Sorry for the delay, guys. Had a really hectic and rough time in real life, and returned to the gym so I have mostly been too exhausted to write by evening. Here is the next chapter anyway, and it is a long one! Please do keep reviewing as reading your reviews is one of the happiest parts of my writing this story and lets me know I am doing okay. Hugs.

By the time he had stopped shouting, Severus knew he had made a grave mistake in allowing the worst of his emotions to come to the forefront, yet again, in front of the boy. In spite of having spent many hours during the last days, internally instructing himself on how essential it was that he gain Potter's trust, he had found himself unable to restrain his anger when it came to the boy's insulting his most precious friendship. Under most circumstances, he found it remarkably easy to use his ability as an Occlumens to such a degree as to appear entirely lacking in emotion, but when it came to both this boy and his mother... in very different ways they unleashed the strongest of emotions. Now, as he loomed over the bed, he could not help but feel disgusted at the echoes of his past, with Potter having taken the very same defensive stance as Severus had himself, only now it was he who stood in the position of the father he had hated with every fiber of his being. It was very obvious the boy expected to be struck, though less clear was whether the teen had slipped into some echo of his past, or whether it was still Severus whom he saw. He took a step back, hoping the distance might make it obvious there was no violence forthcoming, but beyond that, he could not think of how to resolve his mistake without explaining precisely why the boy's words had elicited such a strong reaction. The subject of Lily, the mother, the friend, created a potentional minefield for both of them given their mutual dislike for one another, and their mutual love for her. Severus rubbed at his face with agitation as he continued to watch Potter, who was still apparently frozen in place, bracing himself for something that was not going to happen. Given how completely he had lost his temper, Severus could not really blame the boy for believing it inevitable, given his past.

'I apologise, Potter', he said, swallowing his pride, discomfort painfully evident in his voice, as unaccustomed to apologising as he was, especially to someone younger than himself, That was... unacceptable on my part', he paused, waiting for a reaction from the boy, but receiving none, continued, 'I have no excuse for my past treatment of you, beyond that of my own desire to... ', he broke off again, frustration catching in his throat as he grasped for the right words to explain the reasoning behind his frequently unfair interactions with Potter. He briefly considered that he didn't owe the brat anything, least of all his most uncomfortable admissions of what he perceived to be great weakness, especially given the boy had himself lashed out, but reminded himself that there had been truth to the words, loath as he was to admit it. Maintaining his appearance as a genuine follower of the Dark Lord in front of his Slytherins, many the offspring of Deatheaters, had not been the sole reason for his vitriol and it was only recently he had begun to examine his true motivations. Realising that any attempt to comfort the boy would most likely not yield positive results, he seated himself once more, his body stiff and tense with an unfamiliar nervousness.

'Your mother was perhaps the only person in my life to have ever shown me unconditional kindness; the only one to truly see past the facade my upbringing had forced upon me. That memory you inadvertently...stumbled upon...was the second greatest mistake of my life; irredeemable, unforgivable, and ultimately it ended the most valuable friendship I could ever have had.', he said, his voice slightly muffled by the clenched fists he had raised to cover his mouth. 'It was easier to view you with eyes that saw only your father, the man who had tormented and abhorred me as much as I had him, than to see the woman I had, in an impulsive, blind moment, betrayed. I cannot deny that you made it infinitely simple, given your apparent predisposition towards breaking rules, disregarding all authority and attempts to keep you safe, which, I add, came at quite a cost to others', he paused as Harry finally relaxed marginally, the arms finally lowering although his fists remained clenched in his lap as he stared intently ahead, clearly listening. 'I do not expect nor particularly covet your trust, Potter and find it unlikely that we will ever reach a point of liking one another. However, if I am to train you in the abilities you will require in order to have some chance of surviving this war, or at least of reaching the point when you will inevitably have to face the Dark Lord, then we shall have to learn to tolerate one another at least.' Severus paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully as he shifted his position in the chair, folding his arms across his chest. 'Regardless of the mutual mistrust between us, it is imperative that you find someone whom you do trust, with whom you can unburden yourself of those things in your past which are holding you back. It is highly unlikely you will ever learn to control your emotions and master the art of Occlumency in your current state of mind.'

