When Harry woke up next, he was once again in an unfamiliar location, although he had a distinct feeling he was at Hogwarts.  For some reason his body, his magic, recognized surroundings even though he was sure he’d never been here before.

First thing he noticed, he was in a large four poster bed, and not just in the bed, but rather nestled in the bed. There were several pillows surrounding him and a thick satin blue comforter pulled clear to his chin. Near his bed, he could make out the fuzzy image of a bedside lamp, a cup and his glasses.

Pulling himself free of the covers, Harry retrieved his glasses. He was glad to note that his head no longer hurt and the feeling of nausea was gone. And I’m alive, he thought. Looking around the room, he noted that the stone walls were the same as though found in his Gryffindor tower, yet here there were no windows. The floors were also stone, except for a large rug that covered the distance between the bed and an armoire. Beside the armoire was one closed door, and on the opposite wall there was another closed door. Harry had no idea where either led, but only one had light glowing under the door frame. Briefly, Harry considered getting out of bed and heading to the light, but before he could, he heard voices.

“I do this under severe protest,” the voice was hushed but quite angry. Harry couldn’t discern who the voiced belonged to.

However, the voice that responded was quite familiar. “I understand my boy,” Albus Dumbledore replied, “but we really have no choice.  Minister Fudge is trying to remove custody of the boy from his muggle relatives, and if he succeeds, he will be a ward of the ministry. You know what that means.”

“Yes,” the voice replied sharply. “But surely there is someone else.”

Harry gulped; he didn’t know what this meant. What about his custody? He crawled to the edge of the bed and tip toed across the floor to the door.

“No one with your qualifications,” Dumbledore replied, “especially with such short notice. All we need you to do is sign this last document; in effect you will have legal custody of the boy, until he is of age and completes his apprentice.”

Wait, Harry thought desperately, what did he just say? Harry reached for the door handle, struggling to pull it open.

“If you insist,” the voice replied, even if it was still hushed- this close Harry could identify him. “But keep in mind, I hate the boy.”

Pulling the door open, Harry called in alarm, “Snape?!”

Both the headmaster and potions master turned their attention to the boy. Snape was leaning over a table, having just completed his signature. Quickly, the air in the room became thin. From deep in his gut, Harry felt something pull at his magic, it traveled through his wand hand and a jet of white light flowed to Snape’s wand hand. It was like a small string, tying the two together. Harry wanted to jerk his hand back, but he couldn’t move. With a crack, the string disappeared.

“Harry, my boy,” the headmaster started.

At the same time, Snape scowled, “That is Master Snape to you.”

There was a moment of silence, as Harry didn’t know what else to say. A number of thoughts ran through his head, but the biggest thing was denial. This can’t be happening, he thought.

“Now Severus,” Dumbledore spoke calmly, “surely the boy can continue to address you as Professor.” The headmaster’s eyes sparkled, gesturing for Harry to come closer. “Harry, I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions, which I am more than happy to answer if you would come and sit down. Perhaps some sandwiches would be in order,” Dumbledore turned to Snape, “if you could place the order?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, his expression clearly stating his displeasure. “I think, Headmaster,” Snape ground out the title, “that I will take over from here. As his Master, I am more than capable of explaining the situation.”

Dumbledore looked to consider the matter, and then responded, “I will, of course, let you do as you think best.” The headmaster gathered up the paperwork from the table, “However, should you need anything, either of you, I will be nearby.” Dumbledore nodded to Harry, “anything you need at all.”

As the headmaster made to leave, Harry couldn’t help himself, he felt a surge of panic. “Wait,” Harry shouted, “you can’t just leave me here. What’s going on? What is Snape talking about?!”

“Potter—“ Snape shouted, but what interrupted.

“Professor Snape,” Dumbledore corrected, “will be taking care of you,” Snape’s face was growing red with anger, pointing the old man towards the door. Dumbledore continued unfazed, “as you have need of a guardian. I will allow him to give you the details.”

Harry didn’t say anything; he couldn’t say anything, as the headmaster left him. He felt angry, betrayed, confused. He still had no idea where he was or what was happening. As the exit door quietly closed, Harry slowly turned to his guardian?

