Snape kept one eye on the brat and the other eye on the time. Newly equipped with the rudiments of proper penmanship and a functional quill, Harry managed to demonstrate substantial improvement by the end of his 200 lines, which he finished shortly before dinner.

“Here, Pr’fessor!” Harry said happily. “I counted twice to be sure I got them all.” He flourished the parchment with pride.

Normally at this point, Snape incendio’d the parchment to demonstrate to the miscreant just how pointless the punishment had been. All that time and effort spent on something completely without meaning or value even to the man who’d required it. More than once, this casual act of cruelty had reduced students to helpless tears, as they realized just how heartless and mean their Potions Professor really was.

But somehow, looking at the satisfaction with which Harry regarded his 200 lines, the product of an entire afternoon of laborious, tongue-biting effort, Snape couldn’t do it. “Hmf,” he scanned the parchment. “Not quite as atrocious as it might have been,” he said grudgingly.

“So instead of chicken scratch, maybe it’s… monkey scribble?” Harry asked cheekily.

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Your handwriting has not yet reached the evolutionary level of primates, Mr Potter.”

“Turkey scratch? Owl scrapings? Penguin – “ Harry was having too much fun with this line of thought, and Snape brought his hand down on his desk with a resounding crash.

“POTTER. You are being punished!”

“Oh,” Harry said guiltily. He did his best to look repentant. The professor shouldn’t have had to remind him of that. Now the man probably felt like he hadn’t done a very good job of disciplining Harry. Poor Professor Snape! Harry knew what it was like to be made to feel as if you hadn’t done a very good job, despite trying your best. He didn't want to make the professor feel that way.

Despite what Mr Weasley had said, it was clear to Harry that the professor simply didn’t have it in him to be terribly strict. Still, just because Snape really didn’t understand this whole punishment thing didn’t mean Harry should make him feel bad about his shortcomings. “Sorry, sir.” He thought hard. What could he say that would make his professor believe the “punishment” had been effective? “Erm, I’m really very sorry about taking risks with my safety. I’ve learned my lesson, honest.” He watched the professor worriedly. Would that work? He really hadn’t meant to make Professor Snape feel inadequate.

Snape eyed the brat narrowly. That was more like it. He looked anxious now, and he was biting his lip nervously. Obviously Snape’s outburst had frightened the little menace. His relatives probably shouted at him quite a lot.

Snape shifted uncomfortably as an unfamiliar feeling of guilt settled in his chest. Harry was much more fragile than the average horrible Hogwarts student. He had to remember that and not be his usual snarky self, lest the brat be reminded of those unnatural Muggles.

“I’m glad to hear that, Mr Potter,” he said, his voice still stern but more quiet. “Your welfare is too important for you to treat it casually or place yourself at unnecessary risk. I will not relax my position on this, so unless you wish to spend more afternoons copying lines, writing essays, and nursing a sore backside, I suggest you demonstrate more caution in your daily activities.”

It took Harry a few moments to puzzle out all the big words, but once he had, his face lit up with a beaming smile. Professor Snape had just said Harry mattered! He’d said that Harry’s health and safety were important. That Harry couldn’t just do any old silly thing that might get him hurt, because he was important. That was almost like saying Snape cared. Better almost, because lots of times people said they cared, but they didn’t do anything to back it up.

But Snape did more than that. He’d said that if Harry put himself at risk, he, Snape, would stop him. He’d even threatened him with another smacking - not that his light taps actually left Harry with a sore backside, but it was obvious that Professor Snape believed they did. Still, his threat showed how serious he was, because he only used spankings to punish the most serious misbehavior. Wow – that was almost like saying that nothing was more important than Harry.

Harry blinked. This was a thought so revolutionary that he had to test it.

“Sir?”

“What?” Snape frowned. The boy was still looking pinched around the mouth. What was upsetting him so much? The threat of more swats? The scolding? Had Snape’s tone still been too harsh?

“Would you smack me for talking back to you?” Harry asked cautiously. Back talk had always been a major sin in the Dursley household. For Harry, anyway. Dudley was of course permitted to say anything he wanted and to throw tantrums over trivialities.

Snape blinked. What an odd question. What could Potter be up to? He gave the brat his “since you are obviously finding life as a human too challenging, let’s see if you are more useful to society as potion ingredients” glare and growled, “No, Mr Potter, though I will ensure through other methods that you are unlikely to engage in that behavior more than once.”

Harry thought about that. Maybe talking back wasn’t such a big deal here. He’d heard some of the other kids – like Ron – say things to the professors that he would never have said to Uncle Vernon, not unless he wanted his backside to be bruised in all the colors of the rainbow. Maybe he should ask about something else.