He rose to his feet and rounded the bed, coming to a stop in Harry's line of sight, determined that the most important fact be made plain and clear.

'Whatever my faults, Potter, and in spite of having given you reason to not trust my word on this, I will not strike you again. I cannot promise a constant control over my temper, but I will not hit you.', he waited until the boy lifted green eyes, doubtful eyes, to meet his before he finally moved onto other pressing matters.

Reaching into his robes, he retrieved a vial and held it out, biting back on his irritation as the boy cast suspicious eyes on it.

'A nutritive potion, Potter. You will be taking one of these three times a day, without fail, in addition to consuming an amount of food I consider appropriate, until you reach a healthier weight. As it stands, you are at least twenty pounds below what you should be and that is not acceptable. When I am sure you are adequately nourished and have regained some strength, you will take your meals downstairs and will be allowed the freedom to leave this room, under certain conditions.', his eyes hardened with his last words, making it clear there would be consequences if such conditions were not heeded. Turning away from the bed, he strode over to the door, pausing in the entrance, 'I will be back in a few hours with a stomach calming draught and a light meal. In the meantime, I suggest you consider what I have spoken of and any questions you wish to ask'

Over the following week, Harry did indeed consider what Snape had told him, spending many hours running through the words in his head, trying to process the idea of his mother having been friends with the man. He had asked any questions, although he had many, and short of necessary responses to questions, he had not really spoken to the Professor at any length since that day. In fact, there seemed to now exist an uncomfortable silence between them where neither knew quite how to react to the other and it was becoming rapidly frustrating, like an itch that needed to be scratched. Harry dutifully took his potions, dutifully ate the provided food and at Snape's suggestion, dutifully started on his assigned Summer reading and essays, anxious for some escape from the mind numbing boredom of being stuck in one room. A few changes had been made, probably on Dumbledore's orders, and a large rug now covered much of the cold, stone floor with a few armchairs having been positioned in front of the now blazing fire. He had also started to really miss the letters his friends usually sent and had wondered several times if there were any possibility of them being delivered to this new location, but found himself reticent to risk disappointment if he asked. Although his anger towards Snape had diminished somewhat after the talk, now that he had some understanding of the man's motivations, he still could not totally rid himself of the burning resentment at the years of ill treatment. Regardless of the man's reasons, he had still spent years bullying Harry based on old resentments and regrets that as an adult, he should have, in Harry's mind, dealt with.

He was not sure what to expect when finally, he was deemed strong enough to escape the confines of his temporary room, all too aware there would no doubt be ridiculously stringent rules. But he was anxious to escape after over a week of staring at the same four walls, from which schoolwork had offered only a minor distraction, his concentration being embarrassingly minimal. It didn't help that Snape expected to check all of his essays prior to his return to school, the added pressure serving only to make Harry so anxious he was double checking every single sentence. Now he was sat on the bed, waiting nervously for the man to come and take him down to the dining room, no doubt to ensure he took no diversions, not that he would dare consider doing so. He grimaced slightly as he glanced down miserably at his threadbare jeans and oversized sweater, the best he could find among the pile of castoffs tangled together in his trunk. He had little doubt that the Professor would have something suitably snarky and insulting to say in regards to his appearance but had determined not to react.

Truth be told, Severus had not been relishing the day that he would have to allow Potter access to the rest of the manor, within reason of course. A very private man by nature, he guarded every facet of his life with an iron fist and even Albus, the only other to have seen the house, had only viewed limited areas. He already planned on limiting the boy to the dining area, library and gardens, with access to his study permissable only during occlumency lessons. He also had no intention of sharing his living room with the teen, the idea of cosy evenings with the brat sharing that sacred space the stuff of nightmares. In terms of ensuring the boy came to no harm, either by his own hand or through other means, he had requested the assistance of the Headmaster, who had promptly delivered an inconspicuous bracelet that once locked in place, could only be removed by Albus himself. Severus had also taken delivery of a similar item, a ring in his case, which would not only alert him to potential danger, but would also act as a locator should the need arise... which he hoped it would not. He had little doubt Potter would loudly protest such precautions, loathe as he was to be treated as the child that he was, but if he wished for any semblance of freedom under Severus' care, he would have to accept.

