Harry trailed behind Snape through the long twisting corridors of the dungeons. As they walked, he worried about living with the waspish man. Snape had never exactly tried to hide his dislike of Harry, and Harry was certainly not a fan of the professor. And while Harry could handle Snape as his professor, when the most he could do was assign a string of nasty detentions, he was a bit wary of the amount of control the man might have over him while Harry lived with him. What sort of punishments might he be allowed to dole out? Would anybody know if he went too far, or care? Harry suddenly realized, horrified, that he could withhold the antidote from him, or perhaps draw out the creation process. A cold wave of fear crashed over him as he realized just how much power Snape would have over him for the next few weeks.

His anxious thoughts were beginning to crowd his mind, chasing each other in circles, when the professor stopped abruptly. Harry was jolted out of his spinning thoughts as he nearly crashed into Snape’s straight back. He arrested his forward momentum just in time, somehow keeping his balance, then glanced around to take stock of their surroundings.

To his left was a large portrait of a tiny man with a bulbous nose, a white powdered wig which sat askew on his head, and an oddly shaped cane in his right hand. To his right was a blank stretch of stone wall between two suits of armor. Snape was standing in front of the wall with the palm of his right hand pressed onto the stone, fingers splayed out.

“Come closer, Potter,” he commanded. “You need to touch your right palm to the wall so I can key your hand print to the wards. If you are to be residing,” he practically spat this last word, “with me for the next two weeks, you will need to have access.”

Harry gulped. “You don’t just have a password, sir?”

Snape sneered at him. “No. Passwords can be overheard and used by anyone. I will set the access via your palm print to last only for the two weeks, there will be no taking advantage of this privilege once classes resume.” He glared at him, then motioned him forward.

Awkwardly, Harry shuffled forward and turned his back to the wall, extending his arms as far as he could and scooting backwards until his palms pressed into the stone of the wall.

“I said your right palm, Potter, not both palms,” Snape admonished him, exasperated.

“I can’t exactly separate them right now, sir,” Harry gritted out, angrily.

Snape paused, then smirked. “Then I guess you will simply have to use both hands.”

Harry turned back around as the walls began to open, disappearing into invisible seams behind the suits of armor, then reappearing as he followed Snape through. He glanced around, surprised at what he saw.

They had entered into what looked like a cozy flat, decorated in warm browns and greens. They were currently standing in the dining area, with a round wooden table in front of them. To their left was a small, but evidently often-used, kitchen, and straight ahead through the dining area was the living room, where a loveseat and two armchairs were grouped around a fireplace and stacks of books covered the walls. A hallway extended to his right from the space between the dining area and living room, and he followed Snape down it.

Snape was pointing out doors as they walked. “The door on the right is my room. Under no circumstances are you to enter without my express permission, which I will not be giving. The door straight ahead at the end of the hall is the guest bathroom, and the door on the left is the guest room, where you will be staying. Any questions so far?”

Harry shook his head.

“Good. I will expect you to be up every morning by 7:30 so that we can ready you before breakfast is served at 8:00. Lunch will be at 1:00 and dinner at 6:00. We will dine together rather than in the Great Hall since I will be helping you,” Snape explained, causing Harry to blush and look at his feet. “You may occupy yourself as you see fit throughout the day, although once we have reduced the binding to stage one I will expect you to be spending every morning studying. You may leave my quarters if you wish, but you must inform me of your whereabouts if you do so,” He leveled a stern glare at Harry. “There will be no foolish Gryffindor adventures while you are on my watch. Since writing is currently… difficult… for you, that will mean you must verbally tell me of your plans before leaving. Once we have reduced the binding to stage one, a written note left on the table will suffice. I also expect you to be back in the quarters by 10 pm so that we can get you ready for bed. You will be either in bed or in your room occupying yourself quietly by 10:30. Is that all clear?”

“Er, yes sir, I was wondering though… What will the punishments be if I break a rule?” Harry asked timidly.

“Planning a little bit of rule-breaking already, are we, Potter?” Snape’s eyes gleamed. “Suffice it to say, you do not want to find out.” Harry’s wide-eyed stare seemed to satisfy him, and he inclined his head towards the guest room door. “Your trunk should be in there. Go ahead and unpack your things.”

Snape was beginning to sweep away when he was halted by Harry’s tentative voice. “Sir? Er, I can’t… I mean, I think I’ll need help unpacking.”

