As they neared the manor, Harry got a sense of how magnificent the place was. There were two stories, with one more, undoubtedly, underground. It wouldn’t be a Snape family home without a dungeon, Harry thought. Almost the entire building was composed of gray stone, and in the overcast afternoon, it looked quite cold and harsh. The roof of the first floor was flat, and the second, smaller floor was perched on top, though it wasn’t really small per say, as Harry counted at least four huge rooms on the side facing him, their windows surrounded by olive green shutters.

Snape led him up one of two wide stone staircases that met up together behind a centre fountain. Tall, grey stone columns sheltered in ivy lined the walk to the front door. Snape placed his palm against the door and whispered a string of Latin words.

“Ego reverto. Patefacio enim tui erus.”

The huge doors gave off a brief golden glow, and letting go of Harry’s arm, the Professor pushed open the heavy oak door and motioned the boy into the foyer. Inside, as if expecting them, stood a house elf wearing a light pink pillow case, her willowy ears bobbing against her leathery russet skin as she hopped from one foot to the other. She stared up at Harry with large dusky blue eyes and wrung her hands together anxiously, before tilting her head and looking at the Professor in anticipation.

“Della, this is Mr. Potter. He will be joining me for the remainder of the summer. Have the corner room made up immediately.”

The elf emitted a little squeak and nodded quickly, and then with a barely audible pop, she was gone.

Snape led Harry around the corner into a large sitting room. It was much like his school quarters, Harry noticed, decorated in warm auburns accented with cream and rich bronze, with a large woven rug on the hardwood floor and a roaring fire in the hearth. Multiple candelabras lit the room, their soft glow giving the area an ethereal appearance. It was quite beautiful really, definitely not the sort of room Harry would have expected, but it seemed he was finding out that the Professor was not quite the man he expected, either. He sank wearily onto the couch, which was one of two in the room, the same kind that sat in the Professor’s quarters back at Hogwarts. Harry leaned back against a comfy throw cushion and stared into the fireplace. His eyes began to droop as fingers of flame flicked around the fireplace, as if trying to catch a wildly floating ember.

Harry pondered the last twenty four hours. So far he’d been abandoned, drugged, dragged half way across the country, and almost tossed off a cliff. Add to that a hot and cold running Snape, who one minute seemed almost like he had a heart, then the next acted like he wanted to rip Harry to pieces. The alarm and confusion of the last day made for one absolutely spent young man.

Harry wasn’t the only one deep in thought. Severus stood in the doorway as he waited for Della to return from arranging the spare room. He glanced over at Harry, who looked so small and thin against the large settee. He looked exhausted, his eyes heavy lidded as he stared into the fire. There would be no need for a sleeping potion at this rate. He watched as Harry’s head started to fall slowly to his chest. Suddenly the boy twitched sharply, opening his eyes wide and taking a deep breath. He was trying to stay awake, no doubt an ongoing ritual by the looks of the worn out child. Severus narrowed his eyes as he brooded over the incident at the cliff after they’d appeared in the meadow.

At first he’d thought the boy was terrified at being so close to the cliff’s edge, and Severus had told the silly child to move before he ended up dashed against the rocks. It was then he’d noticed the boy’s clenched fists, white knuckled with pressure, his chest heaving with uncontrolled breaths. He’d gone to him then and seen Harry’s glazed, unfocused eyes, his lips moving soundlessly, his face contorted in fear. It hadn’t been an aversion to heights. It hadn’t even been a panic attack. Severus stroked his chin thoughtfully. Potter had been through some sort of abuse. Even if the boy hadn’t all but hysterically blurted it out the night before, the fact that the child tensed at every touch and flinched at a raised hand was silent testimony to repeated brutality. The attack he’d witnessed earlier may have been some sort of flashback brought on by stress. Merlin knew the boy was one big ball of it.

A small popping sound alerted Severus to Della’s arrival, and he abandoned his thoughts of Potter’s issues for the moment.

“Mister Potter’s room is being ready, Master Snape,” the house elf said with a low bow, the tips of her lengthy ears gently dusting the floor.

“We will need a light lunch. Mr. Potter will be eating in his room,” Snape replied, dismissing the gangly elf to the kitchen. “Mr. Potter, accompany me if you please?”

