Harry had greatly underestimated what Professor Snape meant by early.

Because sometime during the night, Harry was coaxed out of his sleep by a voice hissing his name close to his ear. He didn't acknowledge it, not at first, because this was one of those nights he hadn't been woken from a nightmare and he had every intention to enjoy it until morning.

But Professor Snape had other plans.

"Potter," he snapped, tugging at Harry's sheets, "If you do not wake up this instant I-"

"You'll leave me here?" slurred Harry into his pillow, turning to face the other direction and hugging himself, because his blanket was very clearly gone, "Please do… Professor…"

And that's how Harry found himself on the floor, water dripping down his face and the floorboard digging painfully into his side. All of this had happened in the few seconds he closed his eyes, with the offender standing over his gasping, a bowl in his hands.

"And they say children have trouble waking up in the morning," he drawled, ducking out of the way when Harry grabbed his pillow and launched it at his face, "I'm giving you only fifteen minutes to get ready and fix your bed."

It was a painful ten minutes of getting ready, with clumsy flailing about in the dark for his socks and shoes. In the end, he carelessly slipped them on, leaning his head on the back on the bed frame.

Too early, Harry decided, head fuzzy from the lack of sleep, mind seemingly dipping under warm waters. Too early.

And not even Professor Snape, who found him half-slumped on the bed, would make him any less tired.

Shivering from the second round of water, Harry dragged himself outside, wrapping his coat around his body.

The harsh wind carried him past the wet soil, sending dust into his eyes and jabbing at the wet parts of his skin and hair.

Harry had never found washing his hands such a painful job and hoped that he wouldn't have to do it again at the end of his trip to the loo.

Professor Snape was already in the shop, dressed, with a lantern in his hand. Of course he was.

Harry soon stood outside the shop with their shared bag in his hands, shivering from the cold.

No moon, only the unsettling roll of thunder.

"Don't tell me we're going to walk," Harry demanded, the sleep slowly being pushed out of him.

Professor Snape pulled the door shut, fumbling with the coat pocket for the keys. When he couldn't find them, he placed the lantern in his hands on the floor, the light casting a shadow past his legs.

Harry heard the click of the lock.

"I'm in mind to make you walk," said Profesor Snape, with no sleep in his voice. From his right pocket, he took out a pocket watch Harry had never seen him use before and after a quick glance, put it right back, mumbling quietly to himself, "He should be here any minute."

Harry didn't ask who 'he' was. Instead, he put the bag down beside the trunk Professor Snape had dragged out of the shop, and leaning on the shop window, Harry closed his eyes.

The gradually approaching sound of a carriage made him open them at once.

"Who sends a carriage this early?" Harry groaned, kicking away from the shop and turning to where the sound was coming from.

"It's only past five," Professor Snape muttered, an emphasis on the only that Harry almost missed. But too sleepy to extinguish whether it was sarcasm or just Professor Snape being Professor Snape, Harry didn't bother with a response.

The street, without the light of morning, was an endless dark corridor between the two lines of buildings. With no crowd, and only a single carriage echoing above the stone road, Harry felt a shiver run down his spine at the unnerving sight.

The carriage came closer, a small lantern in the distance accompanied by the sharp wind. A near perfectly-timed flash of lightning spiderwebbed across the sky, illuminating a glimpse of sharp silhouettes.

The carriage arrived when the thunder did.

"Mr Snape," said a gruff voice, half his face lit from the lantern hung near him.

"Professor," Harry heard Professor Snape correct with a sharp tongue behind him, followed by footsteps, "I have a trunk."

The man jumped from the carriage, making a loud thud when he landed on the stone. Harry, who had no desire to anger a man a few sizes bigger than Professor Snape, stepped towards the carriage doors. In the dark, he heard the trunk being lifted and then dropped to the wood, jolting the carriage, and buckles fastening softly. Harry wouldn't have given it much thought, if the man had used some help from Professor Snape or at least made some noise when lifting the carriage. He didn't, and Harry slipped inside the now open doors with an impressed look on his face.

Really not someone he wanted to trouble, then.

Professor Snape climbed in afterwards, the door pushed closed after him, and the carriage gave a jolt as the driver took a seat.

"Alrigh'?" he asked, and without waiting for a reply, brought the reins down, earning a pained grunt from the horse.