“Would you smack me for punching someone? Like Draco, say?” Harry guessed that getting in a fight with a member of Snape’s House would be sure to land Harry with the most severe punishment possible.

Snape eyed the boy narrowly. On the one hand he was encouraged that the boy would contemplate striking someone, rather than always being the passive victim that the Dursleys had trained him to be. On the other hand, he wasn’t pleased at this sign of pre-adolescent male aggression. And why was the little idiot even asking such a question? Was he actually stupid enough to inform Snape of his plans for future mischief, albeit in this roundabout way? “No, Potter, because the resulting loss of House points and numerous detentions you would receive would adequately demonstrate the folly of your actions.”

Harry blinked. Wow. So the professor did think that punching Draco was a lesser sin than putting himself in jeopardy. That was amazing. He knew he should stop, but he felt compelled to push his luck and try one more thing. Surely this would outweigh all other crimes, at least here at a school.

“Wouldn’t you smack me for… cheating?” Harry barely breathed the last word. He figured that to a teacher, cheating had to be the ultimate sin. After all, besides fighting and cheekiness, what else did students do that made teachers furious beyond words?

The little monster! What was he plotting? Snape reached out and, seizing Harry by the shoulder, dragged him close. “Potter,” he said, glaring at the brat, “cheating at Hogwarts is one of the few actions which are dealt with by Professor Dumbledore himself. Do you really want him upset with you?” Harry paled and shook his head violently. “Good.” Snape paused. “But to answer your question, no. I would not smack you for that. I have told you repeatedly that you will only be struck for violating my two most important rules, both of which have to do with preserving your safety.” He scowled menacingly. “Do you need to copy this statement a few hundred times in order for it to sink into your thick skull?”

“No, sir!” Harry said quickly. His fingers were already sore from gripping the quill for the 200 lines, and he still had another 500 to do. But despite Snape’s threat, he couldn’t restrain the blinding happiness surging through him. He was right, incredible though it might seem. Snape was in fact saying that Harry's health and welfare were more important to him than anything else.

Considering how often Harry had burnt himself preparing the Dursley’s food or hurt himself working in their garden, it was downright strange that Snape put so much emphasis on his wellbeing. The Dursleys had always insisted that everything about Harry, including his health, took a distant second place to their slightest whim. They wouldn’t inconvenience themselves even for something of critical importance to Harry, and for most of his life, Harry had just had to accept that Dudley’s most trivial desire outweighed his own deepest need. Until now.

Now Professor Snape was standing the world on its head, and saying that the MOST important thing to him was Harry. Harry’s health. Harry’s safety. And he was willing to back up his words with actions, up to and including a swatting – which he obviously considered a Very Severe Punishment Indeed. The warm feeling inside Harry intensified. Professor Snape very clearly had no idea how to spank a kid. But the fact that he was still willing to give it a try, just to make sure Harry understood how serious Snape was about his staying safe, meant the man was willing to go to a lot of trouble on Harry’s behalf – something no one else had ever done for as long as Harry could remember.

Harry wished there was something he could do for Professor Snape to show him how much he appreciated what the professor was doing for him. “Sir?” he said tentatively.

“What is it now, Potter?” Snape demanded in irritation. Why was the brat just standing there, frowning in thought?

And suddenly the little monster had him in a stranglehold. Snape nearly drew his wand before he realized Harry wasn’t attacking him. It was a hug – completely incomprehensible given the circumstances. The wretch was in detention; he’d just had to copy the same lengthy sentence 200 mind-numbing times; he’d been threatened with additional punishments, up to and including physical chastisement; and it had been made explicitly clear to him that Snape would cut him no slack, show him no favoritism should he get into trouble. He’d quickly destroyed any hopes the brat might have had that his misdemeanors would be overlooked.

He had finally deduced that Harry was bringing up some typical school-based misbehavior in the hopes that his guardian would promise to use his faculty status to let him off with a warning. Instead Snape had made it clear that Harry would be punished most unpleasantly for even minor transgressions. Why on earth had this prompted a grateful hug?

Snape wondered if the boy were even more confused than he had originally thought. It had been obvious from that first detention that Harry had no idea about what constituted appropriate punishments, let alone rewards, but now Severus wondered if he were so befuddled that anything short of a brutal thrashing was seen as incredible leniency.

“Potter, that’s quite enough,” he said, disentangling the whelp from his neck. He glowered at the brat, who was smiling mistily at him, but somehow the hands that were holding Potter at arms’ length were much gentler than they should have been. He had intended to give the boy a good shake, lest he think that such maudlin displays of emotion would be welcome, but instead he found himself patting the skinny shoulders. Really! What was he doing? Just because he’d agreed to look after the boy didn’t mean he had to display such appalling sappiness himself.

