledore loved to play this game that the boy liked to call ‘Don’t ask, don’t get.’ Where the old man apparently only felt inclined to give Harry significant information if he practically prodded it out the guy himself.
It all started last week, basically the beginning of summer when Harry had his amazing revelation that he didn’t have to live like this, and wrote his Headmaster a letter.
He thought it was quite well written if he did say so himself, he spoke about how he didn’t feel comfortable living with the Dursley’s and wished to be allowed to stay elsewhere, like with Sirius, who even offered that the boy should live with him.
Though Harry wasn’t naive, knowing that was easier said than done when the guy was only just recently absolved of his crimes, so he also mentioned Ron and Hermione as viable options, he knew his friends would take him in in a heartbeat if he asked.
Although Harry didn’t feel it necessary to harp on about the extent of just how the Dursley’s made his life a living hell, not thinking the Headmaster would care for his melodrama, he had at least hoped that the wise man would be able to read between the lines and accept his wish.
But you can imagine Harry’s surprise when a week later he received this letter back:
Harry,
I trust this letter finds you in good health. Whilst I am apologetic of your negative feelings surrounding your current living circumstances, I would still insist that you bear with them for the time being. Your safety depends on the blood wards that are currently tied to Number 4 Privet Drive and will continue to keep you protected.
I ask that you persevere, I have faith that you can make a virtue of necessity.
Yours sincerely, Albus Dumbledore.
It was safe to say, that was not what Harry had been expecting. The enemy is inside the house for crying out loud!
When he had received the letter, reading it over and over again in hopes that there was some kind of hidden message being conveyed somewhere, which there wasn’t, he was truly thrown for a loop.
He just didn’t see why Dumbledore couldn’t put a little more faith in him. It’s not like he was under threat at every waking moment or something.
Well, he had recently been getting those awful dreams that were making his scar hurt like hell and exacerbating his migraines, but that wasn’t some impeding threat or anything…he hoped.
Besides he said every waking moment. What happened when he was unconscious was none of his business.
But for the headmaster to not even consider letting him stay with Ron even? A house full of perfectly qualified wizards who wouldn’t hesitate to protect him? He just couldn’t understand it.
Just how vital and powerful were these blood wards anyways? How much danger did Dumbledore foresee Harry to be in for him to justify refusing him like that and making him stay trapped here?
Well it was like he said earlier, this was Dumbledore’s game, everything was on a need-to-know basis with him, and frankly he was sick of it.
He could vent all his grievances to the older man, but he wasn’t exactly willing to wait another week just for Dumbledore to ultimately make up some other shabby excuse and tell the boy that he could get by with a strong willpower.
And to that, he thought sod that right off.
He had made up his mind of not just sitting and taking it as soon as he read the letter, but the specific idea of what to do finally came to him just now, whilst he was hacking away at the weeds in the garden, watching as they fell to the grassy earth.
He could just uproot himself from the environment all on his own.
Was that a stretch? Maybe Sirius’ bad humour was rubbing off on him more than he thought.
But the point still remained, he could just leave. Dumbledore clearly didn’t care enough about Harry’s home life to do any house visits, and if a little rebellion was what it took to get Harry outta here, then he’d bloody well do it.
It would be like what he had done in the heat of the moment last summer when he’d escaped on the knight bus after the situation with Aunt Marge, albeit he hadn’t done that out of defiance, but it had worked out favourably for him that time at least, and it proved as an example to the Headmaster that he could leave easily.
So later that day when he was safely tucked away in his room, starving from not being allowed dinner because he apparently had an attitude when he had asked his Uncle if he had touched his broom again, he wrote out his ultimatum to Dumbledore:
Headmaster,
Thank you for the encouraging words, but I think you really should reconsider what I’m asking for.
Because if I have to choose between this place and disappearing, I think I’ll take my chances off-grid.
I mean it.
From, Harry.
…Okay, so it was a bit dramatic.