Harry, who had never ridden in a roofed carriage with actual seats, stood in the middle of the seat as much as possible, even if that meant sitting right next to Professor Snape.

"I suggest you sleep," Professor Snape said, extinguishing the lantern and putting it down with the rest of the luggage , "It's a long journey to Wiltshire."

"How long?" Harry asked, pulling his knees unsurely to his chest and leaning on the corner of the seat, "Will we be there tomorrow night?"

Professor Snape scoffed, somewhere in the dark, "One day, in the future, I hope."

That was the last thing Harry heard before the shaking of the carriage lulled him to sleep.

They hadn't arrived when Harry woke up later that morning, or that afternoon, and Professor Snape said that they wouldn't be arriving until the next day.

That wouldn't have bothered Harry if he wasn't still required to get some work done in a carriage in a state of constant jolts and tremors, which was enough to distract him from work and bring him close to throwing up his breakfast of potatoes.

That was enough for Professor Snape to excuse him from his books, but not from teaching Harry a few important things, like how his name was Ali Patel, a distant relative of Professor Patel's who had become Professor Snape's apprentice for the time being.

Harry thought this lie was utter rubbish.

Professor Snape asked him for any better ideas, and smirked at the look on Harry's face. He taught him many great things about his newly fabricated parentage, such as the reason he could only speak English, and where his parents were, both of which were partially similar to his current status.

By sunset, when the sky had gone from grey to dark and threateningly windy, Harry had memorized all the lies he needed to tell, the words repeating themselves in his head when they entered the small town they were to stay in, both to rest and pass the worst of the rain.

As luck would have it, of course he and Professor Snape had to share a room to cut costs.

"It's no Leaky Cauldron," Professor Snape said, pushing forwards with his back to Harry, key dangling from his fingers before their room.

He didn't finish the sentence, he didn't need to either. Harry wouldn't respond either way, now more than ever, with Professor Snape at least putting some effort into communicating with him.

Entering the room after him, Harry placed the lit lantern on the table beside the bed, almost grabbing it again when the table tilted forwards light momentarily silhouetted Harry's hands. Walking past him, Professor Snape dropped the luggage bag on the bed, stiffening when the bed let out a shrill sound.

Then he continued, as though he was unbothered by the sound.

Harry walked around the bed to the other side, stepping around the noisier floorboards, and frowning at the walls outlining the only window in the room. Two cracks, one on each side, crept from the ceiling and right beside the glass. Harry leaned forward, squinting at the darkness beyond the window.

His hand touched the cracks, and Harry wasn't surprised when he felt a cold breeze blowing through the damp material.

"I hope the blankets are warm," Harry muttered, his words lost in the rain hammering on the window. With a final glance, he walked back to the bed, standing opposite of Professor Snape.

"Put this under your head," Professor Snape said without looking at him, throwing a towel like cloth at him, "I do not want to deal with lice."

Harry didn't catch the cloth, which he only partially saw in the light and had to feel around the bed to find it. Straightening it out, Harry turned the pillow over with the least amount of contact, spreading the sheet over it. Professor Snape did the same after closing the bag and placing it beside the table.

Then there was silence.

Harry sat uncomfortably down on the bed, running a hand down his scar, or where his scar was. Harry hadn't had the chance to look into the mirror yet, but from the nod Professor Snape had given in the morning after parting his hair, he had to assume it wasn't visible.

Professor Snape sighed, and Harry felt the bed dip on the other side.

"From tomorrow, until we go back, you are to listen to what I say word for word. I do not want you talking unless I give you permission to."

"I don't think I need anymore scaring, Professor," Harry said tiredly, pulling his shoes and dropping them to the floor, "I'm pretty sure I'll be seeing Mr Malfoy in my dreams soon."

Harry saw Professor Snape watching him in his peripheral, but he didn't return the gesture. Instead, he pulled the covers over him, still wearing his coat. The scratchy fabric brushed uncomfortably against his cheek, yet not hard enough to keep him from the sleep weighing him down.

And with the blanket tucked under his chin, a shield against the draft, he said very quietly.

"Good night, sir."

Harry heard Professor Snape sigh once more. The covers behind him peeled back, dipping further down, before there was hardly any sound at all.

It still took Harry a while to fall asleep, fighting his own thoughts.