Having ordered Minky to prepare the morning meal for the both of them, he reluctantly left his study and made his way to the guest room, inwardly reminding himself to maintain calm, no matter Potter's reactions. When he entered the room, he found the boy in question seated on the edge of his bed, his expression and stance emanating a combination of anxiety and anticipation. However, it was the way the boy was dressed that caught most of Severus' attention as he felt the first stirrings of irritation, unsure as to whether this was aimed more at the boy or at his neglectful muggle family. He had not paid much attention, admittedly, when he had rifled through the brat's possessions, removing anything that might be harmful. How could he have failed to notice clothes in such an appalling state of disrepair, not to mention their immense size...Potter's small frame was positively drowning in the voluminous material. He approached the bed, coming to a stop in front of the boy, folding his arms across his chest, a stance borne more from habit than any particular specific emotion.

'I believe I asked you to be dressed and ready, Potter', he said in a cold voice, 'I would hardly consider the rags you are currently wearing to be clothing in any way, shape or form. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you have nothing more suitable in your possession?', he looked down his nose at the teen, waiting for a response, vaguely surprised when the boy's face remained blank with just a flicker of emotion crossing his features. His body held rigid and unyielding, Potter lifted his head and stared right back, his green eyes hard, almost challenging.

'If you can find anything better, I will gladly put it on, Sir', he responded, emphasising the last word bitterly, 'but you see, my relatives didn't exactly consider me all that worthy of new clothes', he added, turning his gaze to his trunk, which still lay open, it's battered edges doing little to conceal the unsavoury collection of rags laying inside.

Wordlessly, Severus followed the boy's gaze, eyes darkening at the sight before he turned back to Potter with an impatient sigh, unwilling to further investigate the filthy pile of clothing tangled together at the top of the boy's case.

'We will be rectifying this situation, Potter, sooner rather than later. Regardless of the perverse proclivities of your so-called relatives, I will not have you walking around my ancestral home dressed like a common street urchin', he muttered, turning and heading back across the room. He paused at the doorway, throwing an irritated glare back towards the boy, who had made no move to follow, 'Well?', he snapped out, 'Do you wish to leave this room, Potter, or have you become so attached to it that you wish to remain in here for another week?'

Harry got to his feet quickly, aware of a sense of humiliation as he followed the man from the room, head set straight ahead, finding himself barely interested in where he was being led to. Of course, he had anticipated some sort of insult regarding his clothing, but nevertheless found a strange sense of disappointment setting in which in turn made him angry. Why had he expected any different, simply because Snape had shared things about his past and his mother? And yet, he had somehow, somewhere in his subconscious, obviously expected just that, setting himself up for more feelings he had no wish to experience. Sullenly, he stared at the Potion Master's black robed back as they made their way along a narrow hallway just across from the study where the disastrous Occlumency lesson had taken place, what seemed a lifetime ago. Finally, they came into an average sized room with a large window that streamed sunlight across a long dining table and chairs set in the centre with places set for two people. Harry stood just inside the doorway stiffly, uncertain as to whether he should go and take a seat without being told he could do so yet knowing he would likely be chastised for simply standing there like an idiot. It always seemed that no matter what he did, he tested Snape's patience, in a damned if he did and damned if he didn't sort of way.

'Are you going to stand there admiring the scenery all morning, Potter?', the man in question snapped out impatiently as he pulled out the chair closest to the window, at the head of the table, and sat down, 'Sit down and be quick about it. I have other things to accomplish today besides giving you a guided tour of my home'.

Quickly, Harry did as he was told, taking the other seat and placing his hands in his lap as he chanced a quick look around the room, surreptitiously. Surprisingly, it was decorated in shades of dark red and gold, the furniture being of a dark wood, probably Walnut, with candelabra lining the panelled walls. A small table and two attractive, embroidered armchairs sat by the window, but beyond that, the room was relatively plain, the walls bearing only a few landscape paintings and a large, ornate mirror. His attention was drawn back from his observances when a pop broke the silence and Minky appeared, hovering a large tray before her, which she carefully lowered to the table before disappearing just as quickly as she had arrived. Harry watched as Snape placed a bowl of what looked to be very bland oatmeal and a glass of pumpkin juice in front of him before taking a steaming plate of bacon, eggs, mushrooms and beans for himself. Harry wrinkled his nose in distaste at the unappetising sight of his own breakfast, casting a sideways glance at the man's own meal before sighing and reaching for his glass of juice.