Severus Snape, bat of the dungeons, stood glaring at the table. The man’s knuckles were white, as he gripped the back of a chair. Taking a moment to consider the situation, Severus said in a deadly cold voice, “Potter, you will sit down, now, and I will discuss the situation when I return.”

On instinct alone, Harry quickly moved to comply, sitting as far from where Snape stood that was physically possible. Severus stared down at his new ward and glared. Satisfied that the brat would likely do as he was told, Severus fled from his dungeon chambers.

The boy was left sitting alone at the table.  Looking around the room, Harry took stock of the area around him. The table was small, with only four chairs and settings, and was placed in a small recessed area in the wall. Looking towards the exit, where he watched both Dumbledore and now Snape leave, he contemplated his chances of escape. Also in the room was a fire, which had a low table in front of it, and a matching couch and chair. There were also some shelves, pushed against various walls, mostly filled with old books and simple trinkets. On the wall opposite from the room Harry had previously occupied were two other doors, both shut.

Harry squirmed in the chair, wondering why the room had no windows. He had a sinking feeling that he was in the dungeons. Again he looked toward the door, contemplating an escape. The fire cracked, and Harry jumped, startled.

Looking to the fire, he quickly established that he was still alone. He wished that he had his wand and wondered where it might have gone. Harry hadn’t much of a chance to look around the room to make sure there weren’t any other of his belongings. In fact, Harry realized he was still wearing pajamas, thin pajamas, and no socks, and the dungeon was cold.

Shivering a bit, Harry hugged himself, hoping to generate some warmth. He briefly considered sitting nearer the fire or perhaps returning to the room and looking for a robe. Harry felt his head, where it was previously bandaged, only to discover everything was fine, not even the slightest twinge of pain. He wondered what had been happening and why his thoughts were so jumbled.

After a while, Harry was getting downright impatient. He had no idea what was going on, where his belongings were, and he couldn’t decide why Snape expected him to sit there when he clearly wasn’t coming back. Resolved, Harry decided to get up and explore the room he’d just come from, figuring that his wand must be in there.

He was half way to the door when his progress was halted. “Potter,” Snape snapped, “Did I, or did I not instruct you to wait at the table.”

Harry froze, thinking quickly he responded, “But you weren’t coming back.” The boy cringed when he realized he sounded like a whiny child. “I,” Harry was wavering under the professor’s stern look. Gathering his bravery, he continued on, “my wand! Where is my wand?”

“Your wand?” Snape mocked. “The first thing you are worried about is your wand?” Harry stared back at Snape, blankly. “There isn’t anything more important in the car,” Snape drawled, “that you might find more important?”

Harry’s face twisted in confusion, as he thought back to the car. His thoughts regarding the flight were still all muddled, despite the fact his head felt much better.

“Really Potter?” Snape taunted, “Are you really so selfish?”

Harry was pretty sure that Snape wasn’t talking about his trunk and he knew that Ron was just fine, unless maybe the hospital had just been a dream. Surely Snape couldn’t be considering any of Harry’s mere possessions.  And then suddenly Harry remembered, and in a moment his stomach dropped, sick with sham and worry. “Hedwig?” Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Snape paused, his scathing response just on the tip of his lips. He could tell the boy’s whole demeanor had changed and he knew the boy was suffering still from the effects of a head injury. Still, he loathed the selfish boy, “yes Potter, your owl. Are you at all concerned with her condition?”

Harry gulped, he didn’t that Snape used the word ‘condition,’ but Hedwig had to be okay. “Yes,” Harry replied, his voice cracking, “is Hedwig okay?”

“Your owl is fine,” Snape replied, “although she did sustain a few injuries from the crash.” Snape studied Harry’s eyes; he could see a mixture of emotion from the boy, he hadn’t expected to see such a deep level of anguish and worry. “Hagrid has just returned from Mending Hoots, she had broken a wing.”

Harry sighed in relief, although he was still concerned. “May I go see her sir?”

“No,” Snape replied shortly, he had information that needed to be covered, and he was growing tired of speaking with the boy already. “You will sit down, as I had instructed before, so that I may enlighten you to your current circumstances.”

Harry complied with the request, still upset and worried about Hedwig, but still needing to know what was going on.

Once they were both sitting at the table, Harry across from Snape, the professor started. “I will speak and you will listen. Any of your inane questions will have to wait until I’m through. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry nodded.