Time to change the subject.

“Potter, come with me.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably and rose to his feet. Harry trotted along beside him as Snape led the way to his personal quarters.

Snape argued with himself the whole way, but in the end he decided that it made sense to get it over with here and now, if for no other reason than he didn’t want Albus to pester him about it over dinner. “Go in,” he ordered, opening the door to Harry’s new room.

The brat – disobedient in this as in all things – gave him an uncertain look and peered in warily. “Go in!” Snape repeated. He brought his hand forward smartly, intending to propel the little monster into the room with a firm shove.

The admonitory push didn’t work out quite as Snape had intended, because the next thing he knew, the brat had seized his hand and was clutching it as he ventured forward. The way he was hesitating, you would have thought that a live dragon lay in wait within the dim room.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter.” Snape stepped forward, pulling the boy with him. He waved his wand, illuminating their surroundings, and Harry’s jaw dropped.

They stood in the middle of a fair sized room, with magical windows providing a view of the Quidditch pitch. A curtained bed stood blazing with (in Snape’s view) garish Gryffindor colors, while around the room bookcases held both textbooks and pleasure reading, not to mention many of the toys and activities that Albus had insisted upon purchasing. A desk in the corner – much too close to the window, in Snape’s view; the brat’s microscopic attention span would be constantly distracted – had a few basic reference materials, age-appropriate quill set (leakproof, magically refilling, and charmed to recognize misspellings), and a stack of parchments of various lengths.

Snape saw the boy’s eye had been caught by the animated hippogriffs on the bedsheets and once again rolled his eyes at Albus’ fancy. Surely Potter was too old for such babyish nonsense!

“Wicked!” the boy breathed. Well. Apparently not.

Harry’s eyes roamed over the room. It was like a dream bedroom, filled with even more amazing toys than Dudley’s had been. There was an easel with paints in one corner, something that looked like an animated, miniaturized game of Quidditch in another, more books than he had ever seen outside a library… Even something as prosaic as the bed had magical sheets, and he could see through a half-open door that the attached bathroom was large and contained a bathtub as well as a sink and toilet.

Whoever lived here was amazingly lucky! Harry wondered why he would ever leave this marvelous room. If Harry had had a room even a fraction as nice as this, the Dursleys would never have had to lock him away; he would have been all too happy to stay there, out of sight.

Harry looked around, wondering whose room it was. He hadn’t thought that Professor Snape had children, but obviously he’d been wrong. Harry felt a sharp pang of loss and – was that jealousy? – in his chest. Stupid, he told himself fiercely. Just because he’s been kind to you doesn’t mean you're anything special to him. He’s just nice, that’s all.

Harry fought down a feeling of bitter disappointment, which he recognized as being both unhelpful to him and unfair to the professor. He knew all too well what it was like to be second best, and he had briefly hoped that for once he would be the primary focus of an adult’s attention. But obviously that wasn’t to be. And really, Professor Snape would be a lot better than the Dursleys. Hadn’t he already been kinder to Harry than they had ever been? Even if he had his own child whom he’d naturally care more about, he’d probably still be nice to Harry, and besides, Harry also had the Weasleys.

Ohhhhh, now Harry understood his visits to the Weasleys in a new light. Obviously he was to be sent to the Weasleys whenever Professor Snape wanted to spend time with his real son. Well, that was a lot better than being exiled to a cupboard. Harry tried to smile. See? he told himself. Professor Snape is being awfully nice and thinking about me.

That was the thing about being an orphan. You couldn’t really expect anybody else to want you once your parents were dead. Everyone else was busy enough with their own kids, and being stuck with another one was, well, inconvenient. Harry had had that concept drummed into him from a very early age, and he knew he should be grateful for any small kindnesses that came his way.

And he was. Really. It was just that for some stupid, foolish, babyish reason he had imagined that Professor Snape was… his. And it hurt an astonishing amount to realize otherwise.

He forced back his traitorous tears. It would never do for the professor, who had been so nice to him (even giving him a present in the middle of detention!), to guess how presumptuous Harry had been.

“Yes, sir?” he struggled to sound as natural as possible. He looked around the room again. Why were they here? Perhaps Snape wanted him to clean the room? Or was he going to warn him – as the Dursleys had with both of Dudley’s bedrooms – that this room was off-limits to him? As if he’d be stupid enough to touch someone else’s things! Dudley had cured him of that before he was four years old.