The look of disgust on the boy's face did not escape Severus' attention and truth be told, he couldn't deny oatmeal was not the most appetising of breakfast options but for just a few more days, it would have to be tolerated. Although Potter had gained weight and looked considerably less gaunt in the face, he had still, in spite of the stomach calming draught, still been sick several times over the last week, after the simplest of meals. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the all too familiar vials and slid them across the table, watching to make sure the boy took them before focusing on his own food, which seldom changed from day to day. As accustomed as he was to solitude and silence, it felt unsettling to hear the sound of two sets of cutlery clinking against china as well as the quiet breathing of the other occupant. Sighing irritably, he pulled the final item on the tray - a copy of the Daily Prophet - towards himself and speared a piece of bacon onto his fork, rolling his eyes at the leading article, which, as had been the case for weeks now, had Potter as the focus.

Dutifully, Harry drank down the vile tasting potions and picking up his spoon, made slow and arduous work of forcing down the thin but slightly lumpy oatmeal, which although slightly sweetened by honey, still seemed to lack taste. Every so often he raised his eyes slightly to look at the Potions Master, but the man was fully absorbed in reading the paper and seemed totally oblivious to Harry's presence, for which he was thankful, yet at the same time, oddly disheartened. The silence simply gave him more time to think and his thoughts these days were rarely pleasant, usually revolving around the lack of correspondence from his friends, his Godfather's death and the hopelessness of a future blighted by a Prophecy that seemed to make his death inevitable. He had taken to scratching at the skin on his hands and slapping at his face as a way to distract himself when there was no-one there to see, having no other means to try and stop the streams of thought. If not for the Dreamless Sleep potions Snape had taken to providing him, he doubted he would get any rest, but he knew that would not continue for much longer. He had already been warned that another solution would have to be found, given the addictive nature of the ingredients.

When it was clear that both were finished with breakfast, several annoyed glances having been sent in Harry's direction when he had taken to scraping the spoon around his empty bowl, Snape rose to his feet and headed for the door through which they had come, indicating with a hand that Harry was to follow.

'Come Potter, let's get this arduous task over with so I can return to something more productive', he sniped, robes billowing behind him as he strode ahead at a pace that had Harry almost at a run to keep up. The downstairs area of the house seemed to be composed of two wings, with long corridors going off in either direction. Snape's study, of course, led directly off from the main entrance hall and there was a central staircase leading up to the upstairs rooms, of which Harry had seen only one thus far and doubted he would see any others, knowing Snape. Since the dining room was in the East Wing, it was along that corridor they continued, passing several large, oak doors before finally, the man stopped in front of one that looked much like the others. Swinging open the door, he went in, followed by Harry, and then stopped in the middle of what was clearly a vast and very well stocked library with mahogany shelves reaching from floor to ceiling. Sliding ladders along each side of the shelved walls ensured access to the higher levels and built into the external wall, where there would usually have been a window, was a large, oak fireplace with inset ceramic flowers of some sort. In front of it sat two overstuffed armchairs and a small table, whilst in the centre of the room was a fairly large circular table with eight chairs around it. A huge red and gold rug covered most of the stone floor, adding more warmth to the room which Harry imagined would be a cosy place to sit at any time of the day, given the lack of window. He was so lost in his observations of the room that he startled slightly when Snape's voice broke the silence, it's tone as forbidding as ever.

'I will expect you in here every morning, Potter', he snapped, 'This will be your study room and I expect you to devote at least two hours to your school work before you even consider engaging in any other activity. You are welcome to read any of the books in here, but should I find they are not returned to their correct place, there will be consequences, I assure you'

That said, he turned and swept from the room and after a few more moments of gazing at the heavily laden shelves, Harry followed, back out into the hallway. From here, Snape continued down the same corridor, pointing out the one door at the very end, his finger literally stabbing the air in it's direction.