Snape spun around and leveled a glare at him. “Are your clothes not neatly folded already?” At Harry’s nod he continued, “Are your hands not free now?” Harry nodded again. “Then I do not see a problem. I am not your nursemaid. Surely someone as athletic as you can figure something out.” With that he stormed out of his quarters and down the hall to the potions lab.

Harry stood for a moment, surprised, then heaved a sigh and turned back to the door to the guest room. Examining it, he cursed when he realized the door had a round, brass door knob rather than a longer handle. He spent several long minutes twisting at it, contorting his body, before the mechanism finally clicked and he sprawled into the room, landing on his back. He pushed himself back up using his hands and began the arduous task of moving his folded clothing from his trunk to the small chest of drawers at the foot of the bed. For once, he was almost grateful the Dursleys had never given him much clothing, as it cut down on the scope of the task.

xxXxx

Snape returned to his quarters just before lunch and strode to the guest room to call Harry to the table. He paused in the open doorway, and stood for a moment with his arms crossed. He was somewhat surprised to find Harry seated awkwardly on the floor with his back to the door, struggling to read his Transfiguration textbook. He had his feet pulled in to his right side with one heel holding the top corner of the page in place, and his neck was craned at an uncomfortable-looking angle as he strained to read the text. While Snape watched, Harry leaned back and grasped the next page with his hands, then leaned to his side as he turned it, struggling to shift his heel onto the new page.

“As fascinating as this display is,” Snape began, causing Harry to startle and fall onto his back with his arms pinned beneath him and his hands out to the side, the textbook falling closed as his feet shifted. Snape smirked as Harry kicked his legs out and sat back up, glaring at his professor, then continued, “it is time for lunch. Please come to the table.”

“Er, professor? Do you think I could use the loo first?” Harry blushed as he came to his feet.

If Harry had not known better, he might have thought he detected a hint of embarrassment in his professor’s visage when he answered, “Yes, I believe that is acceptable.”

As Snape led the way to the guest bathroom, he was considering just how humiliating it was to be Harry Potter’s nursemaid, and cursing Potter’s idiocy in potions. He knew it was not truly the boy’s fault, and was making an effort (he was!) at not taking his anger at the situation out on him. Yet he felt a bit like the nanny to a rich, spoiled child, and it was difficult not to enjoy Potter’s own humiliation, at least a little bit.

Opening the door for Harry, Snape stepped aside to allow him in first. With the two of them in there, the room felt quite crowded, so he left the door open. He stood in the doorway, facing Potter, who was looking uncertain as he stood in front of the toilet.

“Shall I just…?” Snape asked, gesturing with his wand.

Harry blanched. “Er, Madam Pomfrey usually just turned her back and did everything over her shoulder,” he explained.

Snape frowned. “I assure you, Potter, it is nothing I have not seen before.” When Harry continued to look horrified, he sighed and turned his back, smirking once Harry could no longer see. “Very well.”

xxXxx

They walked out to the table several minutes later, Harry’s face still flaming, and took seats beside each other. Lunch was already set out at the table, and Harry assumed the elves must have served it, since Snape had been out the entire morning. He watched with wide eyes as Snape piled food onto his plate, then turned his astonished gaze to his professor.

“Sir,” he protested, “I can’t eat that much! It will go to waste!”

Snape paused and looked him up and down. “You are a teenaged boy, Potter, and presumably will grow, at some point.” Harry’s blush deepened at this. “It is no wonder you are so small if you eat like a bird. While you are here, you will eat an adequate amount. No arguments.” He proceeded to cut up Harry’s food while Harry stared at the table, then began feeding him the morsels, taking his own bites as Harry chewed.

When Harry had eaten about half of what was on his plate, he stated, “I’m full. May I please be excused, sir?”

Snape frowned. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. Have at least a few more bites, you can’t possibly be full already.” He brought another forkful up to Harry’s mouth, but Harry shook his head and tried to turn his head away, keeping his mouth firmly closed as Snape prodded his lips with the food.

“Come now,” Snape said, setting the fork down after trying for a minute to follow the moving target of Harry’s mouth. “I will not have you starving yourself simply because you are embarrassed to be fed.”

“I’m full,” Harry insisted, “I’m not starving myself.”

“Fine then. Just three more bites and you can be excused. If you refuse, I will simply plug your nose again,” Snape threatened.

Harry glared at him, but reluctantly opened his mouth. After eating his last three bites, and finishing his glass of water (also under Snape’s order), he fled to his room.