A man Harry didn't recognize entered the shop, taller and bigger than any man he had ever seen. Harry had to arch his back to look at the man, and even then he couldn't make out the face that was hidden in the darkness of the ceiling.

"May I help you?" he looked up from the jars on the counter.

The tall man didn't respond at first. Harry didn't push him, taking a small step backwards in caution. But the man heard the sound, and suddenly Harry felt the warmth inside his chest being sucked from him like the lights in the shop, leaving him cold, afraid.

Alone.

Where was Snape?

Harry threw himself to the ground when he felt a presence beside him, covering his head with both hands, his chest contracting uncomfortably.

The presence suddenly returned, snaking around him, and Harry fought back a scream, stuffing a fist inside his mouth.

"Is this the boy?" said a foreign, hissing voice right beside his ear, the coiling feeling around him now wrapping around his throat, "Is this the boy?"

"Yes!" Uncle Vernon screamed behind the cupboard Harry suddenly found himself, head throbbing and unable to breath with the hold on his throat, "That's the boy! Filthy, arrogant, stupid! Always said his lot was savage, and needed to be taught to be civil! The boy is the pinnacle of proof!"

Harry felt the tears silently fall down his burning cheeks, stinging the cut open bruise under his eye, and yet he made no sound. Mr Malfoy's hold - he knew it was Mr Malfoy, He just knew, wrapped tighter, and Harry felt his body going limp, barely able to mutter a single phrase against his screaming uncle, "No…"

Filthy, arrogant, stupid. His Uncle's favorite choice of words. But now it was his aunt screaming them, adding a few of her favorite ones.

"Arrogant! Selfish! Ignorant! You mistake of a boy!"

The pain only got worse, when her voice was replaced with a familiar one. A softer one. A kinder one.

One he never wanted to hear screaming at him.

"Did you really think I would buy you glasses after you stole your Aunt's tea?" Professor Patel said, and Harry scratched at his arms because scratching the hand around his throat did no good.

"P...prof-"

Then came an insane laugh, one Harry only heard from Professor Patel, filtering through his cupboard. The fear knotted in his stomach increased ten-fold, the pain coursing through his body like blood burning mercilessly under his skin. Harry shook his head, feeling the pressure on his throat cut into his skin, though not enough to kill him.

Barely enough to keep him alive.

Harry heard the smashing of glass, Professor Patel's insane laugh, and the shouts of his relatives while fists banged against the door. Harry felt hot. So very, very hot. He was dying, no longer struggling, the force that kept his arms up wilting like autumn leaves.

The last straw was Aunt Petunia's perfume, going down his throat as he felt the world fall.

Professor Snape's hand pulled him out of the darkness and into the shop.

"Professor?" Harry said with a shaky smile, watching the emotionless man, "Thank you, Professor."

Professor Snape's arms came up, and Harry felt a sense of hope that he was bringing them up for a hug. Harry smiled, accepting the firmness on his shoulders.

And then he pushed, watching Harry with a vile smirk as he fell down the tunnel and into the open mouth of Mr Malfoy.

Harry's eyes snapped open, but he did not move. Only after a few painful slashes down his arm did he realise he was shaking.

There was no weight on the other side of the bed.

He took a few gulping breaths, rolling his shirt and coat over his arm under the covers. Professor Snape wasn't here. Mr Malfoy-

Harry stopped himself before he could think anything else, turning to face the other side.

Professor Snape was there, alright, right beside him, smelling of tobacco and blending in with the dark.

Harry immediately shrunk back.

"Sn- Sir," he said, wincing when his voice shook unsettlingly, raspy and heavy with emotion, "You scared me."

"You were having a nightmare."

"You were smoking," he bit back without much thought, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, furrowing his brows when they came back wet, "We all need secrets to get us through the night."

"Not much of a secret, when a person other than yourself knows," Professor Snape said, stepping back and stuffing something into his coat pocket. The venom of his voice was replaced with tired snide, not entirely angry but not void of offence either, "Would I be correct to assume…"

"Mr Malfoy?" Harry joined his hands under the covers, sniffing and feeling very embarrassed about it, "'Course, though not only him."

"Ah."