'The living room. You are not to enter here under any circumstances unless I give you express permission to do so. It is my sanctuary and I do not wish to be sharing that peace with an annoying teenager such as yourself. Do I make myself clear, Potter?', he said in a low voice, spinning back to face Harry, dark eyes piercing right through him.

Harry looked down at his feet sullenly for a few moments, unable to hide his disappointment at being kept out of sight, just as with the Dursley's, then lifted his head and nodded slightly, pulling a blank expression over his face. Why should he be so surprised that Snape didn't want to see anymore of him than the man had to? It was not as if they had anything in common... in fact, all that had ever existed between them was the familiar, mutual loathing, so why had he hoped that their talk would change anything? What reason was there for the man to see more of his mother in him now, than his father? Did he honestly have envisaged himself spending cosy evenings in with this man who had only over the last week or so, shown even the slightest semblance of emotion beyond his usual anger and irritation ? Harry mentally kicked himself as he followed Snape back down the corridor to the main entrance hall, where he was led along the other corridor. The first door they came to seemed different to the others, being made of a more solid looking wood, having no handle and showing more signs of use. It was here that Snape's face truly took on a dark expression as he glared down his nose at Harry, who in such moments, truly regretted drawing the short end of the stick when it came to height, for the man truly towered over him still.

'This is my personal laboratory, Potter, and so help me, if I ever find you setting foot in it, you will find yourself without the legs to do so again', he snarled, 'Do I make myself clear?'

Harry stared at the door and nodded silently, determinedly concealing his growing anger at the way Snape was talking to him, assuming he would even want to go anywhere near the man's precious potions. It was not as if it was Harry's favourite subject... in fact, the man had seen to it that Harry could never conceive of having any aptitude at it from day one with his constant barbs and insults, alongside the tendency the bat had to hover behind him at every opportunity.

He traipsed behind as they made their way upstairs, aware that some rooms had been skipped, and trying to ignore his curiosity as to what they were... that had only ever gotten him into trouble in the past. As with downstairs, the upper floor was divided into two wings, his guest room being the first along the left side corridor, and Snape's being the first along the right side corridor. As expected, he was warned upon threat of certain death that he was not to enter the man's room or so much as knock unless there was a dire emergency and once again, Harry responded by nodding his head and avoiding eye contact. In his present state of mind and emotion, he had little doubt he would be accused of insolence if he responded in words, certain his voice would reflect his anger and frustration at being shown mostly rooms he was not to enter or pollute with his presence. Aside from an extra bathroom beyond Snape's room, a few other guest rooms, and a room right at the end that was not even approached, there was little of interest on the upper floor.

However, as they made their way back to the staircase, Harry could not help but notice a rather old looking trapdoor built into the hallway ceiling and slowed down briefly as he studied it, wondering if this place had an attic and if so, how it was accessed. There was no sign of a ladder and as he finally hurried along to catch up to the Potions Master, he found himself wondering what was up there and what would happen to him if he did find a way to give in to his curiosity...after all, no mention had been made of any attic and he hadn't been warned to not go up there. It was a stupid idea though and he tried to push it to the back of his mind as he descended the stairs, even as he found himself fixating on those library ladders and how heavy they might be. It was probably boredom as much as curiosity that was driving him to such thoughts anyway.

When he reached the entrance hall, it was to find Snape waiting for him outside the door to his study, arms folded across his chest and a vaguely suspicious glint in his eyes as he looked at Harry as if he were some undesirable specimen in a jar. Moments passed before he turned and opened the door then stood, waiting for Harry to precede him into the room.

'Well, come on Potter, I haven't got all day', he snapped, 'and whatever was just running through that nebulous mind of yours, I suggest you remove it with haste. I have observed you for five years now and as inept as you are at hiding your emotions, I am quite sure whatever you were just thinking was not something that would meet my approval'.

Harry glared for a few moments before dropping his head to the floor and entering the study, standing in the middle of the room, unsure of whether he was to take a seat and unwilling to do so without permission. With most other people, he would have sat down, it being the obvious thing to do, but with this man, he was constantly on edge, never knowing what he could and could not do and what might trigger some sort of insult laden rant. Snape swept past him, his robes creating a distinct breeze as he passed, and sat down before opening a drawer and pulling out some sort of bracelet which he placed on the desk in front of him. His lips thinned slightly and he looked at it with apparent distaste before lifting his head, directing an irritated glare at Harry and pointing sharply at the other chair.

