There wasn't a single moment Harry could ever recall being so reluctant to go somewhere. He stood, unconsciously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze focused on the floor.

"Stop dawdling, Potter," Snape's voice moved him to action. Harry stepped past the Potions professor and into the room beyond. He had envisioned the man's dwelling as a place shrouded in darkness, with cobwebs in every corner and shelf upon shelf of ghastly potion ingredients.

Instead, Snape's quarters were impeccably tidy and well-lit. In fact, the only thing he'd been correct about were the shelves. Floor to ceiling shelves lined the walls, filled with what must have been hundreds of books. A fireplace sat in the wall opposite the door, two picture frames resting upon its mantle. The sofa and the two chairs looked very comfortable, their upholstery a dark blue in color. Upon the coffee table, there appeared to be a small stack of potions journals.

"Not the den of despair you imagined, Potter?" Snape questioned after closing the door. He suppressed an amused smirk.

Harry quickly shook his head. "No, sir," he answered.

"Never seen a boy so prone to gawk," the man muttered to himself, loudly enough for his new charge to hear.

Harry wisely refrained from commenting.

"That is the kitchen, seldom used though it is," Snape told him, pointing to the open entryway immediately to their left. Harry could see cabinets and a table with chairs. The man indicated the corner to their right. "That is my private lab, which – I will state right now – is off-limits."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. He followed as the man moved farther into the room.

Snape motioned to another door further along the right-hand wall that was a few steps from the floo. "You may enter my study only when I am in there." They entered a short hallway containing three doors: two on the left at either end, and another on the right, in-between. The first door was identified as the lavatory and the second as Snape's bedroom. It was only a few steps to the end of the hall.

"This will be your room," Snape told him, opening the door and waving Harry inside.

It wasn't a large room, but it was easily as big as Dudley's second bedroom and without all his rejected clutter. In the corner directly across from the door was a desk. A bookcase, which was mostly empty, stood against the wall next to the door. The bed stood in the far left-hand corner, its comforter patterned in burgundy and gold. A wardrobe took up the remaining wall space at its foot, while a bedside table stood by its head. The floor was covered with cream-colored carpeting.

What caught Harry's attention the most, however, was the wall between the bed and the desk – or rather, the window which was charmed to show the Quidditch Pitch.

"That was the headmaster's idea," Snape told him, which was only partly true. The view was Albus' idea. Snape had intended to put in the window, anyway, but Potter didn't need to know that. "Sadly, there won't be any Quidditch to see this year."

Harry leaned against the window frame. It really did seem like he was looking out over the Pitch. He looked about the room once more, his gaze coming back to Snape. "I'm sorry, sir," he said.

"Whatever are you apologizing for, Potter?" the man demanded. "Is the room not up to your standards?"

"No, sir!" Harry exclaimed. "It's the best room I've ever been in, it's just... you must have had something else in here."

The best room he's ever been in?

"Just boxes, Potter," Snape told him, "mostly antiquated potions equipment left behind by my predecessors. You gave me a reason to finally be rid of it." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to reassure the boy, but as the damage was already done, he turned to go. "I'll leave you to put your things away. Mr. Weasley packed your trunk, so if anything is missing, he's at fault."

"Thank you, sir."

Snape almost hadn't heard the words, Potter had spoken so quietly, but he did, just before he closed the door. An odd feeling briefly swept over him. Unable to identify it, the man dismissed the sensation and made his way to his lab. He had some work to do.

0o0o0

For a moment, Harry didn't know where he was. He scrambled upright, his hand locating his glasses on the table beside the bed. Reaching out again, he found his wand and quickly whispered, "Lumos." He was startled when after a few seconds, the light seemingly jumped from the end of his wand to the lamp on the bedside table. As the soft glow lit up his surroundings, Harry suddenly remembered.

He was in Snape's quarters.

Tapping the lamp once, then twice to make it brighter, Harry threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Crossing to the window, he pushed the curtains open. It was dark over the Pitch, a sliver of moon the only illumination. Harry wondered what time it was, then decided it didn't matter.

Finding his room too quiet, Harry went to the door and made his way to the living room. He was glad to find a small fire still going in the fireplace. Often, he sought out the common room's fire for company when he woke during the night. The crackling coals were comforting to him. Sometimes he would fall back to sleep in front of it until others started getting up and making noise.

Harry laid down on his back between the floo and the coffee table, turning his head to stare into the flickering flames. With all the things going wrong in his life, at least he didn't have to be at the Dursleys'.

Meanwhile, Snape set his stirring rod aside, frowning thoughtfully at the headache draught he'd just finished. The color was a bit off, but that was due to the substitution of ingredients necessary to make it safe for Potter.

The Potions Master gazed over at the table in the back corner of the lab. It was the space he reserved for long-term projects and potions requiring days of brewing time. At the moment, half the table was piled high with books and notes. He'd intended to begin his first attempt at an antidote for Potter's Poison (as he'd come to think of it) over the weekend, but with Potter's episode and getting a room prepared so he could have more direct supervision of the brat, those plans had been set aside. He decided that the next day after classes would have to suffice.