As Snape walked back to his lab after lunch, he pondered the oddities of living with Harry Potter. The boy seemed to bounce between acting like a spoiled child, like when he refused to finish his food (although there was not even that much on the plate!), and acting like a mature but independent teenager, like when he had found him studying (and on the first day of the holidays!). But perhaps the humiliation of his situation was beginning to get to him; he had seemed completely mortified at asking for help in using the bathroom. Snape had always thought Potter deserved to be taken down a peg or two. Besides, it was probably sheer boredom that drove him to read his textbook; he was likely so used to having all of his friends around him that he did not know what to do without them. With this thought, Snape returned to the puzzle of the antidote potion, sinking deeply into his process of discovery and creation.

xxXxx

Snape was woken from a sound sleep that night by a muffled scream. Shooting upright, he grasped his wand and stalked carefully to the room Harry was in, expecting an intruder. However, when he tossed open the door to the guest room, his wand held steady, he was surprised to find only Harry. He was asleep partially on his side and partially on his stomach, his bound arms leaving him off-balance so that his face was somewhat pressed into a pillow. His legs were kicking and jerking in the bed, and he was alternating between emitting screams which were half-strangled by his pillow and mumbling indistinct words. As Snape stepped closer, he heard some of his pleas.

“Please, please… NO! Let me GO! I’ll be good… please, just untie me.”

“Potter!” Snape called out, but Harry’s cries only grew louder and his tossing more frantic.

“POTTER!” He tried again, then moved forward and shook his shoulder to wake him.

At Snape’s touch, Harry’s eyes flew open and he flinched, attempting to back away and instead rolling himself off of the bed, landing with a dull thunk onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he started to say, then trailed off, gazing wide-eyed up at Snape from his prone position. “Professor?”

“Yes, Potter. Did you injure yourself just now?”

Harry looked confused. “What?”

Snape sighed impatiently. “Just now, when you fell off of the bed. Did you injure yourself? Did your head strike the floor?”

Harry’s brow scrunched up as he seemed to think, shifting vaguely as though wanting to pat himself down to check for injuries. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Was that a dream?” Snape continued patiently.

“Yes, sir. Sorry for waking you.” Harry struggled into a sitting position, then worked to get his feet under him, seeming more unsteady due to the late hour.

“Do you wish to discuss it now?” Snape asked, seeming somewhat reluctant, but also curious.

Harry looked surprised. “Not really sir. I’m fine.”

Snape seemed to consider him, his dark orbs piercing through Harry as though trying to x-ray him. “Do you require a sleeping potion to return to sleep? Or you may take dreamless sleep if you wish.”

Somewhat warily, Harry replied, “No sir, I’ll be fine.”

Snape nodded. “Then I will see you in the morning.” And he left the room.

xxXxx

Harry did not fall asleep again after his nightmare. He had them regularly enough, and he knew better than to try to sleep again the same night as one. While they usually only came about once a week or so, he had woken from a nightmare three out of the past four nights, and Harry was fairly certain he knew why. He was quite excited for Snape to reduce his bindings that day, hoping that having his arms bound in front of him might be less of a trigger.

He was oddly touched, in a confused sort of way, by Snape’s offer of potions to help him sleep after the dream. He was, of course, also mortified that his least favorite professor, a man who took great pleasure in thinking up creative taunts for him, had seen him in such a vulnerable state (he could hardly wait for next Sunday when he would be able to put up his usual silencing spell again). Yet Snape had seemed almost… normal. Human. He shuddered, though, to think of how his night would have been if Snape had forced him to take a potion. Madam Pomfrey had insisted on giving him dreamless sleep when he woke from nightmares Wednesday and Thursday nights, but the ‘dreamless’ part of the potion seemed to have worn off before the ‘sleep’ part, so in the last hour or so before waking he had been trapped in his nightmare. He had wondered, idly, if that was a known possible effect of the potion, but was afraid to ask the Matron.

When 7:30 finally rolled around, he practically bounded out of bed, his excitement for the downgrading of his bindings belying his fatigue. He headed out of his room in search of Snape.

xxXxx

Snape awakened at his usual 6:30 to perform his own morning ablutions. As he proceeded through his routine, his mind wandered to the night before. Potter’s nightmare had seemed unusually… violent, particularly for a young teenaged boy such as himself. Something did not seem quite right about the situation; there was a niggling at the back of his mind, but he brushed it off, reminding himself that there was a mass murderer intent on the boy, after all, occasional nightmares would be natural.