He watched as the boy slowly drew himself to his feet and crossed the room. He followed the Professor out into the hall and up the staircase on the other side of the foyer. The shadowy hallway was barely illuminated by a few flickering candles, and Harry noticed several portraits hanging on the walls. They neared a painting of a particularly miserable looking man whose head moved to follow Harry as he grew closer. Harry slowed slightly before realizing the man’s eyes were only empty sockets, and he backed up against the opposite wall, his back scraping against the rock as he side stepped past the painting. He took a few quick steps to catch up to the Professor, who had come to a stop further down the hall.

“This,” Snape said, “is my private potions lab. This door leads to a passage between the floors of the house which ends in a room under the manor.”

Harry nodded, yup, he was right. Snape without a cold, murky dungeon was like Professor Dumbledore without his lemon drops. You just couldn’t have one without the other. Leaning closer to the wall, he could barely make out the edges of a door cut into the stone.

“Mr. Potter, I shall say this only once, and I expect you to take it to heart.”

He waited for Harry’s eyes to meet his before he spoke again in a slow and dangerously chilling voice.

“If I ever catch you past this door without my express permission, I will not be held responsible for my actions towards you.”

He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in.

“Do I make myself abundantly clear?”

Harry nodded quickly.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, wondering instantly what was so special that it had to be hidden away behind a secret door in an underground chamber. Maybe top secret potions were being brewed, or maybe someone or something was down there! Some hideous experiment perhaps, like that movie Harry had listened to once as he lay locked away under the stairs while Dudley sat on his fat behind in the sitting room and munched on crisps. There was a man, a scientist, and he created a horrible monster and there was a lot of screaming, and Dudley had giggled like an idiot every time someone got killed by the thing. Maybe Snape had some sort of monst….

“Mr. Potter!”

Harry’s head whipped around to see that the Professor had already started off towards the end of the corridor. He took one last wondering look at the mysterious door, and followed.

“This is my room,” Snape said, gesturing at a closed door as they passed. “Though not as guarded as my potions lab, I assure you, Potter, that you will not be fond of the consequences should I find you within it. And this,” he finished, stopping at the last door at the end of the hall, “is your room during your stay.” He stepped back, allowing Harry to push open the door himself.

Harry’s eyes widened as he entered the bedroom. It was huge, at least triple the size of any bedroom at the Dursley’s. A massive king sized bed stood against one wall, a small table on either side, and on the other wall, a row of windows looked out over the front of the house. In the far corner was a door that led to a bathroom, and in the other corner stood a chair and a reading lamp.

“Wow,” Harry exclaimed under his breath.

“I take it this is to your satisfaction?” Snape asked, amused at the boy’s awe.

“Oh, yeah!” He replied, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I mean, yes, thank you, Sir.”

The exhilaration drained from him in an instant. He’d forgotten himself there for a moment. It was so easy to forget when Uncle Vernon wasn’t keeping him in line. For a second, his eyes met Snape’s as he tried to gage if the man was angry at him for his disrespect. Disrespect was not tolerated by Uncle Vernon. Disrespect meant a beating and the cupboard. Actually, pretty much everything meant a beating and the cupboard. Offenses included looking at Dudley, touching something that belonged to Dudley, not finishing a chore, breathing too loud, being alive, that sort of thing. He didn’t see the familiar flash of anger in Professor Snape’s eyes though. He broke eye contact and stared down at the floor. There was something in Snape’s eyes he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it made his throat tight and a funny sharp feeling start in his chest.

“Your things, Potter,” Snape demanded, holding out his hand.

Harry reached into his pocket and handed over the tiny trunk, which Snape spelled back to its normal size.

“Get changed. You’re having lunch, then you’re heading to bed for some much needed sleep.”

Harry froze in mid reach. Sleep. The word was like a bad omen.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied, forcing himself to keep from shaking as he lifted the trunk lid.

“I will return momentarily,” Snape said, as he walked out of the room, leaving the anxious boy rummaging though his belongings.

