Harry started to shake his head. Was Dumbledore crazy? Of course he didn't feel up to going home with Snape. But then, he didn't have any choice in the matter, did he? He would never have any choice about anything again. He was a slave now. He would have to do whatever he was told, or Snape could do anything he wanted to him.

Queasiness threatened to overwhelm him again, but Harry choked it back. He couldn't keep on getting sick, no matter how much he felt like it. He was pretty sure Snape wouldn't take it well if Harry sicked up on him.

He realised that Dumbledore was still talking and forced himself to pay attention. It was better to concentrate on the headmaster's words than to dwell on his own thoughts.

"Of course you'll want to dress first. You don't want to show up at Prince Hall in pyjamas. Prince Hall is Professor Snape's home, and your home now, too, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry didn't speak aloud, but he thought to himself that even though he might have to live there with Snape, Prince Hall would never be his home. Never!

"We had Dobby pack your things and send your trunk on ahead..."

"Not my things anymore," Harry muttered. His eyes filled with tears and he looked away, blinking furiously.

Dumbledore sighed and reached over to pat Harry's shoulder. It was all Harry could do not to jerk away. He didn't mean to be rude to Dumbledore, but his feelings were such a jumble, and it was already hard to keep from breaking down.

"We sent the trunk on to Prince Hall," Dumbledore continued. "But we asked Dobby to set aside some clothing for you to wear once you were awake." He gave his wand a flick and suddenly neatly folded clothes appeared on Harry's cot.

Dumbledore stood up. "Here they are. I'll step into Madame Pomfrey's office and you can dress, Harry. Call me when you're ready."

He walked across the infirmary and disappeared into the office. Harry gazed dully at the clothes for a while before slowly getting out of bed and automatically going through the motions of getting dressed. He put on the dark green shirt with a collar, khaki trousers, tan socks and brown loafers, and then looked around to see if there was anything else he could do to avoid calling Dumbledore for a few more minutes.

Finally deciding that there wasn't, he went over to the office. The door was almost closed, only open a crack, and Harry knocked on it hesitantly.

Dumbledore opened it and smiled down at him. "Well then, Harry, we'll be off." He led the way over the infirmary's fireplace and took some Floo powder from a vase on the mantel. But before they stepped into the grate, Dumbledore spoke.

"Harry, it will be all right. Be brave and try not to worry. I have a crucial task that needs to be done in the next few days, but then I'll pay a visit to Prince Hall and see how you and Professor Snape are doing."

Harry didn't say anything; he couldn't, and Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder and guided him into the fireplace. Then there was the whoosh of the Floo and they were stepping out into the headmaster's office.

Snape and Madame Pomfrey were standing by Dumbledore's desk. They looked the same as always; Madame Pomfrey in her brown dress and with her dark hair pulled back in a bun, and Snape in his black robes. They were talking in quiet voices, but when Harry and the headmaster entered the room, they stopped and turned around. Madame Pomfrey looked a little shaken and she hurried over to Harry.

"I'm so sorry, dear. How do you feel? Are you...?"

"Potter's fine, Poppy. There's no reason to fret," Snape snapped. "I believe I've wasted quite enough time here today so if that's all, Albus, we'll be leaving now."

Harry was almost glad for Snape's brusque interruption. Madame Pomfrey's anxious expression just made him feel more nervous and brought a lump to his throat. But Snape's annoyed tone strengthened his resolve. He would not cry or show any weakness in front of the professor. Automatically, he straightened his shoulders and stood a little taller.

He risked a quick glance at Snape, but the man was looking at Dumbledore and Harry could only see his profile. Snape's pale face was set and his jaw clenched. Harry couldn't see his obsidian eyes, but he could imagine them flashing with impatience and anger.

Dumbledore started to say something, but then he only nodded and said, "Good-bye, Severus, Harry."

Snape stepped closer to Harry and took his arm, not exactly roughly, but certainly not gently either, and pulled him back into the fireplace. It was strange because he'd known that he would have to go with Snape, but Harry felt that it was only at that moment that it washed over him.

He had to live with Snape. For the rest of his life, unless Dumbledore found some way to free him, he would have to live with Snape and do as he was told, and probably never be allowed to see his friends again, and suffer any kind of torment that Snape wanted to punish him with. He couldn't count on Dumbledore, or Madame Pomfrey, or Remus Lupin, or his friends, or anyone else to help or rescue him.

He was alone.

At that moment he wished that Draco's spell had killed him instead.

