He woke up feeling good the next morning, which was a rather strange sensation. But it did not take long for the momentary peace to fade when he opened his eyes.  He was not in his room; that much was obvious.  For the little time he had spent actually sleeping in it, Harry had memorized every space of the room, every grain of the furniture and every fibre of the bedding.  He would recognize that room in the dark, blindfolded.

And this was not his room.

Catching himself at the brink of panic, he drew a breath.  But in those few seconds that he teetered between being asleep and full wakefulness, thoughts came flying at him unbidden, and he slammed his eyes shut again.

Did I do something wrong?  Maybe he told Dumbledore to take me away.  A tiny bit of rationality snuck through just then -- this wasn't Hogwart's.  And, he recognized with no small measure of relief, it wasn’t 4 Privet Drive.

Screwing up his courage, he forced himself to open his eyes again, facing his fears.  And almost instantly felt like a fool.  There in the big bed across the room was the professor, seemingly asleep.  As that reality settled in, Harry realized that he must be in the man's bedroom.  Why didn't he remember arriving here?  Was this why he had slept through the night for the first time in ages?

That possibility didn't make him feel like any less of a baby, despite the fact that it caused a return of that familiar warm glow in his chest.  He had to admit that it made him feel safe, too.  Or at least he assumed that's what the mysterious feeling was.  He really couldn't be sure, seeing as he had few previous experiences to compare it to.

Throwing back the covers -- not the ones from his own bed, he noted, one more gesture that drove the ache up from his chest to his throat -- he moved to stand, laughing quietly to himself when he saw his slippers tucked just under the edge of the cot.

He slipped them on and crept towards the bigger bed in the middle of the room.  Snape still appeared to be asleep, lying on his side, breathing evenly.  Harry wondered idly for a moment what the man dreamt about.  Potions, surely. 

Spurred on by his feelings of relief and security, he leaned over the man and peered at his face.  He certainly looked less scary when he was sleeping.  Not quite at peace though, as he noted the slight frown on Snape's face and the worry lines that creased his forehead.  After a moment or two of this inspection he began to feel ansty.  Would Snape ever wake up?

With a quiet grin Harry raised his hand and moved a finger towards the man’s face.  Just when he was millimetres away from poking his guardian, he was startled by Snape's rumbling voice stating,

"Do that and you will not get your finger back."

Harry jumped back with a squeak of surprise.  He had been positive Snape was asleep. Making a note to try and learn how to fake sleep that well, he spoke up.

"Do what?"

"You and I both know what you were going to do, and I highly suggest you resist the temptation now and in the future."  The older wizard had opened his eyes and was looking at Harry, but his facial expression gave nothing away.

"Why?" Harry asked, feeling brave and silly.

"I will bite it off."

"You would not!"

"You don't think so?  Do test me, then."

"Maybe I will..." And so he stepped forward and moved his finger once again towards the man’s face.  Just as he was within touching distance, Snape turned his head and snapped his teeth at Harry's hand, as if imitating a dog. 

Shocked and thrilled at the man's action -- Snape could be silly! -- Harry jumped back with a high pitched squeal of laughter. 

Severus managed to resist the urge to smile at the sight, and made a mental note never to do anything to cause that reaction again.  Or at least not until after the boy's voice changed.  He had forgotten how shrieky pre-pubescent boys could be.

Heaving a sigh, Snape pushed his own covers back and rose from the bed.  He did not feel quite rested, his dreams had been plagued by images of cupboards and little boys.  Some were Potter, others, more disturbingly, were himself.   No, it had not been a restful sleep, at least not for him.  He was however, pleased to see that the boy looked relatively rested.  No alarms wards had gone off in the night, and he had not been woken by tears or screams, so despite his own unease, Snape felt mildly successful.