Snape frowned at the boy. He hadn’t expected transports of joy – well, actually he had – but for as emotional a little creature as Potter was, this poker faced surveying of the room was infuriating. The little ingrate was apparently too proud even to offer up a token ‘thank you’, and he had gazed around the room with a distinct expression of acute disappointment.

So all of his efforts (not to mention the house elves’) had been wasted, had they? Snape cursed himself for even bothering to try to please the unappreciative whelp. Why had he ever expected a Potter to show gratitude? Naturally the boy felt that any bedroom in a dungeon was inappropriate for the Prince of Gryffindor!

Snape ground his teeth, forcing back the snarls of invective that he could feel rising to his lips. They would reveal too much of his own emotional state. No, better to match the boy’s disinterested, faintly contemptuous attitude. He had never let the father know how much hurt his actions had caused; he wasn’t about to start now with the son.

When Harry turned to him with an expectant look and question, Snape returned the look with his own scowl. “What is it, Potter?” He’d be damned if he were going to prompt the boy for token – and obviously insincere – thanks.

“Erm… why are we here, sir?”

The effrontery of the boy! As if the room was beneath his notice! Irrelevant to him! Fine, two could play at that game.

“I thought you might like to see where you will sleep when you stay with me,” he sneered. “Most civilized people do wish to have some knowledge of their accommodations.”

Oh no. This was a very bad idea. Harry looked around the enchanting, enchanted room with something closely akin to dread. It was one thing not to have much. It was another thing to have your nose rubbed in it. Being surrounded by all these wonderful things that he could never, ever hope to touch, let alone own, would be much, much worse than being stuck in a small, dusty, spider-filled cupboard. At least in the cupboard, Harry could surround himself with wonders from his imagination. They might not be real, but at least they were his.

And what about the owner of the room? He wouldn’t be pleased to have some interloper staying in his bed, possibly playing with his toys. Even if he weren’t like Dudley, who seemed to feel that his things were soiled beyond repair if Harry so much as glanced at them, he was unlikely to want someone else to be living in his room, with his things. And if he were like Dudley… Some of Harry’s worst punishments had come after Dudley had claimed that Harry had broken, touched, or played with his toys. It didn’t matter if Harry had been in another room entirely when it happened, his aunt and uncle had always taken Dudley’s words at face value.

Harry hoped that Professor Snape might be a little more fair if such a thing happened here – at least waiting to hear Harry’s side of the story before automatically punishing him – but it would be much, much better to avoid the problem in the first place.

“Please, sir,” Harry gulped. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Ungrateful people were the very worst – and they often didn’t get fed for a long, long time. “Couldn’t I just sleep on the couch like I did last night? It was really comfortable. I don’t need a bed.”

Snape couldn’t believe the brat. Was he really so spiteful that he’d prefer to sleep on a couch than a bed, just to show how utterly disdainful he was of Snape’s efforts to please him?

“And if I don’t wish to have a snoring urchin in my living room?” he snarled, barely managing to restrain his temper. Only the thought of Albus’ reaction if he bodily flung the little wretch from his quarters prevented him from doing so.

Oh. Of course. Harry felt stupid. Like anyone would want an orphan smack in the middle of their quarters. “Er, well, I really don’t need a room like this,” he said, fidgeting. “I mean, if you’ve got a storage room or clos-“ He never got to finish the sentence, because Snape grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake.

“Closet?” the professor demanded furiously. “Were you about to say closet?” At Harry’s wide eyed nod, the professor shook him again. “How dare you suggest that I am like those dreadful relatives of yours, Potter! Do you actually imagine I would lock a child away like some disused cleaning supplies?” Snape couldn’t remember the last time he had been this angry. Even the Weasley twins sabotaging the Slytherin tower’s showers, turning his entire House green, paled by comparison. This little brat was informing him that he preferred those Muggles’ cupboard over Snape’s best attempt at a lavish bedroom? Such outrageous disrespect was… positively Slytherin.

Harry stared at Professor Snape in shock. He was almost as mad as when Harry had gone after the remembrall. But what had Harry done? All he had said – oh. He had suggested that a closet was good enough for him. The professor had made it very clear that the Dursleys were awful people because they hadn’t treated Harry properly. Harry deserved better. And yet here he was, acting like it was okay if he were shoved in a closet. The Dursleys would never have treated Dudley like that, and Professor Snape had said that Harry deserved to be treated at least as well as Dudley. At least.

The professor must think he was awfully dumb. He kept forgetting. He kept acting like what the Dursleys had told him was right, even though Professor Snape must have told him otherwise about a million times. No wonder he was angry.