As he helped Harry to dress (in more of those horrid, ratty clothes he kept picking out!), Snape noticed that he appeared particularly chipper that morning. Unwilling to engage the boy in unnecessary conversation, he ignored his unusual energy through breakfast. Finally, as he was cleaning Harry’s face from the excess food that tended to dribble there (a side effect of being spoon-fed oatmeal), his curiosity got the better of him.

“You are annoyingly cheerful today, Potter. Care to share with us lowly folk what has you so excited?” he questioned drily.

Harry gave him a small smile. “You’re reducing the bindings today, sir. I’m just excited to have my hands in front again,” he explained truthfully.

Snape looked him over. “Yes, I suppose it would help with your balance somewhat.”

Harry blushed at this, but nodded.

xxXxx

By that evening, however, Harry was not nearly as excited about his bindings being in stage three. Snape had performed the spell at around 10:00 that morning, the same time as on Friday. Harry had realized by lunchtime that, although not nearly as bad as having his forearms bound behind him, having his forearms bound in front was not particularly comfortable either. There was still some definite strain on his shoulders, and he could not lower his arms beyond the point where his forearms were perpendicular to his torso, nor could he fully straighten them. He had found that if he held his arms up against his chest with his hands tucked under his chin, or rested his hands on the crown of his head, it relieved some of the tension in his shoulders. However, his arms would eventually tire of being held up, and the cycle would start over.

He had also realized that, without his hands, he could no longer open any closed doors within Snape’s quarters since all sported the same round doorknobs. He had learned this just after Snape had downgraded the bindings and returned to his potions lab, when Harry had tried to return to the guest room to retrieve a book. He had struggled with it for only a bit before giving it up as a lost cause, staring in defeat at the innocent-looking doorknob. He had considered asking Snape to open the door for him after lunch, but decided it better not to give Snape more fuel for his taunts (though he thought the professor had been mostly decent about this whole situation so far), and chose instead to be careful to leave the necessary doors open for the next seven days.

So it was that he found himself sharing the living room with Snape that evening after dinner.

xxXxx

Snape was beginning to be a bit unnerved by Harry. The boy had followed him out into the living room after dinner, rather than returning to his own room as he usually did, and sat down in the loveseat while Snape began reading in his favorite armchair. Now the boy was just sitting there, fidgeting every once in a while, and Snape could not help but steal glances at him, wondering what he was up to. Finally, he decided that relaxation would be completely unattainable as they were.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful?” he barked out, annoyed.

Harry frowned, lowering his arms from his head where they had been resting. “By doing what?” he queried defiantly.

Snape rolled his eyes and gestured to his book. “Reading, perhaps. You may borrow one of mine, if you wish,” he added, indicating his many shelves with a sweeping hand.

Harry eyed Snape for a moment, as though deciding whether he was serious, then stood up and perused the shelves for a few minutes. He chose a book called Forgotten Potions, wondering if fune ad servendium might be in there. He began struggling to extricate it, trying unsuccessfully to wedge his hands between the books to gain some leverage and growing frustrated. He startled when Snape’s voice spoke from directly behind him.

“Here, Potter,” he said and reached around him, plucking the book out easily and handing it to him.

Harry mumbled a thanks and tucked the book under his chin, returning to the loveseat.

A few minutes later however, he pushed it away and sat back with a quiet huff, frustrated once again.

Snape eyed him, then asked, “Dare I inquire what the matter is, Potter? Are the words perhaps too big for you?”

Harry glared at him. “It’s nothing, sir. And I can read just fine.”

Snape smirked. “My mistake, Potter. I assumed that your abysmal performance in Potions might have something to do with an inability to follow directions, but I see now that it is simply unwillingness. I should have guessed, based on your Gryffindorish rule-breaking.”

A faint flush was creeping up Harry’s cheeks. “I do follow the directions!” he protested hotly.

“And that is why you replaced the bubotuber pus with butterscotch in your potion on Wednesday?” Snape questioned nastily.

“I thought it said butterscotch! The board is hard to read sometimes!” Harry shot back.

This caused Snape to pause, though his face did not express his surprise. “The board is difficult for you to read?”

Harry deflated a bit. “Yeah, I mean, sometimes. Your writing is pretty small and the fumes get in the way sometimes.”

“No one else has mentioned difficulty reading the board.”

“Well, I guess they just understand potions better than me and they’re better at figuring it out.”

Snape seemed to be examining him for a moment. “When was the last time you had your eyes checked?” he questioned.

Harry stiffened a bit. “I don’t know,” he snapped.