Content that he now had practically any potion the boy might possibly need in a Potter-safe formula, Snape set the draught to cool and made his way into the living room. Though it was already late, he wanted to do some reading before going to bed. He made his way towards the bookcase just left of the floo. Selecting the book that he wanted, Snape turned to go to his study and was mildly surprised to find a pair of pajama-clad knees protruding from his rug.

Potter was laying in front of the dwindling fire, knees bent, feet bare, and face turned to watch the smoldering coals. "Potter. What are you doing?"

The boy started in surprise, his head jerking around to face his professor. Slowly, he levered himself into a sitting position before rising to his feet. Snape raised a brow at him expectantly.

"Sorry, sir," Harry murmured.

"Why are you up?" Snape demanded. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, sir. I just woke up."

The man let out an impatient sigh. "I really don't wish to play games with you, Potter. Why did you wake up? And why in Merlin's name didn't you go back to sleep?"

"I had a dream."

"A nightmare, I presume. What about?"

"Nothing."

"Potter."

"My relatives, sir."

"Your relatives," Snape repeated. "Don't tell me you dreamed they disowned you because you were sick or some such nonsense."

Harry stiffened, turning his gaze back to the fireplace. "No, sir. Nothing like that."

"Well, what was it, then?" the man questioned, suddenly very interested in the boy's response.

"It's nothing. I don't want to talk about it." Only, Snape heard, "I don't want to talk about them." He decided to switch tactics.

"Fine," he said. "But I do have another question, if you'd rather answer that, instead."

"Alright."

"Earlier – what did you mean that the room is the best you'd ever been in? What of your room at home?" Snape knew well that the Dursleys received a stipend from Dumbledore for the boy's upkeep. There was no reason for him to find a sparsely furbished room so impressive.

Harry stared at him, obviously pondering which question he'd rather answer and not particularly caring for his options. "I dreamed about the punishment I received for accidentally setting a python on my cousin," and every other punishment I've gotten for accidental magic, not to mention how happy they'd be to know that I'm dying... "I didn't think it particularly fair."

He expected Snape to sneer at him for whining about something he obviously deserved. Instead, the man asked, "How were you punished?"

"Chores," Harry answered. "I'm going back to bed, sir." He stepped around the man and headed for the hallway.

"... and?"

The teen slowed in his tracks, stopping just even with the wall. He shook his head, hoping that would satisfy the man.

It didn't. "Did they hit you, Potter?"

Harry wasn't sure how to decipher the man's tone. "No, sir. They didn't hit me." He continued on to his room before the man could question him further.

Snape found what the boy hadn't said far more interesting than what he had. His reluctance to speak told volumes of the information he'd omitted. Two things Snape found himself certain of: several of his assumptions about Potter were probably wrong, and Potter hadn't been entirely honest in answering him – maybe not at all.

0o0o0

Harry was in Potions class, bent over his cauldron. The mixture was boiling ominously. He reached for the next ingredient – gurdyroot – only, there was reddish line along its shoot. The boy looked up at the chalkboard, dismayed to find that the name of the Potion written there was "Perfectus Memoria." Hesitantly, he raised his hand.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape hissed, appearing at his side.

"Sir..." he began, "this is the wrong ingredient."

"Are you questioning me, boy?"

"No, sir, it's just..." Before he could finish speaking, Neville's cauldron exploded. The classroom had morphed into the second floor girls' lavatory, his classmates standing at each of the stalls and sinks.

Snape held a vial aloft as he stood in the midst of the ruined cauldron. "Someone needs to test Longbottom's potion. Potter. You seem rather opinionated about this particular assignment."

"NO! It's poison!" Harry exclaimed.

"You can either take it or suffer the consequences, boy," Uncle Vernon spat, stomping across the room and shoving the potion into his hand. Harry looked down, the yellowish-orange sludge bubbling in the phial.

"Scared, Potter?"

"Useless freak – I'll teach you to disobey me!"

"No... No!"

"Potter."

"I won't. I don't wanna die! I don't!"

"Potter." Uncle Vernon grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, shaking him until it seemed his teeth rattled in his head. "Potter. If you don't wake up, you will be late."

"No..." the boy murmured in his sleep. "Won't."

Snape shook his shoulder again. "Harry," he tried the boy's first name. "Wake up."

Potter jerked violently, his eyes snapping open. With an alacrity that surprised his professor, he scrambled back into the corner, knees hugged protectively against his chest. For a moment, the only sound was the boy's erratic breathing.

"Here, Potter," Snape held out the boy's glasses.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out to take his eye wear and put them on. The boy gazed dubiously at the man standing beside his bed. He knew there was no way to brush off his reaction, and especially not without arousing suspicion, but still, he desperately hoped that Snape would just let it go.

"Another nightmare, Potter?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered, moving out from his position against the wall to sit on the edge of the mattress. "I'm sorry."

Snape stared at the back of Potter's head, since the boy had fixed his gaze to a spot on the floor. "I never realized you had such a penchant for apologizing to people," he drawled. "What are you sorry for this time? Being unable to sleep properly?"