Of course, this also meant that the professor still cared about him. Oh, obviously not as much as he cared about his real boy, the one to whom this magnificent room belonged, but quite a lot all the same. Harry’s heart leapt a little. He really liked that the professor got so furious whenever Harry acted as if he didn’t matter. It was such a clear indication that Harry did matter. To him. At least a little bit.

“’M sorry,” he mumbled, casting down his eyes to hide the relief in them. “I just didn’t want to get in trouble for touching anything.”

Snape’s ire was checked as the words penetrated. “What? Why would you get in trouble for that?”

Harry kept his eyes down and lifted one shoulder in a shrug, a habit Snape had already learned to detest. “He might not like me touching his things.”

“Who?”

“Your son.”

Snape’s legs nearly gave out from under him. What? Was the brat delusional? Did he have a split personality to speak of himself in the third person? “Potter, what in Merlin’s name are you talking about?”

Harry looked up at him in confusion. “Your son. The boy whose room this is. Or is it your nephew? I just think he probably wouldn’t want me to stay here. I mean, it’s got all his stuff, and he might not like it. I wouldn’t touch anything,” he added swiftly, “but he – he might think I had. Like if I moved something while I was cleaning. And then he might get mad,” he ended, swallowing hard.

Snape stared at the boy. As usual, Harry's emotions were written large upon his features. Longing, envy, lost hope, dread, apprehension… He had obviously been accused of “touching something” in the past – at the Muggles’, clearly – and the outcome had scarred him. Probably literally. Snape ground his teeth again, but now the rage was no longer directed at the boy in front of him, but at those bloody Muggles to whom a visit was long overdue.

For now, though, he had several misconceptions to clear up. “Potter. I do not have a son, nor a nephew, nor a cousin, nor any other type of blood relative. I have a ward. You,” he pointed out. The boy was a Gryffindor, after all.

Harry stared at the man in confusion. So the professor was alone, as Harry had somehow guessed. But then why was this brilliant room here?

“This room,” Snape went on, ignoring the guilt that stabbed at him for his earlier misconceptions, “is yours. I created it – with the help of the house elves,” he added grudgingly, “- for you. It has never belonged to anyone else. It is yours.” He repeated that point, as the boy’s shocked expression suggested he was having trouble with the concept. “The things in this room all belong to you. No one else. You are supposed to touch them.”

But now the boy was shaking his head desperately, and his hands were tightly clenched before him, as if he were frightened that they would betray him in some way. “No, sir. No. They’re not mine. I never even saw them before. You must have made a mistake, sir. Maybe they belong to one of the other boys in the dorm. Please, sir, I never touched them.”

Great. The brat was becoming hysterical. Idiot Gryffindor. Unable to make the slightest deduction and panicking at the thought of Snape having furnished his room with unwittingly stolen goods.

Snape pulled the boy over to the bed with him and sat down, ignoring the magical hippogriffs’ annoyed roars. He positioned the trembling boy between his knees and looked him straight in the eye. “Potter. I will say this slowly, so try to follow,” he snapped, squirming internally at what he was about to reveal. “The things in this room are yours. They – stop shaking your head, you foolish child! – belong to you, because I purchased them for you.”

Harry froze. He couldn’t possibly have heard that correctly.

“Yes,” Snape continued. “I created this room for you and I purchased these things for you. A boy should have his own things. The fact that those unnatural relatives didn’t provide you with the basic necessities of life like food and clothing, let alone things appropriate for a growing boy – such as books and educational toys to stimulate the mind – in no way informs my behavior. You saw the Weasleys’ home. You saw all the things their children have, despite their extremely limited means. Did you imagine that I would treat you as poorly as those Muggles did? You are my ward, Potter. You will be treated as the important, deserving child that you are. Children are to be treasured, Potter. Your treatment here will reflect that.” Oh, Merlin, if Albus ever heard him say such nauseating pap he would never hear the end of it. He’d be Head of Hufflepuff by the end of the day if he kept this up, but the boy needed to hear it. The books all said so.

Indeed, the child was now staring at Snape as if he were some alien creature, mouthing gibberish. Snape growled in frustration, then decided that – so long as no one was around to witness it and since he had already outdone a Hufflepuff for sheer emotional gooeyness – he might as well take a page from Molly Weasley’s book. He lifted the boy onto his lap (HIS LAP! What was he thinking??) and patted him awkwardly. “It is all right, Potter. You deserve these things. You deserve to be treated well. You are a… good boy.” He couldn’t suppress a grimace as he said that last – it was so totally foreign to his nature – but he still forced the words out.