Harry wondered if Professor Snape knew what Harry meant, or if he was feigning. Either way, he pulled down the folded sleeves of clothes, shrugging the shirt off his sweaty skin. Professor Snape moved back as he did so. Harry watched him, the coat folded over his arm, curling his hands into fists to stop the shaking. A few minutes later, when his shaking had stopped and Professor Snape lit the lamp, Harry placed his coat at the foot of the bed, ready to go back to sleep.

He stopped when Professor Snape started walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" he dropped the covers, looking out the window. The rain had lessened. But it had yet to stop.

"I won't be gone long," he dismissively answered, unlocking the door and sliding the key from the slot, "Stay here."

Harry scoffed as the door closed, rolling to his side harshly. As if he could go anywhere.

The door closed, and Harry kept his eyes open until Professor Snape's feet disappeared down the hallway.

Harry turned to the other side, still huddled around him. Behind him, the rain continued to fall in a comforting pace, no thunder, no lighting. Just water hitting the window. Harry wished he could be back in the shop, with this rain, warm beside the fireplace, holding a cup of something warm to drink.

He sighed, closing his eyes and curling in on himself. To miss a place that wasn't his to call home…

That reminded him of when Professor Snape warned him to not call the apothecary home. Harry thought that was rot, because he'd been staying there for well over twenty days, and had more freedom than he ever had at-

He flung off the sheet, clumsily walking towards the window after putting on his shoes and planting both hands on the windowsill. Taking heavy, audible breaths he leaned forward, pressing his warm forehead against the cool of the glass.

It wasn't instant relief, but Harry felt his anger gradually fall to a manageable level.

Each time the glass warmed, he would move to a different spot, squeezing his eyes at the initial touch, but melting into the texture.

And that's exactly how Professor Snape found him, hunched over the window sill with his forehead pressed against the pane.

Harry pretended the fresh tobacco scent on Professor Snape's clothes didn't burn his throat.

"We're leaving, Patel," he said, sharp footsteps drawing Harry from position, "Jean agrees the rain will worsen, come morning."

"You talked with him this late at night?" Harry asked, wondering how that meeting went, "He doesn't look like a... easy to approach man."

"It might not look like it," Professor Snape said, stuffing a few things messily into the bag, "But it's already past five."

Harry stopped mid-stride, thinking of the last time he caught Professor Snape in the act of smoking. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the first part of the night had gone by.

Pulled from his thoughts by the sound of the luggage bag closing, he caught the coat hurled towards him at the last second, glaring at the man as he pulled it on, making a mental note to ask Professor Patel a few questions about Snape.

That is, if he refused to answer. Harry had every reason to believe he would.

Taking the lantern when it was handed to him, Harry followed Professor Snape out the door, getting a small glance into the room just as the door closed. Stifling a yawn, Harry shuffled after the Professor, taking small steps when he noticed he was the only one making a sound as they walked. That was another thing he wanted to ask Snape - Just how he managed to move without a sound, and appear when he least expected him to be there.

The corridor opened into the main hall, and Snape dropped the key on the counter. The inn looked far less eerie than when they arrived, with only one source of light and no creepy innkeeper to frighten Harry with his one eye.

Harry felt a hand slowly go around and land on his shoulder, gently urging him forward.

"Don't fall behind," Snape said without looking at him.

Harry felt the spot where Snape was touching, well, he would compare the feeling to uncomfortable heat, the one that spread through your body and bore down on you until you took off a layer of clothing.

But he didn't shrug the hand off, clamping down his protests by digging his nails into his palm.

In the end, the rain did worsen, but not until two o' clock. Thankfully, clusters of buildings -good buildings, not run-down like some of the villages they passed through- started showing up just as it began to pour harder. Harry huddled back into the seat, still feeling shaken from the nightmare. He was refusing to think about it, burying his head into his arms when he felt a memory or thought resurface.

It helped him to not remember, to keep the emotions behind a wall of his own construction. One thing it was bad at doing, though, was filtering the emotions he did feel, so that Harry increasingly felt nothing at all.

Harry curled his fingers around his arm, well-aware of a pair of eyes on him. This flatness he felt... he was almost sure it was a build-up of the past week, where he had to do his best to keep himself as emotionless as possible, for both his and the Professor's sake.

His arms suffered for it.

But Harry liked how they left almost no trace - some discoloration, yes, but the trace that anything had touched his arm would disappear in a few minutes, sometimes more if he had taken special effort.