But you try living with people who hate your guts and remind you of it in every passing moment.
Safe to say it is not a pleasant experience, and Harry had the bruises and aches to prove it.
Besides, now that he knew that trustworthy adults who actually liked being around him were out there, he knew he could do better.
He would’ve even taken living with Professor Lupin, even if the guy turned into a carnivorous werewolf every full moon, somehow dealing with that last term was more agreeable than anytime Dudley or his uncle had him pinned against a wall as they beat him up or screamed abuse in his face.
Harry let out a long exhale, trying to move past the uneasy feeling that sat in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about what his family members would subject him to on a daily basis.
Above all else, Harry was just tried of it. He could kinda deal with all of it before he found out he was a wizard and spent some of his best years of his life at Hogwarts surrounded by people who genuinely cared about him, but when the highs were high, that just made the lows so much lower.
So, making up his mind for good, he rolled up his letter, attaching the piece of parchment to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off to deliver his message.
—————————
It had been ten days since Harry had sent off Hedwig with his letter.
His trusted bird had returned empty handed a few days after she’d flown to deliver it, but Harry didn’t think too much of that. Dumbledore was a busy man after all, and would typically just use one of the Hogwarts owl’s when he needed to send back any correspondence.
But it had been well over a week now. And Harry had reached his boiling point with the Dursley’s.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that Dudley had recently gotten into cricket, and thought it was just hilarious to whack Harry as hard as he could with his new wooden bat whenever he happened to walk by, obviously going ignored by his relatives.
With a particularly nasty blow going to the side of his head, spiking Harry’s simmering headache exponentially.
The real thing that had set everything off however was when Uncle Vernon had decided to unleash his onslaught of usual word vomit to Harry at the kitchen table that evening during dinner.
Now on a normal day Harry could deal with it. But his head hurt like hell, he was growing frustrated with the Headmaster’s lack of response—and did he mention his head hurt so badly he could practically feel it throbbing?
So, in the middle of his Uncle’s rant, the pot of stew that Harry was holding just so happened to conveniently slip from his grasp, metal hitting the ground with a loud bang as it’s contents spilled out all over the floor.
If Harry wasn’t eating tonight he guessed no one else would be either.
But oh did his reaction not come without punishment.
His uncle took advantage of the opportunity immediately, standing up and launching himself at the boy.
Before he had time to fend him off, the older man was already targeting messy but powerful kicks into Harry’s gut repeatedly, he was sure he would’ve thrown up if there was anything in his stomach left to give.
When Harry finally managed to wrestle out of his hold, he pushed his Uncle back, causing him to fall onto the hot stew that was still covering the ground. He could only stumble backwards as he watched his Uncle yelp out as his bottom was being well and truly fried.
Harry meanwhile saw that as his opportunity to get the fuck out of there.
He ignored his Aunt’s high pitched screeching as he raced to his room, quickly setting Hedwig free first and foremost and grabbing his wand from the nook under his bed.
Luckily he was still wearing outdoor clothes, even if there were a bit scruffy, but he didn’t exactly have time to change so he simply threw on a grey cardigan that Hermione once lent him over the winter, when she was fussing over him, that he just never got round to returning.
“COME BACK HERE YOU RUNT!”
Harry regrettably did jump about thirty feet in the air at the sound of his Uncle’s enraged voice from downstairs, and from the sounds of it he was at the foot of the stairs.
Making a rash decision in that moment, Harry raced into his Uncle and Aunt’s room, a place he never dared visited but knew that was where he could find some cash.
Being only thirteen—almost fourteen meant that Harry couldn’t get any muggle money for himself, and he sure as hell wasn’t being given an allowance around here.
But if he was truly going to go off the map, he couldn’t just rely on galleons. He could take the knight bus again out of Surrey to Diagon Alley first, but after spending a night at the Leaky Cauldron to get his bearings, he’d need to hide out in the muggle areas.
