Harry awoke the next morning to the sound of a flock of birds chirping near his window. He grinned. That was a sound he had not heard in a while, not since he had lived at the Dursleys in the suburbs. He got up and moved over to the window, settling himself on the thin cushion that sat on the wide ledge and resting his forehead against the glass. He sat for a few minutes, soaking in the familiarity of this position. He had been quite glad the night before when he found a window seat in his room, feeling as though it was a small piece of the library in London he was bringing with him, although he wished he had some books to curl up with as he had there.

Eventually, he roused himself again and picked up his cane from where he had left it by the door, thinking he probably did not yet know the quarters well enough to go without it, and headed out of his room. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he decided to settle in the living room, not completely sure what to do with himself. When he entered the room, he heard the sounds of sipping coffee and rustling papers coming from the direction of what he was fairly certain was the couch. Presuming this to be Professor Snape, he moved towards one of the armchairs and settled himself in it.

Harry sat in awkward silence, trying not to fidget. Should he be making breakfast or something? He didn’t think that the Professor would be likely to expect that of him without telling him; he had seemed a bit more reasonable than the Dursleys, and certainly more reasonable than Jack. Plus he thought the man was probably intelligent enough to know that Harry would likely need a tutorial on this particular kitchen before trying to cook anything (although, as he thought about it, he was probably rather out of practice with cooking, and he had not had much experience with real cooking since blinded). Still, feeling unsure of the expectations made him feel just slightly anxious, and he had no outlet with which to burn off his nervous energy.

After only about five minutes, Snape finally spoke up. Harry heard the sounds of his mug being set down, then the Professor’s voice asked, “Would you find it helpful to receive a tour of the quarters? I can give you one before breakfast if you would like.”

Surprised, Harry answered, “Thank you sir, but I’m alright.”

There were a few more moments of silence before Harry worked up his courage to say, “But a tour of the office, and perhaps of Hogwarts itself, would be nice. Maybe after breakfast?” He tried to keep his tone of voice neutral and nonchalant, as though the request hardly mattered, but he was actually quite anxious to get a tour of the school. The little he had seen so far had made the place seem enormous.

“Certainly. And while we are on the subject…” he heard the man stand, “I told the kitchens to have breakfast sent up at eight o’clock, so it should be on the table.”

Harry followed him into the dining room and took the same seat as the night before, hearing Snape take the one across from him. He could smell the delicious aroma of the food and was just about to locate his plate and start dishing himself up when the Professor spoke up again.

“There are bacon, bangers, eggs, toast, porridge, and fruit, although Madam Pomfrey has not cleared you to eat the bacon or bangers yet. What would you like?”

Harry was, once again, quite surprised, and somewhat tentatively responded, “Erm, porridge and fruit, sir, would be fine.”

He heard the man pick up the dish in front of him and begin plopping things into it. He set two dishes back in front of him, one a bit heavier than the other, then added, “The porridge is directly in front of you, and a small dish of fruit is at your ten o’clock. You may add the fruit as you desire. There is also a small phial at your one o’clock you should drink once you are finished, and a glass of pumpkin juice at your two o’clock.”

Harry only nodded and began eating slowly. The Professor knew the clock face method? Since when?

xxXxx

After breakfast, Harry followed the Professor out into the office and began somewhat self-consciously exploring the room with his cane and hands, keeping his extended touch closed. He had refused the Professor’s offer of a sighted lead, but was still rather confused by his sudden knowledge of techniques. He tried not to dwell on it or grow too paranoid as he ran his hands over the strange instruments that cluttered the room, emitting funny noises that would hopefully prevent him from tripping over them too often.

“What is this?” he asked the Professor curiously. He had been trying to decipher the shape and function of the strange, metal instrument beneath his fingers for a couple minutes before he finally gave in and tentatively asked.

He could practically hear the sneer in the Professor’s voice as he answered, “I do not know. The Headmaster is somewhat… eccentric, even for a wizard.”

Harry nodded and withdrew his hands. “Will you show me around the castle now, please?” he politely requested.

“Certainly. Would you prefer sighted lead or to continue as we were?”

“I’m fine,” Harry answered quietly. He had really gotten rather unused to the idea of a sighted lead while on the streets of London. When Lucy had first taught the technique to him, it seemed a marvelously easy way of getting around, but he had since learned just how little other people could be trusted. The only person who had never left him was Sophia, the librarian. Performing a sighted lead when not completely necessary seemed like putting too much trust into someone else now, and he was loathe to do it if he could manage without it.

He followed the quiet footsteps of the Professor out of the office and down the strange stone escalator, listening hard to the footsteps as well as listening for cues from his environment. He startled slightly when he heard an unfamiliar voice, having not heard anyone approach, and resisted the reflex to open his extended touch just yet.

“Oh, a new student here early! What is your name, child? Do you know your House yet? Oh of course not though, you surely have not been Sorted yet. I am the Friar, of Hufflepuff.”

Harry’s mind whirled as he tried to process what had just been said, finally grasping the question he had understood. “I’m Harry,” he eventually supplied. Mustering his courage and pulling on his mask of confidence, he held out his hand in the direction of the voice.

There was a moment of silence and then the Professor spoke up. “Harry, this is one of the ghosts of Hogwarts. There are several that roam the castle.”

