As soon as Snape was gone, Harry surveyed his surroundings. He was in a very large room, longer than it was wide, with windows on three of the four sides. It was airy and bright, the furniture sparse but practical. There was a desk near a bank of windows, giving the person seated there a fantastic view of the fields and mountains outside. At the moment, the sky was overcast and a strong wind rattled the panes. On the other side of the room, there was a small kitchenette with a set of cabinets, a sink, a small refrigerator, and a small stove. A table and two chairs perched by a nearby window. To the right of the kitchen was the bathroom he had used earlier. There were three other doors off the back of the room, but they were closed. On the other side of the room was a fireplace with an ornate marble hearth. He was in the center of the room, on a soft sofa. A coffee table hovered before him, one of its legs missing. A loveseat rested off to one side, and two chintz chairs sat opposite him, including the one Professor Snape had vacated moments ago. A large area rug tied the small grouping of furniture together. Behind him, a staircase lead to a balcony, though he could not see what was up above.

Only two paintings hung on the wall. One was a cluster of pink, white, and yellow flowers—lilies he thought—the petals of which rippled languidly in an unseen breeze. The other was of a woman standing on an ocean beach. She wore a white and yellow sundress accented with pink ribbons. Her long chestnut hair glinted red in the sunlight, flowing over her freckled shoulders and down her suntanned back. Her face was in profile, shaded by the angle of the sun and framed by windblown curls. She was gazing at her feet, laughing in delight as she dug her toes into the wet sand while waves lapped at her ankles. The painting was mesmerizing. He couldn’t seem to draw his gaze away from it.

Suddenly, a loud crack reverberated in the air. His hand reached automatically for his wand.

“Dobby!” he exclaimed as the house elf appeared two feet from him. “You scared me half to death!”

“Dobby is most sorry, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby said, his eyes wide, his ears a quiver. “Dobby will punish himself most thoroughly for scaring Harry Potter, sir.”

“No!” Harry yelled, reaching for Dobby before crumpling over in pain. “No, Dobby, please, don’t,” he rasped. “Not on my account.”

Dobby hesitated. “Harry Potter does not look well, sir.”

“I’m fine, Dobby, really,” Harry said, trying to make his voice even and convincing. He forced himself to sit upright. “It’s nice to see you.”

Dobby beamed. “Dobby came to see if Harry Potter is hungry, sir.”

Harry considered this. If his calculations were right, he had not eaten in three days. Still unsure of his stomach, though, he thought it prudent to be cautious. “I am, Dobby, but perhaps just something light? Like soup and bread?”

“Oh, yes, Harry Potter. Dobby will bring you soup and bread right away, sir.” With a crack, Dobby was gone.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He pushed back the patchwork quilt, and rubbed the black silk robe someone had placed on him. The silk ran like water between his fingers and felt cool against the welts on his back. He tried to settle himself more comfortable onto the couch but it was no use. The pain was getting worse, not better. He knew Snape must have given him a pain draught, two if he could count. Why was it not helping? He looked at the red cube on the table. He would not give Snape the satisfaction of using it. He did wonder, though, if Madam Pomfrey or anyone else would come to check on him. He had no idea where he was and he didn’t imagine that Snape’s reluctant tolerance towards him would last much longer.

 “He can’t go back there, they nearly killed him!”

“I am aware of the circumstances, Severus,” the older wizard replied, studying Snape with his keen blue eyes. “And yet we find ourselves in an untenable situation. The blood wards remain in effect. No other place is as safe.”

“And if he dies at their hands, all the blood wards in the world will not matter,” Snape countered.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and studied his protégé. Snape stood rigid beneath the headmaster’s shrewd assessment.

“Why the change of heart, Severus? Why the sudden concern for the child’s welfare?”

“It is a matter of common decency, nothing more. No child deserves to be beaten and starved and left to his own devices.”

Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Not even you, Severus?”

Snape waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “We weren’t talking about my childhood. What’s in the past is best left in the past.”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore replied. “Did you not ever wish that someone had found out about your situation before it was too late?”

“Of course I did,” Snape replied.

“To rescue you?”

“Yes, but what difference…”

“And now you’ve rescued young Harry, who was arguably in your same situation, wishing for the same things.”

“I highly doubt Mr. Potter wished to be rescued by me,” Snape said, his hands balling into fists.

“Maybe not, but you understand him. You understand what he’s going through.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant…” Snape began.

“It’s very relevant, my boy,” Dumbledore said, getting up from behind his desk and walking towards Severus. “Who better to help him recover from his ordeal? To help him get his feet back under him?”

Snape gaped. “You’ve got to be joking, old man. Harry Potter as my charge?” Snape laughed bitterly. “He’d agree to that just as soon as I would. In other words, never.”

“Ah, but you’ve already agreed, Severus, whether you realize it or not. And if you took a chance on Harry, told him about your past…”

“Never,” Snape said, blanching. “You wouldn’t dare…”

“It was merely a suggestion,” Dumbledore allowed. “As I was saying, unless we can find a suitable place for Mr. Potter, he’ll have to return to his relatives.”

“No,” Snape said, gritting his teeth. “Headmaster, you can not allow that. Certainly the Weasley’s would take him in.”

“Certainly they would,” agreed Dumbledore. “But we both know that he could not be adequately protected there, not to mention the risk to the Weasley family.”

“Then here, at Hogwarts.”

“An excellent suggestion,” Dumbledore said, skewering the potions master with that blue gaze. “But he could not be allowed to stay in Gryffindor tower alone. Nor is the castle entirely safe. He’d have to be kept someplace safe, someplace the Ministry could not reach him.”

“No,” Snape said, crossing his arms. “Don’t even go there.”

“No place is safer than your quarters, Severus. I wouldn’t ask this of you if there were any alternatives.”

“No,” Snape repeated.

“He seems to have settled in quite nicely,” Dumbledore prodded.

“The placement was done strictly out of necessity. It was only meant to be temporary,” Snape argued. Seeing the headmaster’s knowing grin, Snape leaned forward, grasping the arms of his chair for support. “He doesn’t even know where he is! We’d kill each other within a week…”

“Ah, you underestimate your charms, my dear boy.”

“And you overestimate yours,” Snape retorted. “The answer is still no.”

Dumbledore stepped back behind his desk and sank down into his chair. “Very well,” he sighed, pulling a piece of parchment toward him. He began to write, very slowly. “I’m so sorry, Harry,” he murmured to himself, “Please forgive me.”

Snape stiffened. “What are you writing?”

“The orders for him to return to his aunt and uncle. With a strict written warning from me regarding their treatment of him, of course.”

Outraged, Snape stood, his hands balled into fists. “This is blackmail! Outright blackmail!” He paced the office, agitation clear in every line of his body. “Haven’t I done everything you’ve ever asked of me? Every crazy, hair-brained scheme you’ve ever invented?”

Dumbledore stroked his beard, looking amused.

“And now you ask this of me. This, of all things. To watch over the Potter brat. To heal his wounds,” Snape spat.

“It’s what Lily would have wanted,” Dumbledore murmured.

Snape turned so quickly that even the headmaster flinched. “Don’t. Ever. Use. That. Against. Me. I’ve paid my dues.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Dumbledore conceded: “That you have, my boy, that you have. Nonetheless, there is still the question of Mr. Potter’s summer residence. And if all goes well, it will only be until his birthday…”