The bad news was Harry had no idea exactly where his relatives kept their cash. But the good news was when opening one of their cabinet drawers in search of it, Harry had stumbled upon Uncle Vernon’s credit card instead.
He’d only seen his uncle use it a handful of times, on the rare occasion that Harry would be allowed to go on trips with them, but luckily he still remembered the pin. The idiot had chosen his own birth year as a password.
Closing the door behind him, Harry bolted to his room once he saw his Uncle and Aunt climbing up the stairs.
His arm barely slipped in through his room without it getting tugged on by Uncle Vernon, as he quickly slammed and locked the door in his face.
“I’m doing you lot a favour and getting out of your hair! You’ll thank me when all this is over.”
’and when you get your arsed looked at by a doctor.’ He thought to himself, shoving all the essentials into his backpack as his relatives pulled fruitlessly at the door to try and wrench it open.
Seeing as his only escape route was unfortunately the window, Harry was relieved for once that he was skinny and short enough to slip through it. God knows it would’ve been impossible to do so if the bars had still been there, however.
So without a second thought, mourning the loss of his broomstick and trunk which would’ve been too much to carry, Harry slipped out through the window, and caught the knight bus to Diagon Alley.
—————————
It was the morning after Harry’s great escape from the Dursley’s residence, and after spending the night at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry wasted no time in checking out and continuing on his journey. The first thing he realised was that he’d need to travel far and fast.
Which led him to where he was now.
The London Underground was louder than Harry anticipated. Though it was the middle of summer so he shouldn’t have expected anything different.
The screech of trains against the tracks in their isolated tunnels, the echo of footsteps, the low murmur of people going about their lives like nothing in the world was wrong.
Harry kept his head down.
His backpack felt heavier than it should’ve, slung over one shoulder as he shuffled forward in the queue. His head still throbbed—dull, persistent—and his ribs ached every time he breathed too deeply, but he ignored it. He’d had worse.
“A ticket, northbound, please,” he muttered when it was his turn, gripping Uncle Vernon’s card tightly in his hand.
His plan was to simply go up north, he didn’t have an exact route mapped out, just knowing that Hogwarts would be his final destination.
The woman behind the glass barely looked at him. “Off-peak single?”
He didn’t know what that meant, so he simply said, “yes.”
A pause. A click of keys. Before the woman gestured for Harry to pay on the card machine in front of him.
He tried to act naturally as he swiped the card and inputted the pin, cheering internally when the code registered as approved.
Harry then shifted his weight, glancing around the station without moving his head too much as the lady finalised the transaction. People came and went in a blur—businessmen, families, teenagers with headphones in. No one was paying him any attention.
Except—
He frowned.
In that moment, he could’ve sworn he felt eyes on him. Like when last summer he kept getting the haunting feeling like he was being watched.
From his experience with Sirius keeping a watchful eye on him during third year however, he knew where to look this time.
His head turned to where he felt the probing, and as he suspected, there was someone indeed staring at him. Just off to the side in the back, there was a man, tall, dressed in black—
“Here you are,” the woman said, sliding the ticket to him and forcing Harry to shift his eyes away from the stranger.
“Cheers,” Harry muttered, grabbing it before making his leave, checking back to the spot where he last saw the man.
But he was gone.
It was probably nothing.
He was just being paranoid.
The tube on the northern line wasn’t full shockingly.
That was the first thing Harry noticed as he stepped inside, scanning the area. Whilst it didn’t help him remain so inconspicuous, he at least felt better knowing there were less people around—and in turn less eyes on him than at the station.
He then dropped into an empty seat near the middle of the carriage, bag at his feet, and leaned his head back against the glass behind him.
For a moment—just a moment—he let himself breathe.
He’d done it. He was out.
No more shouting. No more reprimands. No—
A flicker of movement caught his eye then. Harry’s gaze shifted forward.
There was someone sitting across from him that he somehow hadn’t noticed before.
Perhaps he had been so busy looking around him for anyone suspicious that he hadn’t thought to actually look in his line of sight to start with.