Unable to think of a response, Harry shrugged.

"Did you get any sleep last night, Potter?"

"Some," said Harry, looking up a bit. He was startled when the man pressed his palm against his forehead. Seconds later, the hand was withdrawn and Snape performed a diagnostic charm Harry had seen Madame Pomfrey use numerous times.

"Take this," Snape directed, holding out the dreaded potion. Harry obeyed, making a face at the taste, even though it did seem a bit better than before. "You'll remain in bed for this morning," the professor told him, trading the vial for glass of water.

"I feel fine," Harry protested.

"And I feel weary of your dishonesty," Snape countered. "I am not satisfied that you are completely recovered from your episode on Saturday, particularly since you didn't get proper rest. Furthermore, you have a low-grade fever – undoubtedly from running about the dungeons barefoot in the middle of the night. You can either remain here or the hospital wing, but you will rest. Now, which will it be?"

"I'll stay here, sir."

"Fine. Hana."

Harry wasn't sure what he was referring to until there was a sudden crack as a house elf apparated into the room.

"Yes, Potions Master, sir?" chirped the elf. "You is needing Hana today?"

"Hana, Mr. Potter isn't feeling well," Snape told her. "He is to rest this morning. I will not be giving him a potion for his fever, but if it worsens, you are to contact myself or Madame Pomfrey right away. You may get him a food tray when he is ready for it. Apart from using the lavatory, he is to remain in his room."

Hana looked at Harry in awe. "Potter?" she echoed in a reverent tone. "Is... is you Mr. Harry Potter?" As had become his habit since entering the Wizarding world, Harry self-consciously patted down his fringe to make sure his scar was covered. Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like "and Albus wonders why I think the boy's a menace."

"Yeah," Harry finally answered. "That's me."

"And Potions Master wants Hana to look after Mr. Harry Potter sir?" she turned her large honey-colored eyes back to Snape.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Hana, do try to conduct yourself sensibly."

"Hana will, sir!" the elf exclaimed, seeming to snap out of hero-worship mode. "Hana will make sure Mr. Harry Potter sir gets his rest so he will be feeling well again."

"Thank you, Hana," Snape told her. "Potter, I will check on you later. I suggest you do as you're told for once. If you are in need of anything, Hana can get it for you. At lunch time, I will determine whether or not I feel you are recuperated enough to attend your afternoon classes." With that, the man turned and left the room.

Harry listened for the door to the outside corridor to open and close, but his professor must have closed it so quietly the sound didn't reach his room. The teen gave a defeated sigh, only to let out an odd, surprised noise when he turned to find the elf standing next to him on his bed.

"Is Mr. Harry Potter sir needing anything?" she asked. "Hana can get it. Potions Master says Hana is most sensible and reliable elf in Hogwarts! He always asks Hana if he is needing something. Mr. Harry Potter sir can, too!"

"Thanks, Hana," said Harry, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the elf's enthusiasm.

Hana's eyes grew impossibly wider. "Mr. Harry Potter sir thanked Hana!" she gasped. Somehow, this scenario was feeling a bit like déjà vu to Harry.

"Erm... am I not supposed to? I mean, Snape thanked you."

"Potions Master does not always follow usual etiquette," Hana explained. "He is very polite, even to house elves. But Mr. Harry Potter sir does not need to thank Hana. Hana is proud to help!"

Harry managed not to laugh at the declaration that Snape was "very polite." "I'd rather say thank you," he said seriously. "It's rude not to." And I know how it feels to be expected to do everything without any appreciation.

Hana studied him for a long moment. "Mr. Harry Potter sir and Potions Master is both strange wizards," she decided.

"Why is my name longer than the professor's?" Harry had to ask.

"Hana used to be calling him 'Master Potions Master Professor sir,' but he told Hana it is too long and not to call him that, anymore."

"I can't imagine why," remarked the boy. "Could you just call me Harry?" he requested, then added at the elf's expression, "or anything shorter?"

She calmed herself, looking about the room before turning her gaze back to Harry. "You is staying with Potions Master, and Hana is almost being Potions Master's elf, so Hana will call you... Master Harry."

Harry grimaced, but figured it was at least less of a mouthful than "Mr. Harry Potter sir." He never had gotten Dobby to stop calling him by his full name. "Thank you, Hana."

Hana beamed at him, then grew serious. "Is Master Harry needing anything?" she repeated her earlier question. "If he isn't, then Master Harry is needing to rest."

"I guess I could eat a little breakfast..."

"Hana will be right back!" the elf exclaimed happily, clapping her hands together in a way that reminded Harry of a child. Seconds later, it seemed, she had disappeared and reappeared with a tray of food. The boy began to eat, but before he was even half-finished, his eyes began to droop. Unaware of his tray's fate, he drifted back to sleep.

Hana made sure he was tucked under the covers before banishing the tray. She stood with her elbows resting on the edge of the mattress, watching the boy for a moment.

"So, you is reason Potions Master is being so worried, lately," she murmured to herself. "Hana thinks Potions Master must really care about Master Harry..."