Harry quickly processed what had gone unsaid in the Professor’s explanation. The Friar was a ghost, which was likely why he had not heard footsteps approaching, and why it was not appropriate for him to be expecting a handshake. He dropped his hand, wondering how bad of a social faux-pas he had just committed, and opened his extended touch curiously.

The ghost was difficult to spot at first, but then he felt a vaguely different patch of air in front of him, colder and denser than the air around it and with a fuzzy and rather undefined outline. He idly wondered whether the ghost appeared humanoid to the sight or more amorphous.

He thought the Professor and the Friar might have exchanged looks or nonverbal cues while he had been somewhat preoccupied because just as he had been considering how to respond, the Friar said, “Well, I’ll be off then. Enjoy the castle. I’ll look for you at the Sorting.” And then he felt the vague presence move towards the opposite wall and fade away.

As the Professor and he continued on, the Professor explained that there were also many portraits on the castle walls that spoke and moved about as those in Dumbledore’s office had. Harry appreciated the unspoken warning for the voices he might hear in the halls. He was mildly impressed by the Professor’s somewhat gruff thoughtfulness, while he also appreciated that he did not try to coddle him.

Harry soon discovered that the castle was huge and set up without any obvious pattern. To make it worse, according to the Professor, things tended to change. The staircases, doors, even suits of armor, liked to move. There were trick steps and trick doors, almost as many secret passageways as normal ones, and hidden chambers and secrets one might only stumble upon under the right circumstances. Although the idea of navigating such a place was rather intimidating, it was also almost comforting, or perhaps just settling, in its familiarity. London had been a scary place to live, especially at first, but it had been a place where he had freedom and only relied on himself. There, he had been able to blend and hide relatively easily; he had known his section of London intimately. Perhaps learning Hogwarts would be difficult, but once he knew it well, he would be protected by the warren-like passageways just as he had been by the streets, alleys, and rooftops of London. And perhaps this boded well for his experiences at Hogwarts. So far, he had been trying to resist feeling as though he were under a microscope; he had become unused to such constant attention from adults over the past few months.

That afternoon, Harry began to grow restless. They had returned to the quarters for lunch, but once the meal was finished he found himself with nothing to do. He was used to spending the majority of his time scrounging for food, begging for money, or sleeping. He wished he had a book he could curl up with in the window seat as he had in the library, but instead he just sat in the window and felt the sun on his face, idly wondering what the grounds looked like. Maybe the Professor would show him at some point?

His restless musings were eventually interrupted when the Professor knocked on his door and announced dinner was ready.

xxXxx

Severus felt oddly nervous throughout dinner, and had to consciously keep himself still to keep from fidgeting, a habit he thought he had long broken himself of. Once they had finished eating, he asked Harry to join him in the living room, where they sat next to each other in the armchairs.

“Mr. Potter... “ Severus began, and then cleared his throat. “I had planned on taking you into London tomorrow to pick up your school supplies, if you are amenable.” Harry nodded slightly and Severus continued, “However, you must know some things first. What do you know of how your parents died?”

The boy’s brow furrowed slightly. “My aunt and uncle said it was a car accident. My dad was driving drunk.”

Severus had suspected he would not have been told the truth, but he still had to consciously rein in the brief spike of anger that flared up at the child’s answer. “I am afraid that your aunt and uncle were not quite honest with you. Your parents were a witch and a wizard, just as Professor Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, and I all are, and as you are. I believe I explained some of the basics of this before bringing you here to Hogwarts, but there is a magical world that we keep hidden from non-magical people, who we call muggles. Many of the magical children from Britain are educated here, at Hogwarts. In fact, your parents were. Your father was born into what we call a pureblood family, or a family descending entirely from magical folk. Your mother was a muggleborn, born to nonmagical parents.

“However, the wizarding world has its share of problems, just as the muggle world does. There was a wizard, who was actually educated here at Hogwarts, who went very evil. His name was… Voldemort. Although many referred to him as ‘You-Know-Who,’ or ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.’” Severus paused for a moment, drawing indifference around himself in order to speak of these events, events that had affected himself and the child before him so greatly, without breaking his usual emotionless veneer. “He gathered… followers… around himself, and attempted to overthrow the current magical government. He believed strongly that muggles are weaker than wizards, and that purity of blood was of utmost importance.

“Your parents, along with others, fought against him. One Halloween night, when you were just one year old, he came to your parents’ home in Godric’s Hollow.” Severus could see Harry’s stony mask beginning to crack somewhat as he discerned where the story was going, but he continued on, sucking a silent breath in. “He killed them, and then turned his wand on you, but for some inexplicable reason, he could not kill you. The spell backfired on him instead, and he was destroyed.”

Severus remained silent for a few moments, giving Harry a chance to absorb what he had just been told. Eventually, he spoke again. “The wizarding world rejoiced on that day, celebrating that the reign of terror was over. And, although no one knows for sure how you did it, you are celebrated as well, as the Boy-Who-Lived, the only person ever known to have survived that particular curse, and the one responsible for ridding the world of such a powerful and dark wizard.

“It is important for you to know this because people may recognize you tomorrow, and as you continue in the wizarding world. Your lightning bolt scar, particularly, is famous, since you received it on that night.”