It was a man, dressed entirely in black despite the summer heat, sat with one leg crossed over the other, a newspaper held up in front of his face.
Harry frowned slightly.
Weird.
’Who wears that much black in this weather?’ He questioned to himself, suddenly feeling uneasy.
Whoever it was, he at least seemed to be minding his business. Harry glanced away then, trying not to stare.
Probably just some bloke with a questionable fashion sense.
The train jolted slightly as it began to move, snapping Harry’s attention away from the stranger for now.
He relaxed back into his seat, watching the platform slide away through the window as he listened to the loud drum of the tracks belting past. He tried not to think about how this would affect his growing migraine later.
For now he was fine.
Everything was—
The newspaper rustled, almost intently.
It worked though as Harry’s eyes tracked the motion, leaning forward without meaning to as he stared at the man once more.
Something about him still felt…off.
What’s more is after staring at the guy for the better half of a minute, Harry noticed that he hadn’t turned a single page.
Slowly—carefully—Harry let his gaze travel up and down the figure as he examined him.
From the polished black shoes. To the long, dark coat.
To the slim, pale fingers gripping the edges of the paper.
But the hair was what made Harry’s blood run cold.
A tussled head of black, greasy hair, falling just low enough to brush the top of the newspaper.
No.
Anyone but him—
The newspaper lowered.
And there he was.
That familiar, hooked nose. That shallow coloured skin. Those dark, piercing eyes that looked like they could see straight through him.
Severus Snape.
Taking the London Underground? Surely not.
Whilst it was possible for wizards to take it, Hagrid had even taken Harry on it for the first time when he first took the boy to Hogwarts, but even he had told Harry then that it was very rare for wizards to willingly choose it.
Which meant Snape was here for him.
“Enjoying your excursion, Potter?” The man in question drawled and suddenly it felt like they were the only two people in the carriage.
Harry froze.
For a second, he genuinely considered bolting, on a high speed moving train.
Just grabbing his bag and running straight through the carriage—
“Do not even think about it.” Snape stressed, before folding his newspaper neatly—with a slow precision, setting it beside him in the empty chair, as if he had all the time in the world.
Or he just didn’t see Harry as much of a threat and figured he was free to multitask.
But as the older man wanted, Harry didn’t move.
Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I would strongly advise against making a scene. Muggles tend to react…poorly to unexplained disturbances.”
Harry’s jaw clenched. “What are you doing here?”
“A question,” Snape said, fixing the boy with a warning glare, “that I might very well ask you.”
Harry scoffed, though it came out tighter than he intended as he tried to feign indifference.
“Yeah, well, I asked first.”
Snape pointedly ignored that.
“Did you truly believe,” he said instead, voice low and cutting, “that you could simply vanish without consequence?”
Harry’s grip tightened on his seat. “I was willing to take the risk.”
“Oh were you now?” Snape’s brow arched slightly. “And such a valiant endeavour you undertook, purchasing a one-way ticket using a stolen credit card.”
“It’s not—” Harry stopped himself, scowling. Knowing Snape had got him there.
“Ah,” Snape said dryly.
“The famous Harry Potter thinking he can get away with common thievery, colour me surprised.” He drawled sarcastically, “it’s a wonder why you do not want to return to your relatives, I am sure your uncle will be delighted to hear of your generous use of his finances.” He continued.
Harry looked away.
“…let’s just hope they even want you back once you return to them—”
“Like hell I will!” Harry retorted with a newfound level of anger seeping through.
Luckily, Londoners were too used to seeing altercations on public transport and didn’t pay the boy any mind.
There was a brief, tense silence between them.
Then—
“You will disembark at the next stop.”
Harry’s head snapped back. “What?”
“You heard me.” Snape’s tone was icy, speedily losing patience.
“No, I won’t,” Harry said immediately. “I’ve already got my ticket—”
“And I have my orders,” Snape cut in, leaving little room for argument. “You will get off at the next station, Potter, or I will remove you myself.”