Snape tapped his lip in thought. “Perhaps that is something to see Madam Pomfrey about then. In the future, Mr. Potter, I do recommend going to an adult if you have similar difficulties. I am sure that Professor McGonagall would be happy to help out the famous Harry Potter.” Snape smirked. “Now that we have concluded that you can, in fact, read, do you care to enlighten me as to the problem with my book?”

Harry sighed. “It’s not the book, sir.” His face colored a bit. “I just can’t turn the pages very well. They keep sticking and I end up flipping more than one at once.”

“Ah,” Snape said in understanding. “There again, Potter, is a predicament you would have benefitted from alerting someone to.” He waved his wand at the book briefly. “That should dry the pages out a bit and prevent sticking. It is a simple spell used by many adults with arthritis, but I think it should help in this case.”

xxXxx

Harry was rather amazed to find that the spell did actually help. He found an entry on fune ad servendium and set to reading it. It was short on descriptions of the making of the potion or the theory behind it, including only the two most primary ingredients, but it did give a fairly detailed account of its history and effects.

The book described the potion’s original design in transporting troublesome or newly-acquired slaves short distances. Its purpose was expanded as time went on to aid in the transportation of larger number of slaves, and even at times used as a punishment for misbehaving slaves. There was even a station of ‘potion-bearer’ that developed, where a trusted servant was given the task of doling out and re-applying the potion. The book also mentioned that the traditions of honor and respect among the lords and ladies of pureblood society prevented any of them from using the potion against each other in their various squabbles and even occasional wars.

Harry learned that the potion was outlawed at the same time that human slavery was in the wizarding world, and its use was all but forgotten, even in history books, where the practices of human slavery tend to be glossed over. Even the position of ‘potion-bearer’ was often erroneously described in history books as the servant who tasted the meals and drinks of the Lord to check for added potions. The author of the book described, with perhaps a hint of regret, how most of the ingredients and the way to make the potion had been lost as well.

Although Harry noted that the book’s account of the effects when dropped on the arms was only somewhat accurate, he shuddered at the descriptions of its effects on other areas, grateful that the potion had splashed only his arms and not touched his legs or face.

Then he looked up at Snape and suddenly realized how lucky he was that Snape had recognized the effects of the potion, let alone that he had known how it was brewed and understood its theory. The book he was reading was not even certain of the theory on how the potion managed to conjure the invisible ropes that it described. Although as Harry thought about it, he realized that it did not actually feel as though ropes were binding him, but he could not imagine how else to describe the effect -- it was not that the skin was stuck together since he had noticed it was able to shift and rub somewhat.

Before he could really consider what he was doing, he was surprised to find himself asking Snape, “Sir, how does this potion bind my arms? Does it conjure invisible ropes?” He held his breath, amazed at his own courage.

When Snape looked up, Harry thought that he might have looked… surprised for a moment before his features were schooled back into his usual impassive expression.

“No, Potter, only a fool would believe that a potion could work in such a way. Potions act on the body,” he answered.

“Then how…?” Harry trailed off.

Snape seemed to slip into full teacher mode as he explained, “The potion acts on the muscles and nerves of the affected area, sending the desired signals and locking the limbs into place even as it blocks the signals that would thwart its purpose.”

“So then…” Harry frowned. “It basically sets my body against itself? It convinces it that it’s supposed to stay like this?” He wiggled his arms in demonstration.

Again, a flicker of surprise seemed to flit across Snape’s face, and he gave a jerky incline of his head. Harry chuckled inside to imagine Snape’s dismay at admitting that Harry was correct.

xxXxx

That night, after Snape had helped Harry change into his pyjamas (turning his back as usual), Harry called out before Snape could close the door to the guest room behind him.

“Professor! Could you leave the door cracked open, please?” Harry asked, trying to not look too pathetic or desperate.

“You would like the door cracked open?” Snape sneered. “Why? Afraid of the dark?” Harry could not be sure in the dim light, but he thought Snape’s sneer seemed to lack its usual venom.

“No sir.” Harry took a deep breath, deciding it would be better to tell him now rather than dance around the subject for the next seven days. “I can’t open the doors right now. All of your doors have knobs instead of handles. I could do it earlier, but now I don’t really have hands…” He trailed off, feeling awkward.

Snape paused for a moment, then stated, “An oversight on my part, Potter. I will keep that in mind.” And he swept away.

As he drifted off to sleep, Harry was somewhat amazed. Had Snape just admitted to making a mistake, even if it was a tiny one -- an ‘oversight,’ as he had called it? He thought the world must be tilting on its axis.