"Is that all right?" Severus asked the boy. Harry was so quiet, and his face so shuttered off, that Severus wasn't sure. "Do you want to call me Father?"

"I . . . I never . . ." Giving it up, Harry shrugged a little, then gave him a look of horror. "Sorry, sir!"

Concerned, Severus leaned forward, but did not move to touch the boy. He was still berating himself for taking such a harsh tone when he'd first seen the child scrabbling around under the bed, getting who knew what germs and dirt into recently healed lungs. "For what?"

"Shrugging, sir. Shrugging's not allowed."

"One of the rules at your old home?"

The boy looked miserable, and was refusing to meet his eyes. "Yes, sir."

Severus sighed. "I won't hit you if you shrug, but I don't care for it either. It's the sign of a weak mind. You should be able to form proper thoughts and voice them, not rely on such a primitive mode of communication."

"Yes, sir."

Suppressing another sigh, Severus forbore to correct the constant two word answer. It was obvious the boy was uncomfortable, and it would take some time before he realized he was not going to be punished here as he had with his relatives. Not that Severus would let him get away with disrespect, impertinence or vandalous behavior; he did not intend to relax his standards, but with this boy . . . he had to be careful.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes, sir," the boy started, and looked up hopefully. "But I . . ."

"Yes? But what?"

"But I really have to pee."

He was just barely able to keep in a laugh, for there was nothing funny about the way his relatives had made the boy go out of doors. But the look on his face was so plaintive, Severus had to smile. A bit. "Let me show you the washroom. You feel all right to walk?"

"Yes, sir!" Harry scrambled off the bed faster than he'd climbed up it, and bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Careful of that ankle, now. I still need to work on it, before it's completely put to rights." He had not yet fully decided whether to hand that fine-tuned healing over to Madam Pomfrey. Best that the boy didn't make it worse before it was fixed, though.

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and stopped bouncing.

"Come along." Severus led him out the bedroom door, and down the hall to a washroom with blue trim surrounding white fixtures, including a claw foot tub. Harry launched himself at the toilet, and Severus discreetly shut the door and waited on the other side.

He heard a flush a long moment later, and then the sink being run. The door knob turned a moment later, and one very relieved boy stepped out. "Thank you, sir!"

"Harry, you don't need to thank me for letting you use the facilities. You may use them any time you want."

Hope sprang to life in the boy's eyes again, and it hurt Severus' heart to see such gratitude, for such a tiny thing. "Do you want to eat downstairs, or back in your room?"

"My - my room, sir?"

"Certainly, your room. I can't have you sharing with me, can I? Is it to your liking?"

"The room, sir?"

"Yes," Severus said as he led the boy back down the hall. "Or would you like to do something else with the decorating? Within reason, of course."

"Decorating? I . . . I don't." He shook his head a bit and it appeared for a moment he might shrug, but stopped it midway and blurted instead, "I'm not sure what you mean."

As they entered the room, Severus gestured to the walls. "Many boys like to have posters on their walls, of Quidditch teams or players, or their favorite singing groups. I eschewed such inanities, of course, when I was young, but if you would like to do so, you may, within moderation."

He looked down at Harry, whose expression was one of base confusion. "I . . . um . . . what's Quidditch, sir?"

"A sport of high aggression and high danger, played, for the most part, by arrogant fools with no sense of self-preservation." He paused, and continued less bitingly, "Some people seem to enjoy that sort of thing."

"I don't think I'll like it, sir," the boy said, and peered at him through that thick fringe of hair, as if judging his reaction.

Severus, watching him, hesitated, knowing full well his influence on the child's sense of things, even at such an early time in their relationship. He could turn the child completely against James and everything he stood for, everything he valued and held dear. It was in him to do this, and he could do it well. But . . . but he knew Lily would disapprove, and, in the end, wasn't he taking the boy because he was the only one who had loved her enough to do so?

"No?" he said finally. "I shouldn't think you'd want to make a decision like that until you've seen the game played. I daresay you'll be able to make a more informed decision about your preferences then."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, and Severus was sure he could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

He studied the boy for another moment, surprised anew at the child's patience, and also his resilience. It had not been a full day since he'd been rescued, and Severus was amazed by the change in the boy's demeanor. "So, we were going to get you something to eat. In your room, or downstairs?"

Harry hugged himself around the middle and didn't answer right away. Severus noted that the boy did that when feeling particularly nervous, as if protecting himself. He thought he might know why.

"There's no wrong answer, Harry," he said quietly. "Either would be fine. Dappin can bring food in here as easily as the dining room."

"I'd like to stay in here, sir. If I can?"

"Of course, you may. Why don't you settle yourself on the bed, and I'll let Dappin know we'll be eating here." He turned away while the boy was climbing into the tall four poster, and summoned the house elf, giving her instructions for their dinner. In a few minutes, they each had trays on their laps, Harry's in the bed, and Severus' where he sat in the nearby chair. Harry had broth, more milk, a little bit of boiled potato, and some applesauce, while Severus had a glass of red wine, beef the broth had come from, candied carrots, potatoes with parsley, a slab of fresh bread with butter, and sliced pears for dessert. Though the boy attacked his food with abandon - and they were going to have to work on table manners, for certain - Severus caught him eying the more substantial meal with something like envy.