Harry let out a disbelieving scoff. “You can’t just—just drag me off a train in front of everyone!” His words sounding more panicked by the end as Snape continued to stare at him with unflinching seriousness.
Oh god, he totally would wouldn’t he?
Snape’s lips quirked upwards into a menacing smirk, as if smelling the boy’s fear. “I assure you, I would use alternative methods that would attract considerably less attention.”
Harry didn’t doubt that, he hated the shiver that ran up his spine at the thought of his professor easily having the power and being willing to knock the boy out if it meant taking him quietly rather than kicking and screaming.
That didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for him though.
“I’m not going back,” he reiterated, more firmly now. “You can tell Dumbledore that he can—”
“That’s Headmaster Dumbledore to you, boy.” Snape replied with a glint of irritation in his eyes before he continued.
“You seem to misunderstand something.”
“Oh I do, do I?” Harry said, mocking the professor’s harsh tone. He could play at being a snarky prick too if he wanted.
“Yes,” Snape said coldly. “Though that is not uncommon with you.” He said, taking the usual jab at Harry’s intelligence.
“Though in this specific case, it appears that you’re under the impression that this is a negotiation.”
Harry broke eye contact, burning holes into his lap as he scowled.
And when the train began to slow down, his heart started to pound.
“No,” he said resolutely, snapping his head back up and shaking it. “No, I’m not going—”
“Potter.”
Something in Snape’s voice prevented him from having a full on melt down as it almost grounded him.
“You will come with me,” His professor said, each word precise, “and you will present yourself to the Headmaster and answer for your insolent behaviour.”
Harry’s chest loosened minutely at that in relief, he was going to Hogwarts.
Snape really was such a git, making him believe that he was sending him straight back to Privet Drive.
A beat passed as Harry weighed the option in his head. At least he could speak to Dumbledore in person about all this, hopefully the professor wasn’t too pissed off from all this and was willing to negotiate despite Snape saying otherwise.
Harry slowly nodded. “Okay.”
Snape leaned back slightly, eyes dark as he looked at Harry down his nose.
“So he can follow instructions, there may be hope for you yet.”
The train jolted as it came to a stop then and Harry slowly and begrudgingly grabbed his bag.
“…I hate this,” he muttered under his breath as he stood.
Snape rose smoothly to his feet. “The feeling is, I assure you, entirely mutual.”
Though Harry felt like Snape had insinuated his feelings to extend to more than just the current situation he was in.
Harry shot him a glare but he moved once Snape gestured for him to, making a point of standing right behind him.
Stepping off the train and onto the platform—right where Snape wanted him, Harry felt too stubborn to move immediately, feeling slightly satisfied when Snape bumped into the back of him.
“Walk.” Snape ordered, voice low and final.
Harry refrained from rolling his eyes but made the low effort of taking slow steps towards the exit.
That was until he felt something pointy pressing into his lower back.
“Do not test me, Potter.” His voice inches from the boy’s ear.
He promptly sped up his pace.
—————————
After a short trip using a port key that the Headmaster must’ve given Snape for this exact situation, the two had arrived at the door of his office.
Snape made sure to send Harry one last withering glare before proceeding to knock.
The door promptly swung open, with a gentle looking Dumbledore staring at the pair of them with a fond smile.
“Ah, it’s good to see you both.” The Headmaster said, as if this was just a coincidental visit by them.
As if that would ever happen.
Before Harry could laugh at the prospect, Dumbledore soon welcomed them in, the door closing by itself behind them.
The Headmaster’s office was exactly how he’d remembered it. Warm and relaxing. It almost made him want to take a nap on the nearby sofa right then and there. Though that would probably be inappropriate.
“Sherbet lemon?” He offered the both of them once they had settled in.
Dumbledore sat in his office chair whilst Harry took a seat on the sofa he was eyeing up. Snape, elusive as always, stood in the corner of the room as he glared at the bowl in the older man’s raised hand.
