When Snape didn't immediately return, Harry stood uncertainly. What was he supposed to do now? Snape had just made it abundantly clear that his presence was not welcome in this house. He turned to leave and had his hand on the front door when Snape's voice rose silkily out of the shadows.

"Remove your hand from that doorknob, Potter, or I shall remove it for you."

Harry pulled back his hand as if it had been burned. "Sir… I…" He stuttered, "Well I… Wasn't sure if you wanted me to leave."

"You will be staying here this evening," Snape announced, making his way down a staircase that Harry hadn't even noticed was there. In his arms Harry saw a towel, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, and what looked like pajamas. Handing the strange bundle to Harry, Snape immediately turned and headed back up the stairs.

"Follow me, Potter."

Harry didn't move, as he wasn't sure how he felt about sleeping in the same house with Snape. His professor did not bother to turn around as he murmured, "Don't make me repeat myself."

Nothing bad has happened so far…

He placed one foot on the bottom stair, then the other. Snape began walking once again, and Harry couldn't help but be curious about what the rest of the house was like. Reaching the second floor, Snape pointed to a closed door at the end of the upstairs hallway. "That is my room. You are not to go in without my express permission, or the consequences will be dire. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape pointed to the other doors, one next to the other, both rooms with their lights on and both doors slightly ajar. They passed a small room with green walls and dark wooden furniture. Harry only caught a glimpse before they moved on to the next, which turned out to be a bathroom.

Pushing open the door, Snape murmured, "I imagine you'd like a shower after all the hard manual labor you've put in today." Harry was extremely grateful that Snape didn't mention the true reason he'd want a shower after the events of the day. It was a very odd feeling to be grateful to a man who, just an hour previously, he would have readily admitted to hating.

"Thank you, sir." Harry said again, and he meant it.

"I have something for you when you are finished. Take your time, Potter." He walked off, shocking Harry yet again with his kindness.

The bathroom was dated and out of style, but clean. Harry turned on the shower, but didn't bother to turn the temperature down when he stepped into the scalding water. He tried in vain not to think about what had almost happened with his cousin earlier. He washed himself four times before he felt even remotely clean, scrubbing his body until his skin was red and raw.

The side of his face was also extremely tender, his lip still swollen and sore. He washed his face repeatedly, albeit gently.

After getting out and drying himself, Harry couldn't help but inspect the pajamas that Snape had given him. They were obviously Snape's – black, of course, and shrunken down to size to fit Harry's smaller frame. They were made of an extremely soft material, and Harry had to admit feeling quite luxurious putting them on. Much different from the thin, ripped, old hand-me-downs that were three sizes too big.

Harry brushed his teeth and turned off the light, heading next door to the green room with dark wooden furniture. There was a full sized bed with a thick green patterned comforter, along with a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a small writing desk. Although the room didn't look as if it had been used much in the last 20 years, it was tidy and the bedding was clean.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, still vaguely uncomfortable. His world had been twisted completely upsidedown since this morning, and although he didn't miss the Dursleys at all, he was completely out of his element. His eyes happened to fall on a battered old notebook on the desk, and Harry almost fell off the edge of the bed when he read, "Severus Snape –Grade 4" across the top.

Snape chose that moment to knock on the slightly open door, which Harry suddenly found even more bizarre because…

"Sir, was this your room?"

"Your powers of observation continue to amaze, Potter," Snape drawled.

"But… Does that mean… Is this your house, sir?"

"Well done, Potter," the professor replied sarcastically, but the tone didn't bother Harry.

"But then… Why do you have all that muggle stuff?"

"I'm sure it has yet to occur to you, but as far-fetched as you so obviously believe this to be, I am indeed… a half-blood," Snape replied, laying out a small jar and two tiny glass vials on the desk next to the bed. Turning, he caught Harry's startled gaze. "Have I suddenly grown a second head, Potter?"

"Um, no sir. It's just that…" Snape arched a brow, daring him to continue. "Uh, nevermind. What are those?" Harry asked, motioning to the jar and vials and hastily trying to change the subject.

Snape glared at him a moment before picking up the small jar. "This is a healing balm for your face. It will greatly help with the pain and healing time. It's actually something of my own invention from my personal stores."

Harry felt himself staring at Snape again like he had grown an additional head, as the man so eloquently put it earlier. "Thank you, sir," he murmured quietly.

"There is a mirror on the inside of that wardrobe door. You may apply it now, if you'd like."

Harry picked up the jar, suddenly beginning to wonder if his uncle had hit him harder than he'd realized. Watching Snape over his shoulder through the mirror, he began to wonder if maybe this entire evening had been some sort of weird fever dream, because nothing seemed to make sense anymore.

He handed the jar back to Snape, who placed it on the desk and said, "I'll leave it here for you. Use it whenever your face pains you."

"And what's this, sir?" Harry asked, picking up the glass vial. It was filled with a lavender colored potion that seemed to emit a soft, soothing glow.

"Sleeping Draught."

"Sir…?"

"It's called Dreamless Sleep. It will help keep any nightmares suppressed so that you may get some sleep."

Harry didn't know what to say. The feeling of an adult actually caring about his feelings, worried that he might not sleep well after the day's traumatic events, was extremely foreign to him. Knowing that it was Snape, of all people, made it even stranger.

But Harry was genuinely touched. He had a difficult time meeting the man's eyes, worried that his professor would see the moisture pooling there. To cover his sudden emotion, he tipped the bottle to his lips and drank the potion down in one gulp. It immediately made him drowsy.

"Thank you, sir."

"It's late. Get in bed. I'm not far away if you need me." Harry didn't speak as he did what he was told. For Snape, that was practically like reading him a bedtime story and tucking him in. Maybe he really was concussed.

"G'night, sir," Harry murmured sleepily as Snape flicked off the light.

He had a suspicion the boy was already asleep when he murmured, "Sleep well, Potter."