There was a roaring in Harry’s ears as he tried to process the completely impossible statements that had just come out of Snape’s mouth. All this was for him? The professor had gone out and bought them for him? With his own money? But why would the professor do such a thing? He’d already done so much for Harry! Why would he spend so much more time and effort and money on him?

“B-b-but why?” Harry finally managed to stutter.

“Potter! Weren’t you listening?” Snape admonished, tightening his grip around the boy’s thin shoulders. Good – he had a reason to scold. He was much better at that. “I told you. You are now my ward. It is my responsibility to ensure you have the things a young wizard needs.”

“B-but all this?” Harry squeaked, waving an arm at the enormous, wonderful, magical (literally) room. “I d-don’t need all this.”

Snape scowled even more fiercely. “Of course you do, you ridiculous child. Just because you have been treated like an illegitimate house elf for most of your life is no reason for such a state of affairs to continue. Do you imagine I will behave like those horrible Muggles? You deserve and are entitled to the same things that any other wizarding child has, and it is my responsibility to see that you have them.”

Harry’s eyes dropped. “But you already gave me a dad,” he whispered, one hand playing with Snape’s sleeve. “You don’t need to get me anything else.”

It took a moment for Harry’s words to sink in, and when they did, they were immediately followed by a roaring so loud that Snape wondered if someone was using the floo. Only the odd, squeezing feeling in his chest told him that the noise came from within.

Had that impertinent, unfathomable, unpredictable child just said that? Had he really referred to Snape as a father, his father? Snape wondered if the flying pigs that must surely have invaded Hogwarts were interfering with Quidditch practice.

He tried to speak and found it necessary to clear his throat first. “Erm, yes, well.” What was he supposed to say in response to such a ridiculous, inaccurate statement? “Well, erm, yes.” He needed to clear this up once and for all. He couldn’t have the brat running around Hogwarts spreading such ridiculous ideas. It was one thing for him to – reluctantly! – serve as the brat’s temporary guardian until Albus finally came to his senses and replaced him with someone appropriate, and quite another for anyone, particularly the spawn of his nemesis, to imagine him in some kind of paternal role. He could only imagine the howls of incredulity and derision with which such a notion would be greeted. And that would just be the faculty's reaction.

No, better to set the little menace straight once and for all. Make it clear that no self-respecting Snape would ever affiliate himself with an urchin, let alone a Potter. Just because he may have vowed to look after the boy didn’t mean he had to deal with anything beyond his material well-being. Even the Dursleys had done that – more or less. Well, rather less, if truth be told.

He opened his mouth to tell the brat, once and for all, that he was never to use that term again. That he was Snape’s ward by order of the Headmaster. That Snape would look after him because that was the man’s duty, nothing more. But before he could, Harry glanced up from where he had appeared mesmerized by his gentle tracing of Snape’s sleeve, and Lily’s eyes once again pinned his soul.

In the recesses of his mind, he dimly noted that – to his surprise – Harry wasn’t tentative or worried. Rather his eyes held quiet contentment and peace. As if whatever else might happen in the world, he had found his place of safety. He was shy, but not frightened.

Snape cleared his throat again. “You sound like a simpleton, Potter. Being in, er, that sort of position makes it all the more likely that I would provide these items. Now if you don’t like the room or the toys, then – “

“No!” Harry yelped. “No! They’re brilliant! I love them!”

Snape sniffed disapprovingly. “Well, since you have yet to say thank you, naturally I assumed –“

And once again the boy flung himself against the professor, hard enough to drive the breath from the man’s body. “Thank you thank you thank you,” he whispered into Snape’s chest, squeezing as hard as he could.

The exquisite pain in his chest was obviously caused by Potter driving his pointy skull against his breastbone, Snape told himself. “Yes, well, there had better not be any more of those ridiculous tears, Potter. I have no intention of letting yet another of my robes be spoiled by your inability to reliably use a handkerchief.” There was a suspicious snuffling sound from the area of his chest, and Snape muffled a sigh. “You have twenty minutes before dinnertime. I suggest you use it exploring your room, though if you insist, you may instead spend it weeping helplessly upon my shoulder.”

“I don’t weep helplessly!” Harry retorted indignantly, drawing back and looking up at the professor through eyes that were suspiciously shiny.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Of course not,” he agreed sardonically. He lifted the boy off his lap and deposited him on the bed. “I will summon you when it is time to go to the Great Hall.”