“Sure.”
“I’ll pass.”
Harry took a sweet at the same time his potions professor rejected the offer. Typical Snape.
Dumbledore chuckled quietly to himself, as if he had witnessed something discreetly amusing.
“Harry,” Dumbledore addressed, “I would say that I was surprised by your sudden departure from your relatives home, but I suppose you did warn me.” He said with a charmed glint in his eyes as he turned his gaze slightly to look at a letter sat neatly on his desk.
Harry shuffled awkwardly in his seat, “you didn’t reply. I had run out of patience I guess.” He said, shrugging lamely as he stared pointedly at his shoes.
“I was simply taking your letter to heart, my boy. I worry that I had come across as insincere or perhaps even neglectful in my last correspondence to you, so I wanted to give your ultimatum some serious thought.” He explained, though what followed shortly after was an amused scoff coming from Snape’s mouth.
“Severus, is there something you wish to share?” The Headmaster asked not unkindly.
The professor then had the gaul to look slightly ashamed as he regarded the older man, “apologies, I am merely questioning why you are even indulging in this child’s petulant tantrum.”
The boy frowned at that.
Of course Snape saw something that Harry really put some deep thought into as mere ‘acting out.’
“Now Severus, I respect Harry’s wishes. He has shown himself time and time again to act diligently when he feels that something is not right.”
Finally, the man was in his corner!
Snape appeared unconvinced however. “Yes, truly an admirable quality when all it does is put him and his Gryffindor followers in danger.”
“I don’t exactly go looking for it, sir.” Harry gritted out.
He shot the boy a long lasting look then and Harry did his best not to falter under his gaze.
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“Gentlemen.” Dumbledore chided gently, silencing them both.
He hummed then, looking to be deep in thought before nodding to himself in a sense of finality.
“Yes. I believe a solution has been presented to me. An arrangement can be made, it will also solve another issue I have been mulling over for some time. As the muggles would say, ‘killing two birds with one stone.’” He said with an amused smile as he looked between them.
Harry straightened slightly at that.
“A solution?” he repeated, cautious but hopeful despite himself. “You mean—I don’t have to go back to the Dursley’s?”
Dumbledore regarded him over the rim of his spectacles, fingers steepled. “No, at least not for this summer, as we will treat this upcoming arrangement as a trial run.”
Harry frowned. That didn’t sound nearly as reassuring as it should have.
“As I said, I have been considering your situation very carefully,” Dumbledore continued, “and I find myself in agreement that a change of environment would be beneficial.”
Harry’s chest lifted slightly, relief beginning to creep in—
“However,” Dumbledore added mildly.
And just like that, it dropped again.
“Such a change must still ensure your safety, and ideally, address certain…interpersonal difficulties that have persisted during your time at Hogwarts.”
Harry blinked. “Interpersonal?”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled faintly. “Between yourself and a certain member of staff.”
Harry didn’t need to guess which one.
“No,” he said immediately, not even wanting to look behind him and in turn at the man in question. “Absolutely not.”
Snape’s lip curled.
“I see the boy’s powers of deduction remain intact,” said Snape dryly from the corner.
“I’m not living with him,” Harry went on, louder now as if to drown out his professor’s words, sitting forward on the sofa. “You can’t be serious.”
Dumbledore remained perfectly calm, smile remaining intact. “On the contrary, I am quite serious.”
Harry let out a disbelieving laugh before sobering up once he saw Dumbledore simply stare back unwaveringly, there was no ‘gotcha’ moment.
“…With all due respect, sir. I would like to make it to fourth year alive.”
“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Snape muttered.
“I’m not even back at school yet!” Harry exclaimed, finally turning around to shoot the man a glare.
“Yet your behaviour appears to be consistently dreadful regardless of location.”
A mean glint then appeared in his eyes.
“I’m sure your relatives can attest to that as well.”
“Stop acting like you know anything!”
“Boys,” Dumbledore said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “If we might return to the matter at hand.”