'Are you incapable of taking a seat like a civilised human being, Potter, or do you gain some pleasure from having to be instructed on the simplest of tasks?', he sniped, 'Sit'.

Doing as he was told, Harry quickly pulled the other chair out and sat down but did not pull himself closer to the desk, preferring to keep some distance between himself, the man and whatever that bracelet was. He had his suspicions and could already feel the tendrils of anger emanating from his chest region, which tightened as he stared at it. He couldn't think of any reason Snape would have such an item in Harry's presence other than to further control him in some manner... it had to be some sort of a monitoring device, or something that would limit where he went and what he did. He was sure he had a vague recollection of Dumbledore suggesting somesuch device before he had been brought here, but everything from that particular day remained fuzzy and he couldn't recall the exact words. He watched with growing annoyance as Snape picked the bracelet up and held it between two fingers, his other hand pressed palm down on the desk.

'Since I cannot easily justify, to The Headmaster, confining you to your room for the duration of your stay here', he said succinctly, 'and since you have already proven you cannot be trusted to keep yourself safe', he added, 'you will be wearing this until you return to Hogwarts and it is not optional, Potter. I am already wearing a similar item which is magically linked to yours and will be alerted if you are in any danger, whether that be from yourself or from others. I will also be able to locate wherever you might be on this property and believe me when I say this... I will not be happy if the need arises for me to do so'.

Harry glared down at the innocuous looking piece of jewelry, biting on his lower lip to try and stem his increasing sense of anger at the unfairness of the entire Summer as it had played out so far. Not only was he stuck with someone who clearly didn't want him around and in a house that might as well have stepped out of one of the more morbid Dickens novels, but now he was to be monitored wherever he was and whatever he was doing. It felt as if his thoughts and emotions were no longer his own anymore and with the spells most likely used on those things, Snape would probably come running for little more than a depressed thought or feeling. How the hell was he supposed to not have negative thoughts for the rest of the Summer? He turned his gaze towards the window, wishing more than anything that he could simply sprout a pair of wings and fly away to some remote place, leaving all of this life behind and was quite happily lost in that fantasy when Snape's harsh tones broke through his reverie

'Potter!', he snapped out impatiently for the third time as the boy continued to stare towards the window, apparently oblivious to where he was and with whom.

He could see it coming as soon as the teen turned back to face him... that telling glint of fire in the green eyes, a painfully familiar reflection of the boy's mother...spoke volumes. He had hoped that after their talks, the brat might have learnt enough to realise that his position was already precarious, but then, he imagined Potter had hoped that Severus would treat him differently following the revelations about his friendship with the boy's mother. He had intended on changing his behaviour but it was proving more difficult than he had anticipated and falling back on old habits seemed so natural when Potter continuously tried his patience with each interaction.

'What?', Harry yelled back as he swung round to face the Potions master, his fists clenched in his lap as he felt a sudden anger seeping through his skin, as though the slowly burning resentment had sparked into a fully fledged fire. The words that followed spilled out of his mouth before he could so much as consider the possible consequences or the futility of any attempt to change the man's mind.

'You bought me here against my will and now when you decide I can actually leave that shithole you call a room, I have to be checked on like a baby? It isn't enough that you get to control my every move, you now want to see my every thought and feeling too? I'm not stupid, I know how that sort of spell works... I wont be able to so much as think a negative thought without you running as if I'm about to jump from the highest window which is probably already sealed shut anyway. Heck, I can't even have any privacy when I go to the toilet now and this is the price I have to pay just to be able to go in a few rooms where I wont be polluting your air with my presence?', he stood from the chair, gasping for breath then without thought, swiped his hand across the desk, sending the bracelet to the floor with a light clatter, 'You know, I thought that no-one could hate me more than the Dursleys do, but I guess I was wrong. I bet you wish every day that your 'friend' had never had me', he finished as he turned and ran for the door.