Snape stared critically, before he continued, “Clearly you are incapable of keeping yourself out of trouble.”

Harry’s head snapped up, he had a retort for that! Except he kept his mouth closed, hoping that his glare could speak for him.

Snape didn’t seem fazed, “not only did you steal a car, fly through muggle London without a care, but only a short time before you were using magic at home.”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, “That wasn’t-“

Snape slapped his hand down on the table. “Potter,” he shouted, “do not interrupt me.”

Again, Harry held his tongue; his anger was barely in check.

“Those two considerations,” Snape continued, “plus the absence of your relatives.” Harry opened his mouth to ask what Snape meant, but the man held up a hand demanding silence. “… had led the ministry to question whether or not your guardians have been truly minding you properly. I can see their point; I’ve seen how spoiled and unruly you’ve been. Would you be surprised when the ministry went to follow up with your relatives that they were more than happy to give you up? ‘Too much trouble,’ they said.”

Harry wasn’t surprised, Snape noted, not even upset; was the boy really that selfish? Snape’s anger grew, he almost growled. Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to deepen his occlusion and then continued. “It was easy for Minister Fudge to start the process of making you a ward of the ministry. That, Potter, would be an unfortunate development and not just for you, though I’m sure that’s all you’re concerned about, but for the Headmaster and…” Snape trailed off; as if there were things he couldn’t or wouldn’t say.

The room grew silent, Harry’s mind screamed with questions, he opened his mouth to ask, but suddenly Snape continued. “That brings us to our current situation. The headmaster carries very little power concerning your custody. Since your relatives were more than happy to be rid of you, there were no real options left. Except apprenticeship, do you know what an apprentice is?” Snape stared critically at Harry; the boy still looked all too confused. He wondered whether any of this information was getting through the boy’s thick head.

“No I don’t suppose you do,” Snape mocked. “An apprentice, Potter, is a person bound to his master, until such time the apprentice has learned all the master has to teach. It’s ancient magic, and there is nothing that you can do to break it. I have bought you, and you are mine, until such time I determine that you have learned all that you must learn.”

“No,” Harry shouted, “this can’t be possible. You own me? Rubbish! Call the headmaster back, he’ll tell me the truth.”

Harry expected the man to be anger, to shout back, he hadn’t expected Snape to be amused. The gleam in Snape’s eyes made him shudder.

“Yes Harry,” Snape replied calmly, “I do. I have complete control over you. What you are allowed to do, where you go to school, whether you eat, where you sleep. If you disobey, I can beat you, starve you, and there isn’t anyone who can say otherwise.”

Harry’s face lost all color. “But you— Dumbledore, he— I…”

“Eloquent as ever, Potter,” Snape replied. His amusement with the boy’s response was starting to wan. Potter looked on the verge of some panic attack and Snape wondered why he’d gotten so far away from what he’d wanted to say. “Be that as it may Potter,” Snape continued, “I would not treat you so drastically, although considering you spoilt past, you likely won’t agree. So do you have any questions on the matter?”

Harry had a hundred questions, but he didn’t know where to begin. Still, he thought this must be some sort of sick joke, or maybe he was in the hospital still, delusional. “This is not happening,” Harry shouted, “I won’t let it happen.” He jumped to his feet, ready to bolt. “I am going to the headmaster.” Harry was so mad, he was starting to cry.

Snape was faster; he rounded the table and grabbed the boy by the arm. “Yes Potter,” Snape scathed, “it is. And I assure you, I hate this arrangement far more than you.” He pulled Harry towards the room he’d been in before. “You will stay in your room; I will not tolerate this tantrum.” Opening the door, Snape all but threw the boy in and then slammed the door behind him.

Harry backed away from the door and fell backwards onto the bed. He felt a jumble of raging emotions and he could no longer control his tears. Rolling over, he buried his head into the thick comforter and wept.

Out in the living space, Severus poured himself a glass of Firewhisky. Five years, he thought, this boy is my charge for a further five years, at least. He really had no intention of abusing the boy, although he wouldn’t hesitate to use a firm hand. The boy was spoiled, the boy was a trouble maker, and Severus hated the boy… this was not an ideal arrangement.