Then emerald flames shot high around Harry and Severus, and they were stepping out into another room, or rather, Snape was stepping out and pulling Harry along with him. They were in a kitchen, but it was nothing like the cluttered, crowded kitchen at the Burrow. It was more like the Hogwarts' kitchen, though not as large.

But it was still an expansive room, with light walls and dark timber beams crossing the high ceiling. The brick floor was spotless, and there was a long wooden table in the center of the room with several shiny copper-bottomed pots resting on it.

Two small house-elves were standing before them. They almost looked like twins; both of them wearing pristine white tunics and soft sandals. They both had clouds of snowy hair and huge blue eyes.

"Norie, Zan, this is Harry Potter," Snape's lip curled as he said Harry's name. "Potter, this is Norie, and this is Zan. They live here."

Harry didn't want to be rude, but he didn't think he could talk. He'd barely said anything since he'd woken and found out about the slavery spell. He was afraid of opening his mouth, afraid he'd either cry or else start screaming and never be able to stop. Fortunately, the house elves spoke first.

"Welcome to Prince Hall, Master Harry," one of them said solemnly while the other hurried close and reached up to pat his hand.

"You poor child. We's knowing you must be upset, Master Harry, but..."

It might not be easy to talk, but he couldn't just keep standing there like a lump, either. Snape might interpret it as rudeness and get angry, and Harry thought the house elves should know that they didn't have to address him as ‘Master Harry'. He was just a slave, like they were.

"I'm...I'm not ‘Master Harry'," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just..."

But both house elves were shaking their heads at him.

"Oh, we's used to calling all wizards ‘Master' and ‘Miss', Master Harry," the one patting his hand said. "You's just going to have to get used to it. We's old and set in our ways."

Harry shot a sideways glance at Snape, but the man didn't seem to care what the elves called him. Instead he said, "Zan, I think I'd like a glass of wine. Would you please bring it to the library in a few minutes?"

"Of course, Master Severus."

Snape looked over at Harry, who dropped his eyes but not before seeing the look of irritation that always came over Snape's face when he saw Harry.

"Are you hungry, Potter?" He demanded.

Harry shook his head and mumbled, "No, sir."

"Then come along." Snape swept out of the kitchen. Harry bit his lip and followed.

They went down a narrow corridor and up a flight of stairs that led into a formal dining room; then into the grand entrance hall and up another flight of stairs, wider than the first, with a fancy, carved balustrade. Then Snape led the way around corners, down more corridors, and up still more stairs, until Harry was completely lost.

If he hadn't been feeling so dazed and hopeless, he probably would have had a better sense of direction. After all, Hogwarts was much larger and Harry had learned his way around there pretty quickly. He probably would have enjoyed looking around at the manor, too.

As it was, he had vague impressions of spacious rooms filled with gleaming antique furniture; tapestries on the walls and rugs on the stone floors, well-made but faded with the patina of age; wide corridors lined with mirrors and portraits of finely-dressed witches and wizards, some of whom called after them curiously. But Snape never paused, just hurried along without a backwards glance. Harry had to half-run to keep up with him.

At last, Snape stopped at the end of yet another hallway, and they went into a room. It was smaller than the others Harry had seen, but it was not so small as to be cramped. It contained a bed, a night table, a desk and chair, and a chest of drawers. A navy and white patterned quilt covered the bed and navy drapes hung at the window. Harry's trunk sat on the floor at the foot of the bed and Hedwig waited in her cage on the desk. She hooted softly when she saw Harry.

"This will be your room, Potter," Snape announced coolly. "You're to keep it neat and clean. Norie and Zan are elderly and they don't need to be picking up after a slovenly teenager. I expect your room to be presentable at all times. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Breakfast is at eight in the morning. Lunch is at noon, and dinner at seven in the evening. We eat in the dining room and meals are served promptly on schedule. If you're late, you don't eat. What is it, Potter?" He asked crossly as Harry looked up at him.

"It's just...I mean, you want me to eat in the dining room with you?" Harry was a little surprised. He'd expected to eat down in the kitchen alone, or with the house elves, when he was lucky enough to get to eat, anyway.

Snape had a decidedly sour expression, as if the mere idea of dining with Harry was enough to give him indigestion. Nevertheless, he nodded.

"If you can eat like a civilised person and not like a baboon, then yes." He looked at a clock hanging on the wall. "There's an hour before dinner. I suggest you unpack. If you get lost on the way down, call for Norie or Zan and one of them will appear to guide you."

He turned to leave and Harry swallowed hard. He was almost afraid to ask, but on the other hand, he needed to know. "Sir? What do you want me to do? I mean, what are my chores?"

Snape paused and looked back at him. "I already told you I expect you to keep your room tidy, and you're to keep up with your school assignments as well. You should have ample time to study. I expect top marks in all your subjects, including potions."