He left the boy to his explorations – hopefully the little idiot would be able to bring himself to touch the things in his room if he were unobserved for a while – and to be fair, he wasn’t sure if he could bear to remain in the room much longer. Dumbledore would doubtless have remained behind, demonstrating every game and toy, but Snape found he was having an unexpectedly difficult time maintaining his cool demeanor. Every time the little brat expressed shock at the most mundane civility, Snape was seized by an almost uncontrollable desire to Apparate to the Dursleys and demonstrate some Death Eater party tricks. He wondered if he could borrow Bellatrix LeStrange from Azkaban for a few hours, and maybe a Dementor or two…

Harry gazed about the room – his room, he swiftly corrected himself – and everywhere he looked, he saw new wonders to explore. He stroked the sheets on which he sat, and the hippogriffs on the sheets squawked and fluttered their wings in welcome. Dudley didn’t have sheets like these. He’d never even seen sheets like these. And his room wasn’t this big, either. Even if you put his two bedrooms together, this room – Harry’s room - was still bigger. And Dudley’s toys didn’t do anything. Harry’s toys (HARRY’S TOYS!!) did all sorts of amazing things. He knew he should probably be walking around and looking at the different toys and stuff, but right then, all he wanted to do was to sit and stare.

He had a room. A real room, that was all his own. And it was filled – practically to the brim! – with toys and books and all sorts of wonderful things. But the very best part, the part that was making Harry so happy that it hurt, in an odd, marvelous sort of way, was that Professor Snape had done it. For him. He had created the room and bought all the stuff Just For Harry.

Harry looked around the room, and his eyes didn’t see objects, they saw Love. Tangible, concrete examples of love and kindness and caring. Harry thought, a bit breathlessly, that his heart might explode if he were any happier. He flung himself down on the bed and stared up at the canopy and wondered if any other boy in the entire history of the world had ever been this happy.

And that’s how Snape found him twenty minutes later, lying flat on his back on the bed, an odd, blissful look on his face. “Potter!” Snape scolded, pulling him off the bed and smacking (not patting) him on the rear. After all the sentimentality earlier, he’d better send a strong message that Harry shouldn’t expect all hearts and flowers and cuddles from him. “Don’t lie on the bed with your shoes on, thoughtless child. Aren’t you ready? Have you washed your face and hands? Didn’t I tell you it was almost time for dinner?” The boy must have stumbled as he got to his feet, because suddenly his arms were around Snape’s waist and he was hanging onto him for support. Snape’s traitorous arms gave him a little squeeze even as he steadied the brat and set him firmly upright.

Harry gave Snape a hug as the man helped him up and was delighted when he got a brief embrace in return. It was nice to have a grown up whose gentle hands lifted you, complete with a playful tap on the bum. Before Hogwarts, Harry had never had an adult lay hands laid upon him other than in anger, and he found that he really, really liked the professor’s affectionate touch. It wasn’t soft like Mrs Weasley’s nor Madame Pomfrey’s, he mused, it was more… manly than that. It wasn’t hard enough to be roughhousing but it wasn’t babyish or girlie either. Harry grinned. It was what a dad was supposed to do. Not too gentle, not too rough – just right.

And now the professor was guiding him towards the bathroom, ordering him to get washed up, making sure that Harry was fresh and neat before he went out. It was so nice to have someone looking after him like that, making sure he didn’t disgrace himself, ensuring that he got to meals on time… Harry sighed happily.

Snape rolled his eyes at the boy’s histrionic noises. Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Such sighs and lamentations all because he had commanded the brat to wash up for dinner. What a melodramatic monster. “Hurry up,” he snapped. The boy was too skinny. He needed to eat his fill at meals, but given the appetites of his Housemates, if the boy didn’t get to the table on time, he’d be lucky if Longbottom and those other bottomless pits left him any scraps. “If you dawdle, you’ll have to take an extra nutritive potion,” he threatened darkly.

Harry dried his face and hands and hurried out. It was so nice of his professor to think of things like nutritive potions, let alone brew them for him. Maybe… maybe if he asked very nicely, after finishing all his punishment lines and essays, the professor would let him help prepare them?

“Come along,” Snape pulled Harry along in his wake as he strode towards the Great Hall. Harry noted several Slytherins watching and whispering as they made their way through the dungeons, and he smiled and waved. After all, he’d need to get along with members of his professor’s House. Oddly, his friendly greeting seemed to prompt even more furious whispers.

Then they were moving through the main corridors, and it was Gryffindors doing the watching and whispering. Harry didn’t mind. He was used to being whispered about – Dudley had always made sure that all the other kids at school thought he was weird and stupid. It was nice to have people whispering about him for good reasons, like having a new guardian. He figured not too many other professors had children at the school, so he’d be the center of attention for a while, but that was okay. Like when the professor scolded him for putting himself in danger – it was okay for a not-so-nice thing to happen (like scolding or whispering) so long as the underlying reason for it was good (like being cared about or sort-of-adopted).