He pulled out one of his Dudley hand-me-downs, a rumpled and ripped tee shirt that served as his night wear. It was far too large to wear as a normal shirt since it hung down almost to his knees. He changed quickly, folding his clothes and stacking them to one side in his trunk. Not really knowing what to do next, he sat on the edge of his bed, nervously lacing and unlacing his fingers repeatedly. The horrid nervous feeling from yesterday was back, and it gnawed at his stomach like a frightened animal.

All of a sudden he felt the need to run. It was one of those fight or flight responses, like when Uncle Vernon was coming at him with his hand raised with that murderous look on his face, and Harry’s mind was screaming at him to get out-get out, and knew he could probably make it to the front door and out into the street before him. But every time, he stood there like an idiot, his chest a tight knot of fear, knowing exactly what was coming, and being so intensely afraid of it, so damn terrified that he would have given anything for his legs to obey him and carry him out of that house and down the street and across town and the country and the ocean and the earth. Then afterwards, lying in the cupboard, his body on fire with pain, barely able to breathe through the agony, he’d swear to whatever God was up there that next time, next time he was going to run.

He made the same promise the next time.

And the time after that.

After all those years, he never did manage to keep it.

But now, in Snape’s home of all places, where it wasn’t as easy as tearing out into the street and away, he was actually considering making a break for it. His left leg twitched as if to egg him on and Harry eyed the open door, his tongue sweeping across his lips nervously. Snape could be out there, just down the hall, or down the stairs, or coming out of his mysterious lab. No, it was better to wait. After all, he’d only just arrived and had no idea how big the island was, or if anyone else was here, or how he’d get away. He’d bide his time, explore the place, and then he’d make a plan.

Suddenly a pop sounded from out in the hallway, and Della came into view holding a tray. She nervously poked her nut brown head around the door and scanned the room.

“Um, Professor Snape isn’t here,” Harry offered.

Della didn’t reply, but gave a little squeak and trotted over to the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table.

“Your lunch, Mister Potter,” Della said in a high pitched voice.

She gave a low bow, then lifted her head and looked at Harry expectantly.

“Uh, Della right? Thank you,” Harry said, not sure what the little creature was wanting.

The house elf’s eyes suddenly became impossibly wide. She stood upright, emitted several very anxious sounding squeals and looked nervously at the bedroom door before disappearing with another pop. Harry sighed. She sure was a bizarre little thing. He glanced over at the tray she’d left him. A bowl of vegetable soup with small chunks of what he assumed was beef, a small salad, and a large glass of milk. He leaned over and sniffed at the soup, his stomach growling in protest at the thought of food. Harry frowned. He didn’t trust Snape’s soup as far as he could toss it. It was probably spiked with some sort of potion. Glancing at the door, Harry quickly scooped up the tray and hurried into the bathroom. He flipped up the lid of the toilet and poured the milk and soup into the bowl. He flushed, then all but ran back to the bed and set the tray back where it had been before sitting back down on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t flush the salad, but he’d make up something.

Seconds later, Snape returned holding a vial of pink fluid. Harry’s eyes narrowed as he remembered the same vial being produced for him the night before, the one that forced him into sleep, into his nightmares. He caught Snape’s eye, and the man opened his mouth to speak, but paused as a look of disgust came over his face.

“What on earth are you wearing, Potter?”

Harry looked down at himself, humiliated. It wasn’t his fault he had to wear this tattered old shirt to bed. He was lucky the Dursleys gave him any clothes at all.

“I don’t have any pajamas, Sir,” he said quietly, his cheeks reddening.

“That much is clear,” Snape said disdainfully. “I will remedy that tomorrow. I see you have eaten.”

“Uh, yes, Sir. It was good, thank you,” Harry said quickly, forgetting he was going to make something up about the salad. Oh, crap. “Oh, uh, I didn’t eat the salad. I’m sorry, Sir. Um…I didn’t like the dressing.”

He snuck a quick look at the salad, praying it even had dressing on it, he couldn’t actually remember. He hid a sigh of relief as he noticed the leaves glistening with balsamic vinegar, which ironically, was his favourite.

“It looks as if we will have to work on your dietary choices,” Snape replied. “For now,” he said, extending his hand with the potion, “You will take this.”

Harry stared at the vial, making no move to accept it. He felt his hands begin to tremble and he stuffed them under his rear, sitting on them. Snape sighed, noticing the boy’s fear.