I just didn't have enough time to do it, Harry thought, sneaking a glance over his arms to Snape. I'll feel better after I do it. Malfoy Manor should be big with plenty of places where Snape (or anyone) wouldn't catch him.

Plenty of space to hide secrets.

They arrived at five thirty, if Harry had seen correctly on Snape's pocket watch. He couldn't do the calculation in his head, so while the driver -wet to the bone and looking very miserable- got their bags, Harry counted on his fingers.

The trip had taken almost 29 hours, if he calculated right.

Snape tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and nodded to the door, "Don't fall, if you decide to run."

Harry scooted towards the door, wincing at the rain. He put an arm in front of his eyes, and jumped, the rain obscuring the precious little he could see.

Following the black blur in the distance, Harry took careful steps after he almost slipped on a rock, flailing his arms to just barely keep his balance.

The rest of the trip was infuriatingly similar, with Harry leaning dangerously to one side, faltering in the wind until finally, it stopped.

Snape was already under the awning, his curtain of hair sticking to his face and loose clothing hanging off him like heavy drapes.

Harry would have laughed, if he too wasn't looking like an haphazard shape.

"If anything got wet..." Snape said flatly, eyes on the trunk and luggage bags. He didn't finish the rest of his words, because the large doors opened, revealing a very thin man dressed in a formal uniform.

"Mr Snape," he greeted, stepping aside and gesturing towards the house with a gloved hand, "Welcome."

"Professor," Snape corrected bitterly, picking up his luggage, "Come along, Patel."

Harry followed after, shrinking as the man's eyes followed him, his nose wrinkling . The driver, who was standing behind them, brought in the trunk and placed it beside the thin man.

Harry didn't know whether to thank him or not, so he gave him a small wave, not waiting for his response and rushed to stand next to Snape. While they waited, Harry took a look around, shivering as he did so.

They were standing in a large entrance hall with a corridor that led directly to a door. They hadn't seen much of the grounds, what with the rain and Harry's poor vision, but it couldn't be less grand than the inside. The manor, sumptuously decorated with magnificent carpet, held ornate and gilded furnishings.

But oddly, he expressed no reaction.

A few minutes of waiting, under close watch of the thin man, another well-dressed man, much younger than the one behind them, came forward with a towel, handing it to Snape.

"Another towel, sir?" he asked, looking at Snape.

Snape said, "Yes," at the exact moment the thin man said, "No."

All three of them turned to the thin man. Snape had paused drying his hair, and was watching the thin man with a calculating look.

"Is my apprentice to use my towel?" he asked mildly, voice skimming the point of anger.

The man's eyes narrowed, "You didn't hear it from me, Professor."

Harry blinked, looking between the two men who seemed to be having a staring competition. Harry conceded that Snape won, because he pushed the towel to Harry and instructed him to dry himself.

The younger man with the upturned nose faced the thin man, "Another towel, then, Mr White?"

White, after some cautious thinking, waved a dismissive hand.

Harry still didn't understand what the exchange had been about, but he dried himself with the white towel, taking off his coat -the wettest of all his clothes- and draping the soft material around his shoulders.

The younger man, who introduced himself as William Hall after his return, took the sodden coats from them and asked to be followed, leading them to the staircase.

Harry made sure to take as small of steps as possible to not wet the floor, still feeling the hard glare from White on his back.

At the end of the staircase, they turned right to a corridor lined with doors on each side with portraits. Harry found it amusing that each and every man in the portraits had blonde hair and a very similar, pointy look.

Hall stopped in front of two doors separated by a portrait of a bulky man who wore a funny looking hat over his blonde hair. Opening both of them, he motioned for them to enter.

"Master Malfoy is waiting for you in the drawing room," he told Snape, giving a small bow before walking back the way they had come.

Snape told Harry to follow him into the door on the right of the portrait, which was plainly decorated. The pallet was a mixture of green and grey, with a queen-sized bed and a bedside drawer. In the corner farthest from the bed was a small wardrobe, and pushed close to the window was an armchair and table.

Harry walked around the carpet and towards Snape, who was looking through the bag he had placed on the bed. He handed Harry a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a pair of socks that weren't his.

"I don't want to wear your socks," Harry said, grimacing.