After one such glance, Severus dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Tomorrow, we'll give you a try on some of this, too, all right? Maybe some bread, or fresh fruit? I don't want to make you sick, with too much too soon, you understand."

"Yes, sir," the boy mumbled, and turned back to his own tray, and Severus' felt a pang of something he would have termed "guilt" in anyone else. But it wouldn't do for the child to be ill, after all the work he'd done so far in getting him better.

"Tomorrow," he said after observing the child a bit more, "someone will come to perform the adoption ceremony. He will be interested in meeting you, and might perhaps want to talk with you. I'll be there," he added quickly when the boy's head came up with fear in his eyes, "the whole time."

"Yes, sir."

"The ceremony is not long," Severus continued, "but during it, we will both need to shed a little blood. Just a pinprick. Not even enough to hurt." The boy still looked doubtful, so he offered, "Do you want me to show you? I could test it on my own arm for you."

Harry bit his lip and seemed to be considering, trying to guess the right answer again. Instead of making him decide, Severus conjured a sharp pin and showed Harry his right arm. He poked the skin near his wrist with the pin and a drop of blood welled on the spot. "See? That's all." A moment later, he banished the blood and waved away the tiny wound.

The boy looked greatly relieved. "And then . . ." The boy swallowed. "Then I'll be your son?"

"Yes, Harry. Then you'll be mine."

----

Harry didn't sleep well that night. He tossed and turned on the big bed, and found it hard to get comfortable despite the soft, clean bedding. It was dark in the room, and he didn't like the dark very much. Not complete dark, anyway. He hugged his knees close to him and stayed as close to the middle of the bed as he could get, curled into as tiny a ball as he could.

In the morning, the reddish glow of dawn spread slowly across the foot of the bed, and Harry got up and rubbed at his eyes, glad to not have to try and sleep any more. He had to go to the bathroom again, and crept down the hall to the washroom as if someone might jump out at him at any moment. No one did, but he rushed through his business, and scampered back to the bedroom as quick as he could. Master Snape - no, Father - said he was allowed to go whenever he wanted, but he might change his mind. Uncle Vernon often did that, and mostly didn't tell Harry, either, until after he'd broken a new rule.

Unsure of what he should do now, Harry went to the window to look outside. The house was on a narrow cobblestone street, and huddled up close to the nearest one, though this house was at the end of the street. There was a short, wrought iron fence in front, with a gate in the middle. It didn't look like the lawn -- a little patch with some peaked looking flowers -- had been tended very well. Maybe he could earn his keep that way. Master Snape had said he didn't have to, but he knew he would, really. He was worthless if he wasn't working. That's what they always said.

Sitting lightly on the edge of the window sill, Harry touched his throat carefully, but the chain was gone, just like the other times he'd checked. Master Snape had healed his neck, probably, like he'd done with all the rest. Harry knew he'd have to earn that out, too. Medicine was not for worthless little whelps, Aunt Marge always said, that should've been drowned at birth. He ought to be grateful he got anything at all.

Turning back to the room, he decided to make the bed, and then he could get dressed. But he didn't know where his clothes were, hadn't seen them since he woke up. Maybe they were being laundered? Maybe he could ask Dappin for them; she probably knew.

It took a little while to make the bed, as it was almost taller than he was, but he finally got the pillows in order, and the quilts smoothed out and straightened. He was just reaching for another of those cloths when the door opened and Master Snape stood framed in the space.

"Good, you're up. Hungry?"

"Yes, sir, um, I mean, yes, Father."

Harry's father actually smiled, and the darkness in his eyes softened. He was dressed in day clothes again, but none like Harry had ever seen. Like a housecoat, except longer and thicker, this one was dark green with black piping at the edges. "Come downstairs then, and Dappin will have breakfast ready for us." He waited in the hallway for Harry to follow him, and when Harry reached the door, he added, "We'll need clothes for you, for the ceremony today. And in general, too, but especially for today."

"Yes, Father, but, um . . ."

"What is it?" Father asked as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Clothes are expensive, and I'm not--"

"You let me worry about clothes, Harry," his father said sharply, and Harry made himself nod.

"Yes, sir." Harry hunched his shoulders. He'd made his Father angry, and they hadn't even done the ceremony yet.

The silence stretched on for a long moment, before his father spoke again. "Let me help you down the stairs. That ankle shouldn't be walked on."

Harry looked at the tall, lanky man who was going to be his father. He stood with his arms out, as if he expected Harry to go to him, but Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, really. Biting his lip, he stood, undecided and still worried about what his father would do, now that he was angry. The man stepped toward him, and without even thinking about it, he backed away.

"Harry. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to carry you downstairs." This time his voice was soothing, not harsh at all, and maybe a little sad. Feeling stupid and embarrassed, Harry turned his face away.

"Would you rather eat in your room?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. Please."

"Very well. Go on back in, and I'll let Dappin know."

"Yes, sir," Harry said again, and returned to the room alone.