60 Days Of Summer (Severitus)

Chapter 3 - 'Do Not Trample The Plants'

Harry woke up around eight in the morning, the sunlight filtering through the curtains of his room. He lay there for a few moments, debating whether breakfast was worth facing Snape so early. His stomach growled, making the decision for him. With a sigh, he pulled on his clothes and trudged downstairs.

In the kitchen, Snape was already seated, a cup of tea in hand and a book opened beside his plate. He glanced up as Harry entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter." he greeted, his tone neutral.

"Good morning, Professor." Harry replied, taking a seat at the table.

They exchanged polite, stilted small talk, mostly about inconsequential topics. Snape asked if Harry had slept well, and Harry mumbled something affirmative. The silence that followed was thick with awkwardness. Harry helped himself to some toast and scrambled eggs, determined to make the best of the situation.

Breakfast was as silent as a tomb, the only sounds the clinking of cutlery and the occasional rustle of pages as Snape perused the Daily Prophet. Harry ate his toast and scrambled eggs, trying to focus on anything but the tension that hung thick in the air.

After a particularly loud crunch of toast, Snape slammed his newspaper down on the table, causing Harry to jump.

"Potter," Snape said, his voice dripping with irritation, "must you make so much noise while eating? It's like dining with a herd of rampaging hippogriffs."

Harry glared at him, his anger flaring up instantly. "I'm not trying to make noise," he shot back. "And maybe if you didn't make everything so miserable, this wouldn't be so unbearable."

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. Your arrogance is insufferable. You're just like your father—loud, self-important, and utterly insufferable."

Harry's face flushed with anger. "I'm not my father." he said through gritted teeth. "And you're not even trying to make this any easier. I didn't want to be here either, you know."

Snape's expression darkened, and his voice became a dangerous whisper. "Do not presume to tell me what I am or am not doing, Potter. You're here because of your own recklessness and stupidity. And if you can't manage to eat without sounding like a herd of hippogriffs, then perhaps you should take your meals in your room."

Harry stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Maybe I will," he said defiantly. "At least then I wouldn't have to look at your face."

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Get out of my sight, Potter. Now."

For a moment, Harry thought about arguing further, but the cold fury in Snape's eyes made him think better of it. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, his anger boiling over. He stomped up the stairs, each step echoing his frustration, and slammed the door to his room behind him.

Throwing himself onto his bed, Harry stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. He hated Snape with every fiber of his being, and he was sure Snape felt the same about him. This summer was going to be unbearable if things continued like this. For the first time, he felt a pang of desperation. How was he going to survive the next few weeks? Snape wasn't even trying to have a civilized convivence.

Downstairs, Snape sat back in his chair, glaring at the empty seat across from him. With a sigh, Snape picked up his newspaper again, trying to bury his irritation in the mundane pages of the Daily Prophet. But the lingering tension from their argument hung in the air, refusing to be ignored. This was going to be a long, difficult summer for both of them.

After a while, Harry decided to go downstairs; he didn't want to spend his entire summer locked in his room just because of Snape. He descended the creaky staircase, its familiar groans echoing through the otherwise silent house. The weight of his restlessness pressed on him, urging him towards the garden.