Harry dragged a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. “But Sirius said I could stay with him. Or Ron—his family—”
“Mr Weasley’s home,” Dumbledore interrupted gently, holding up a firm hand, “is already under a considerable degree of attention, as you might imagine. Adding you to that environment would not be prudent.”
Harry faltered slightly, losing his steam.
“And as for Sirius Black,” Dumbledore continued, “his circumstances are, unfortunately, not conducive to long-term guardianship at present.”
Harry clenched his jaw at the vague dismissal. “So that leaves him?” he said, jerking his head toward Snape.
Dumbledore inclined his head, not even bothering to admonish Harry for the blatant disrespect. “It does.”
“Then I refuse.”
The words came out firm.
Dumbledore watched him for a long moment. “Harry, you asked me to reconsider your living arrangements.” His tone was firm but still maintaining his usual grandfatherly gentleness to it, as if he was trying to placate the boy.
“I mean yeah!—but this is a bit much, no?!” He retorted, hands flailing in exasperation.
“Be that as it may,” Dumbledore said, not unkindly, “this arrangement satisfies several important concerns. You will be removed from Privet Drive, you will remain under the protection of a capable wizard and,” his gaze flicked briefly to Snape, “you and Professor Snape will have the opportunity to develop a more…amicable relationship.”
Snape made a quiet sound of distaste.
“Headmaster,” he drawled, “with all due respect, I fail to see how forced cohabitation with a chronically insubordinate teenager will foster anything resembling ‘amicability.’”
Harry scoffed. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
Snape’s eyes flashed at the boy’s quip.
“Your thoughts, as ever, are of little consequence.”
“Oh right, my bad. I forgot I’m the issue here—”
“Harry.”
Dumbledore’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut cleanly through the argument.
Harry fell silent, though his glare remained firmly in place.
Dumbledore looked between them, entirely too calm for the situation. “I will not pretend that this arrangement will be without its challenges,” he said. “However, I believe it will prove advantageous in the long run.”
“For who?” Harry demanded, sounding skeptical.
“For the both of you, and maybe even all of wizard-kind.” The Headmaster said with a fond chuckle, though he somehow still held a sense of seriousness to his words.
That made him pause.
Snape, however, looked anything but convinced. “You are asking a great deal here, Headmaster.” His tone in his usual snideness but Harry noticed the man’s arms tightening as they were crossed firmly against his chest.
“I am,” Dumbledore agreed simply. “But I would not ask it if I did not believe you capable.”
Something flickered across Snape’s face—annoyance, certainly, but also something more restrained. Reluctance, perhaps.
He didn’t argue further.
Which, Harry realised with a sinking feeling, was not a good sign.
“…How long?” Harry asked, quieter now.
“For now, just the remainder of the summer.” The Headmaster said, as if the summer still didn’t have a whole month left over before term started back up.
Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”
After a moment, Harry then looked up to stare at him, incredulous.
“You’re really not giving me a choice, are you?”
Dumbledore’s expression softened slightly. “You always have a choice, Harry.”
Harry glanced at Snape. Then back at Dumbledore.
“…Right,” he said flatly. “Great choices.”
A pause.
Was living with Snape really the lesser of two evils here?
Well at least there was only one of Snape, back at Privet Drive, that was three nightmares to deal with.
Simple mathematics won out in the end.
So, with visible reluctance, the boy nodded.
“…Fine.” Harry gritted out.
Snape looked no more pleased but nodded firmly regardless.
’Suck up.’
For some reason, Snape’s attention darted straight for Harry in that instance, causing the latter to jump slightly at the sudden piercing glare.
“Splendid,” Dumbledore said warmly, as if this had gone exactly as expected, drawing both their attention back to the Headmaster. “I am confident that, in time, you may both find this arrangement…enlightening.”
Harry slumped back against the sofa. “That’s one word for it.”
Snape gave a quiet, scathing hum.
And for once, they were in complete agreement.