He started to leave again, when Hedwig screeched and flapped her wings. Snape glared and Harry braced himself. Uncle Vernon had often threatened to kill Hedwig when she got noisy. He'd never actually followed through with it, obviously, but it had always scared Harry.

But Snape only growled. "You might as well let that owl loose, Potter. She needs to learn her way around the grounds." Then he was gone.

Slowly Harry carried Hedwig's cage over to the window. He pushed it open and then released the latch on the cage. Hedwig trilled happily as she soared free and glided off through the air.

"Don't get lost, Hedwig," Harry whispered after her. "You're my only friend here. I need you."

He watched until the snowy owl was only a speck in the distant sky and then turned his attention to the landscape around him. His room was high up, on the top floor, and looking down he could see grey stone walls and a paved terrace below. A sweeping green lawn dotted with a couple of great oak trees stretched out to a black wrought-iron fence, and beyond that lay the wild grasses and gentle slopes of a moor.

After a while, Harry turned and looked about the room. It was rather plain, especially compared to the rooms he'd glimpsed on the way, but Harry didn't mind. It was much better than a cupboard, at least, and nicer than anything he would have expected Snape to give him.

To be fair, he supposed Snape hadn't been as bad as he'd feared. Oh, the man hadn't been pleasant, by any means, but he hadn't been terrible, at least not yet. So far all he'd really told Harry to do was keep his room clean, do his homework, and be on time for meals.

But of course, he'd only been around Snape for a few minutes and the man had acted as if he could barely tolerate Harry's presence for that long. Remembering all of Snape's taunts and unfair punishments from the past five years of class, Harry thought gloomily that things were bound to get worse.

Well, he supposed he'd better do what Snape had suggested and unpack. There was no point in antagonizing the man, not now when he could retaliate in any way he wished and Harry was powerless against him.

He knelt by his trunk...Snape's trunk now...and opened it. Most of his former things seemed to be there. His wand lay on top of his clothes and Harry lifted it out and held it between his fingers. Somehow, he felt better now that he had his wand, even if he couldn't use it during the summer.

Harry set it on the bed and then went to put his clothes in the wardrobe. His schoolbag, textbooks, parchment, and quills were still in the trunk, where they'd been packed underneath his clothes, as well as a familiar maroon photo album with gold leaf etchings on the front. Harry lifted it out and reverently turned the pages. His fingers lightly brushed the picture of James and Lily Potter as they smiled and waved at him. If only they could be here now, Harry thought desperately. If only they hadn't died and he could have had a normal life, like everyone else.

Why did it always have to be him? Why was it his life that was always so messed up? What had he ever done to deserve it?

Abruptly Harry closed the photo album. It was no use thinking like that. He'd only get all upset again and he had to go down and eat dinner with Snape soon. He looked at the clock on the wall to check the time. He certainly didn't want to be late.

It was a quarter til seven. Harry decided he'd just leave the photo album and all his school things in his trunk. He put his wand back inside as well, and sighed as he closed the lid. His invisibility cloak and Firebolt were missing, and there was no telling what Snape had done with them. Harry wondered if he had the nerve to ask Snape for them, but decided that that might not be a good idea right now. Maybe, if he could manage not to make Snape furious with him, he could ask in a few days, or a week.

Harry looked over at the open window in consternation. He didn't want to close it, just in case Hedwig wanted to come back inside. That wasn't likely...she usually liked to fly free at night and only came back to her cage at dawn. But this was a new place, and if for some reason she did decide to come back and couldn't get inside, she might get confused and think she was at the wrong house, or that Harry had left her, or something.

But Snape might not want the window left open, and Harry didn't want to make him angry. He was bound to do something to make Snape angry soon...Merlin knew it didn't take much...but Harry would try his best, anyway.

He settled for closing the window partway, but still leaving a space wide enough for Hedwig to come through if she truly wanted. Then he decided he'd better head down to the dining room, especially since he wasn't at all sure of the way and might have to call on the house-elves to help him. What were their names again? Norie and Zan? At least they had seemed nice.

Sure enough, once Harry had walked to the end of his corridor, he realised he had no idea of which way to go next. He called softly for Norie. It took a few seconds for her to appear, and Harry was beginning to panic, thinking that she wasn't going to come and he'd be late and Snape would be outraged.

He was taking deep breaths and trying to remember if Snape had brought him to the hall from the right or the left when there was a soft pop and she was at his side.

"Is you needing help, child? Oh, no, dearie, you calm down," she fluttered about him, patting his hands again. Harry had the feeling that if she'd been a bit taller, or if he'd been any shorter, she would have hugged him.