Snape put it above the shirt and trousers with a raised brow, "My feet don't smell, Potter, nor are the socks dirty."

Harry was intending to say he highly doubted that before closing his mouth, accepting the socks with a muttered thank you, still not intending to wear them.

Until Snape called after him right as he walked out the door.

"I'm not healing your feet if they get infected, Patel."

Entering his own room, which was very similar to Snape's but decorated with warmer colors, Harry closed the door. Quickly getting changed, he dried his wet feet and slid on Snape's pair of socks. Only problem? His shoes were wet too, and he had no way to dry those. So that was another trip to Snape's door, barefoot because he didn't want to dirty the socks. Snape, without a second thought, went back into the room and produced a pair of-

"Slippers," he said, planting them into his hand and disappearing behind the door before Harry could ask where he had gotten them.

Harry sighed, turning the 'slippers' in his hands. They resembled shoes in the sense that you wore them on your feet, but looked like they had been woven with grey wool above a thin layer of leather. Harry wouldn't have minded if they didn't look like they were meant for children or women.

Regardless, he went back to his room, pulling up his cuffs and slipping on the socks before moving to put on the slippers. They were an almost perfect fit, which only proved they were meant for children younger than Harry.

Harry got off the bed, picking up his wet clothes and hanging them above the chair. After a final glance through the window, he left the room.

Professor Snape was outside, observing the portrait with a bored look on his face.

"Fascinating," he said without heart.

Harry didn't think so, as the portrait looked rather dull, but what he really found interesting was how, without his coat or cloak Snape looked so unnatural. He had the impression that Snape often hid behind his layers, and seeing him with only grey trousers and a black shirt felt absolutely wrong.

From outside, came the very sudden and loud sound of thunder.

Harry jumped while Snape flinched, squaring his shoulders. The two shared a passing glance, straightening at the same time while averting their gazes. With a cough from Snape, that was their cue to go. All the way down the corridor and staircase, and along the length of the corridor that led to the door Harry had seen earlier.

Hall was there, waiting for them and he straightened when he saw them approaching, turning to knock on the door.

Harry hid behind Snape, suddenly feeling very scared and refusing to lift his face. That must have been fine with Snape, because he turned around, placed a hand on the back of his head and put a fınger over his lips.

Harry took a sharp breath through his teeth.

The door opened smoothly, pouring the light from the hallway into the room. Snape removed the hand, going first into what Harry guessed to be a drawing room. Uncle-

He closed his eyes, squeezing his hands together.

He wouldn't think about it. Not now.

Opening his eyes, he was met with two people, both seated on a long sofa and dressed too well. A boy and an adult.

The adult, who had to be Mr Malfoy, had a pale, pointed face, with pale blond hair and cold grey eyes. Harry didn't miss the snake-headed walking cane in his hand. The boy had to be his son, with white-blond hair and a pale, pointed face, very similar to the men in the portraits.

Harry immediately knew he didn't like either of them.

"Ah, Severus," Mr Malfoy said, standing up from the sofa, "Good to finally-"

"Uncle Sev," cut the boy from behind his father, walking around his father and approaching Snape. Harry watched with wide eyes as the boy opened his arms, and flung it around Snape in a hug, his mouth dropping open when Snape's arms actually came around the boy in a nervous embrace

"Yes, hello to you too, Draco," he muttered, patting his head nervously, glaring when Harry unsuccessfully masked his chuckle with a cough, "Pleased to finally arrive, Lucius."

Mr Malfoy, who was looking less than pleased, took his narrow gaze and moved it to Harry, "And who is this, Severus?"

As planned, Harry didn't speak, letting Snape fabricate the stories while he watched his slippers, trying to ignore the way both Malfoy's were staring at him. Finally, when Snape was done, Harry released a deep breath, lifting his eyes.

Mr Malfoy was still watching him.

"Well," he said, putting up his chin and facing his son, "Draco, entertain our guest while Severus and I talk."

"Yes, father," Draco said, moving from Snape's side and walking towards the door, "Come along, Patel."

Harry's head whirled around, face scrunching up in worry. But Snape merely shook his head, gesturing the door with his eyes in a way that said, "Go, but remember what we talked about."

Harry complied, going after Draco, still feeling uncomfortable even after he left the room.

The door closed behind them, hiding the two adults from view.