Clearly, however, Harry could not sleep on a cot in his bedroom every night.  Something else had to be done.  What that was still eluded him.  Plus there was still the matter of the boy's treasures hidden away on the shelf in his closet.  What to say to him?  Should he say anything at all?  No harm was done by keeping his somewhat strange collection there.  Clearly it was important to the child.  And if it had just been the photo album and the guardianship papers -- hell, he could even allow for the empty balm jar, as much as it disquieted him, he might have left well enough alone.  But it was not just those things.  It was the socks and the pants and the crackers that left him reeling.  The implications of such items were disturbing beyond measure.

It had not escaped his notice that the items of clothing were rather massive to be meant for Harry, and they looked quite threadbare as well.  He wondered why he had never noticed this about the boy's wardrobe before.  For a spy, he was dangerously unobservant. 

He needed more information, that much was clear, but faced with the idea of actually speaking to the boy about it, Severus was reluctant.  So he did what he did best when faced with an uncomfortable thought -- he chose to ignore it.  At least for now.  Indeed, at the moment there were other topics they needed to discuss.

Like sleeping arrangements.

Following Harry into the kitchen he put the kettle on for tea and began sifting through the larder for something appropriate for breakfast.   At Harry's protest that he could help, that he could cook (of this Severus had no doubt, knowing of his past), the teacher allowed him to deal with the tea, and tried not to wince when too much sugar was added to his cup. Who knew that "teaspoon" as a unit of measure was so very subjective?

As the food was left to cook, he took a seat and began. "I let you sleep in my room last night for a reason -- would you care to wager a guess as to what that was?"

"Because of my nightmares?"

"Yes and no.  It had more to do with your sleeping patterns in general.  Or lack thereof.  We never finished discussing your night time wanderings, and I feel it is important that we do so. Do you think you can do that?"

Harry frowned into his cup and sighed. "I'm not that easily freaked out you know."

"I did not intend to imply that you were. However, the fact remains that when we first discussed it yesterday, at this very breakfast table, you did get rather . . . upset. I would not like to repeat that experience."

With a blush, Harry muttered, "Me neither." After a moment he looked up and said "I can deal. I'll try not to lose it this time."

"Would you care to tell me why you "freaked out" in the first place?"

A shrug was the only response Snape received, and so he pressed on.   "Were you frightened?  Did you think that I would do something to you?"

"Like what?"

Clearly Potter wasn't going to make this conversation easy for him.

"Well, I have no belts, so it couldn't have been that, but I wonder if perhaps you thought you would be physically punished for getting up at night."

"I know you wouldn't do that."

"I am not sure that you do.  You seemed to get lost for a moment, and said something that made me think that perhaps you thought you were back at the Dursley's."

"What did I say?  I don't remember saying anything weird."

"Does the word cupboard mean anything to you?"

The boy froze, colour draining from his face.  "I talked about a cupboard?" he managed to choke out.

"You did."

"Well I didn't mean to."

"I'm sure you didn't.  However, even bringing up now seems to bother you, so perhaps we can get back to the matter at hand.  I brought you to my room last night because I thought you needed a real night's sleep.  But we cannot continue that way indefinitely, as I'm sure you understand."

"Yes.  I'm sorry for making you do that."

"You did not make me do anything.  At the time you were asleep."

"Still..."

But Severus cut off his excuses.  "You need to sleep in your own room Harry.  Not on a cot in mine, and certainly not in the hallway.  I will not leave you in the middle of the night."  And then, knowing Harry's penchant to only hear what was left unsaid, he added, "I will not leave you in the middle of the day, either.  I will not leave you.  At least not in any way that you seem to be worried about.  There will be times I will need to . . . go away," here he grimaced at his own sentimentality, “but I will return, as long as it is in my power to do so.”

“I know, I believe you.”

Severus snorted.  Constant denial was aggravating, but he understood that the child was not about to admit to any emotional vulnerability.  Perhaps there was some Slytherin in there after all.

“Not yet.  But you will.”  And with the first of several uncomfortable topics sufficiently closed, he turned his attention back to the bacon.