The next few weeks passed relatively smoothly, with Harry recovering from his injuries and being allowed to return to his classes, and dorm room.

He and Snape fell into a comfortable routine, with Harry spending evenings and most weekends down in the potion master’s quarters.

Although he would never have admitted it outwardly, Snape appeared to be working hard to make up for the conversation the boy had overheard between himself and the headmaster.

He was strict - mandating weekend bed times, ensuring Harry studied hard for his upcoming exams and even monitoring the amount of sugar the boy consumed. Yet all of this was a novelty to Harry, who had really never had an adult pay much attention to any of those things before.

In fact  - Hogwarts aside - being in Snape’s care and staying in his quarters was the first true sense of ‘home’ that Harry had ever truly felt.

And what with his lessons, Quidditch and settling in to his new dynamic with the potions master, Harry really hadn’t had much time at all to dwell on his suspicions surrounding Professor Quirrell.

In any case, everything had gone quiet since the night in the Forbidden Forest, and Harry had concluded that Snape’s words of warning were enough to deter the DADA Professor from any amateur attempt at theft he may have had in mind.

Besides, as he entered in to the final term of his first year at Hogwarts, Harry decided that he had much bigger fish to fry, and he had chosen a quiet Saturday evening to broach it with his guardian.

Changed into his pyjamas, Harry wandered back out into the main living quarters, where the potions master was sitting in front of the fire. Summer may have been drawing nearer, but the dungeons stilled remained as chilly as ever.

Snape glanced over at him before folding up his newspaper and setting it down on the small side table.

 “Have you chosen a book?” he asked, steadfastly ignoring the fact that the attestations of  him reading to the boy being a one-time occurrence had not rung true, given that it had somehow become a regular weekly activity.

Harry nodded, holding a book up for his guardian to see and moving across the room.

 “Actually, I thought that perhaps we might try something new this evening and perhaps you might read to me?” Snape suggested, as Harry backed clumsily into his lap.

He pulled him closer to his chest – a necessity given the boy’s poor positioning – after all, he was not going to be responsible for any further injuries should the little whelp fall flat on his face.

Harry opened the book. And promptly closed it again.

 “Actually. I thought that we could talk about something else…” he began.

 “Oh? And what might that be?” Snape enquired.

 “Summer.”

 “What about summer?” the potions master asked – though he already knew what was coming next.

 “Well… it’s just… about my relatives…” Harry started, timidly.

 “Ye-es?”

The boy took a deep breath before he spoke again.

 “Idon’twanttogobackthere.”

A pause.

 “I see.”

 “I hate it there,” Harry said – perhaps the first time he had ever admitted it out loud. “Can’t I stay here with you?”

 “It may shock you to know that I do not spend my whole life residing in this castle, Mr Potter, and I do in fact have a home of my own,” the professor responded, ignoring the faint glow of warmth sitting in the middle of his chest. “However I am afraid that it is a rather dull affair, and there is very little for children to do there.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s better than going back there. Unless… you don’t want me around during the summer holidays?”

Snape glanced down at the boy, who was watching him with sad eyes.

Those blasted eyes.

 “That is… not so,” he said stiffly. “But I’m afraid it is not merely as simple as you not returning to your aunt’s house.”

 “Why? It’s not like they want me there. They only took me in because I had nowhere else to go, but now I do and –”

  “–I can assure you that that is not the only reason they took you in. They were asked by the headmaster to take you in on account of the blood wards,” Snape told him.

Harry frowned, puzzled. “The what?”

The potions master exhaled before continuing. “When your mother put herself between you and the Dark Lord to protect you… it created a kind of magic – a protection so strong that it might never be undone.”

 “But… she’s dead,” the boy reminded him.

 “Whilst that is true, her sister – her closest living blood relative aside from you – is not. The blood ties mean that the protection lives on, but only whilst you are in your aunt’s home,” he explained.

 “So… as long as I’m inside the house, Lord V– You-Know-Who can’t hurt me?” Harry guessed.

Snape inclined his head.  “So perhaps you will understand why my removing you from their care is not desirable.”

Harry nodded, thumbing at the edges of his book thoughtfully.

 “I do. It’s just…”

 “Just what?” the potions master asked.

 “Well… I understand that they protect me from You-Know-Who – that’s great and all… but… who will protect me from them?” Harry asked,  softly.

Snape did not respond. Because for the first time in a long time, he simply could not think of anything to say.

And so it was Harry who eventually broke the silence.

 “Could you maybe speak to Professor Dumbledore? Just to see?” he asked, eyes full of hope.

The potions master nodded.  

Smiling, Harry put down his book and leaned his head against his guardian’s chest.

Reaching up a hand, Snape cupped it to Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s reading book of choice remained firmly closed that evening.

OOOOOOO