“Go join your House, and remember to eat a balanced meal,” Snape ordered as they entered the Hall.

Harry nodded and hurried to join his Housemates. “Oi, Harry,” Oliver Wood intercepted him. Harry noticed that Oliver was moving a lot more easily than when he had left Snape’s classroom. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he assured the older boy. “Are you? Did Madame Pomfrey get you some potions?”

Wood sighed heavily. “Yeah, and she did help me with the essay too, but first I got a right good ticking off from her too. I’m really sorry about leaving you sore like that, Harry.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Harry reassured him hurriedly. He didn’t want the team captain to think he was a crybaby!

Oliver gave him a dubious look. “Right. Well, anyway, from now on, we’ll start and end all practices and games with stretches. Be sure your – erm, that is, can you make sure Professor Snape knows that?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed. He sat next to Oliver and several other team members and was quickly immersed in a loud discussion of Qudditch's finer points.

At the staff table, Snape watched the disobedient brat as he completely ignored the vegetables in favor of meat and potatoes. Worse, he filled up on rolls and pumpkin juice while waiting for the main course to appear. He leveled a glare so scorching that the Gryffindors on either side of him felt it and flinched. Katie Bell hastily nudged Potter and whispered in his ear. The little monster started, glanced quickly at the staff table, then blushed violently. A moment later he was scooping vegetables onto his plate, much to Katie and Oliver’s amusement.

“Hmm. I see Harry’s eating habits are undergoing a dramatic change,” McGonagall murmured in his ear. “Would that be your influence, Severus?”

He gave her a lofty stare. “As his Head of House, I would have expected you to exert your influence and explain that chocolate frogs are not an appropriate form of sustenance.”

She sighed. “Oh, Severus, he’s had so few treats in his life. Surely a frog or two –“

He tuned her out. Typical bloody Gryffindor. Just as he told Albus – too focused on the boy’s tragic past to help him build a strong and healthy future. Well, if he had to be the Evil Bat, so be it, but Potter would not grow up to be The Boy Who Lived To Ignore Green Vegetables if he had anything to say about it.

When the pudding came around, Harry virtuously ignored it… after casting a hopeful eye at the staff table. What he read in Snape’s face was sufficient to convince him not to even try sneaking a taste.

Oliver caught the interaction. “He told you no pudding, didn’t he?” he whispered to Harry.

Harry sighed and nodded.

“Want me to try to pass you some under the table?”

“Better not.” Harry shook his head, remembering the professor’s threat to have the house elves spoon feed him. He still wasn’t entirely sure what house elves were, but he figured that having anything spoon feed him in the Great Hall would be mortifying beyond his wildest dreams.

Oliver glanced at the staff table and shivered. “Yeah, probably best not to risk it.” He glanced at the table. “Bet he wouldn’t mind if you had some fruit,” he said, nodding at the fruit bowls that dotted the long tables.

Harry bit his lip. “Really?”

“Yeah, they’re practically like vegetables.”

Harry remembered how the professor had given him an apple for a snack earlier, after confiscating the chocolate frog. He reached out a cautious hand towards the fruit, watching the staff table closely. At his professor’s nod, he relaxed and took a banana and some grapes. “Thanks!” he told Wood.

“No worries, kid,” the older boy grinned. “Gotta keep our Seeker in top form!”

After dinner, Harry returned to the dorm with Neville, Dean, and Seamus – the older students having headed off to study. As they reached the portrait, they were intercepted by McGonagall. “Mr Potter,” she called, “Professor Snape asked me to remind you that you are to report to his office tomorrow morning at 10.” She looked at him closely. “It is not marked down as a detention in my records, Mr Potter, so you need not attend if you don’t wish it… Would you like me to speak with Professor Snape about releasing you from the meeting, or are you all right?”

He smiled at her. “I’m fine, Professor. Hey, Neville – maybe you want to come along too?”

Longbottom choked and paled. “What? Why?”

“You can see my room – it’s brilliant – and I’m going to ask Professor Snape to let me brew with him. Maybe if you come, you’ll get some tips to help you in class.”

McGonagall was staring at him with her mouth agape. “You – what – but – Severus – eh?”

She stared after the boys as they climbed through the portrait, Harry still enthusiastically trying to convince Neville. She had started the conversation feeling quite anxious about how Harry was faring with Severus. But now, witnessing Harry's behavior, she found herself rather more worried about how this new situation was going to affect Snape. Poor Severus! She suspected he had no idea what he was in for…