"Now, it's not that bad, Master Harry. You's going to be just fine here. Don't you worry about a thing. Master Severus is a good man, even if he doesn't always show it, and he's going to learn to love you, you wait and sees if he doesn't," she told him kindly.

In spite of his anxiety, Harry had to give her an incredulous look. Snape? Learn to love him? Was she insane? There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of that happening, but Harry decided not to argue with her. There wasn't time anyway.

"Please, ma'am, I don't know how to get to the dining room..." he began.

Norie's tinkling laugh interrupted him. "Ma'am? Child, Norie's never been called ‘ma'am' in her life. You can call me ‘Norie' like everyone else does."

Harry nodded. "Norie, please, could you take me to the dining room? I don't want to be late. Professor Snape said if I'm late, I can't eat."

Norie sniffed. "Deny food to a child in your condition? I'd likes to see Master Severus try it."

Harry frowned slightly. What did she mean, a child in his condition? For one thing, he wasn't a child. He was almost sixteen, and he might still be the smallest boy in fifth year, but Seamus Finnegan wasn't much taller. Heck, Draco Malfoy, that rotten little ferret, wasn't much taller. And Harry might have lost a little weight lately, but it wasn't like he was about to keel over.

"But you's not going to be late, Master Harry. Take my arm." She offered her arm to him and Harry tentatively placed his hand on her forearm. Everything went black and he felt a sudden, harsh squeezing, as if all the breath were being forced out of him, but it only lasted for a second, and then he and Norie were standing in the entrance hall, just outside the wide arched doorway to the dining room.

She smiled at him. "Tomorrow Zan or me will show you around so yous won't get lost anymore, Master Harry. Now, remember, child, don't you worry." Then she was heading back to the kitchen.

The grandfather clock standing in the corner of the dining room chimed as Harry hurried in. Snape was already seated at the head of the table.

He scowled, "You're cutting it close, Potter."

Harry hesitated. "Should I leave, sir?"

Snape exhaled a sharp, angry breath and gestured at the place set to his right. "Sit."

Harry slid into his seat and wished that he could be at the opposite end of the table instead. The more space there was between him and Snape, the better. From the professor's fierce glower, it was plain to see that he felt the same way. It must have been Norie or Zan who'd placed them side by side.

Almost at once dinner appeared on the table. Snape obviously ate well. There was lobster bisque soup and a crisp salad to start with; then grilled salmon and steamed vegetables; followed by chocolate éclairs for dessert. Harry knew it had to be delicious, but it all tasted like sawdust to him, and even though he was desperate not to offend Snape, he could only choke down a few mouthfuls. That was better than risking sicking up again.

They ate in complete silence. Harry wasn't about to take a chance on saying anything, and though Snape cast several baleful glares at Harry's full plate of food, he didn't comment on it. As soon as he'd finished, Snape rose and stalked out of the room without even looking at Harry.

Harry blinked down at his plate, wondering why he felt hurt by that. It made no sense, and part of him was glad that at least Snape hadn't said anything hateful or cruel, but still, it hurt.

"Is you not hungry, Master Harry?" The other elf had appeared at his elbow.

Harry tried to smile at him. "I'm sorry, Zan. It looks really good, but I just can't eat."

The elf nodded at him and said almost exactly what Norie had earlier. "I understands, Master Harry, but you is not to fret. Everything will work out. Now, lets me send the plates to the kitchen and I will show yous back to your room."

Zan guided Harry carefully back through the labyrinthine maze of stairs and hallways to his bedroom, and Harry paid careful attention this time. He thought he knew the way, but Zan assured him that he and Norie didn't mind coming to help him if he got lost again.

Once he was alone, Harry changed into pyjamas and went on to bed. He'd never gone to bed right after dinner, but he felt drained and he wanted to be sure he woke early enough to make it to breakfast with time to spare.

Yet, exhausted as he was, sleep refused to come. Harry's body was tired, but his mind was restless. It kept re-playing the afternoon's events. He kept seeing images and hearing words over and over again: Dumbledore's sad face and quiet voice telling him he was a slave, Snape sneering at him, the kindly elves, and finally he saw Draco Malfoy shooting curses at him again and again.

Harry felt such grief and fear and rage that he thought he might burst from it, and now, alone in the darkness, he wished he could cry. But now, when he was safe from Snape's cruelty and others' pity, when he could finally indulge in the tears that he'd wanted to weep all evening, now they wouldn't come.

He stared dry-eyed into the night for a long time before sleep mercifully overcame him.