“Mr. Potter, there is no need for apprehension. This is a simple Dreamless Sleep potion. It will allow you to sleep without…interruption.”

Harry cringed inwardly. Dammit, so Snape did know he’d had a nightmare last night. He’d have to be more careful from now on.

Snape’s arm hung in the air, the magenta liquid lapping at the rim of the vial between his fingers. Harry didn’t move, but Snape noticed the change in the boy's breathing as he tried desperately to fight off the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, his eyes fixated on the little glass container.

Time for a different approach Snape thought to himself. He knelt down in front of the boy.

“Potter, look at me.” he said gently. Harry dragged his eyes off the vial and met Snape’s concerned gaze. “Potter, there’s nothing to fear. It isn’t going to hurt you. You desperately need to sleep.” Harry shook his head fearfully.

“Don’t make me take it,” he whispered, his voice wavering. He was obviously near tears. “Please don’t make me take it.”

Snape was taken aback by the sheer desperation in the boy’s voice. The boy was absolutely petrified to sleep. He had to assure the boy that his dreams would be held at bay. If he could convince him of that, there was a chance.

“Pot…Harry. Harry, you won’t dream, I promise you won’t. The potion doesn’t allow a dream state. I give you my word, there’s no possible way you can dream after taking this potion.” Snape extended his hand again.

“No, no, no!” Harry cried frantically, scrambling backwards across the bed and sliding clumsily to the floor so the bed was between him and Snape, him and the vial. His mind was a jumble of emotions. Why couldn’t he control himself? He was able to do it with Uncle Vernon in front of him. He wouldn’t dare tell Uncle Vernon no. He could take a beating without making a sound, but with Snape, it was different. For some reason he couldn’t keep the emotions buried.

The Professor sighed as Harry escaped across the bed. He lowered his head and rubbed at his temple for a moment before standing. Right, he thought. Kindness isn’t working. What does the boy respond to? When is he the most compliant? Who would…ahhh, yes, got it.

“Mr. Potter!” he barked. “I have had enough of your absurdity. Come here this instant! I assure you, the consequences will be dire should you refuse me!”

He watched as Harry flinched at his words. He felt guilt nagging in the pit of his stomach, but sure enough, the boy walked slowly around the bed like a condemned man, and stood before Snape, breathing heavily.

“Now.” he snapped, holding out the vial. “You will consume this potion immediately or I will put you in a body bind and force it down your throat myself!”

Slowly, Harry’s small hand reached out, and with quivering fingers, plucked the glass vial from Snape’s grasp. He watched as the boy pulled his bottom lip into his teeth as he seemed to do when he was nervous. Snape slowly extended his arm and placed his thumb on the boy’s chin, pulling the lip from between the child’s teeth.

“Drink,” he commanded.

With agonizing slowness, Harry brought the vial to his lips. He shuddered before tipping back his head and emptying the contents into his mouth.

“Swallow,” Snape instructed, and Harry complied, his eyes brimming with tears as he handed the empty vial back to the Professor.

“Good boy,” Snape said softly. He pulled back the bedspread and taking Harry’s arm, led him to the side of the bed and helped him in. He pulled the covers up to the boy’s chest and sighed.

“Harry. I…I apologize for this. You must believe me when I say that I am doing this for your own good. I promise you, you will not dream.”

The boy’s bottom lip quivered slightly, and Snape noticed his jaw stiffen in an effort to stop it. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as he tried to fight against the fatigue that was slowly washing over him. He took a deep shuddering breath and clenched his fists into the sheets as he slowly succumbed to the effects of the elixir. After a few moments his eyes closed and his head lolled to one side, his breathing steady.

Snape took a deep breath of his own and exhaled slowly. He reached down and straightened the covers over the boy.

“I do not know what haunts you child, but it will not haunt you tonight,” he whispered.

He walked back to the door and with a wave of his hand, extinguished the lights. Another motion and the heavy curtains slid along their tracks, covering the windows and plunging the room into complete darkness.

He closed the door with a soft click and walked back down the hall. Della would have lunch waiting for him, and after the events of the day, he prayed to Merlin that it was accompanied by a very large glass of wine.