Snape sighed and sank back into the chair, resting his arms over the back once again. “I admit I may have misjudged you, Potter. In my eagerness to identify your failings, I may have overlooked your strengths. Indeed I overlooked the possibility that your relatives did anything other than dote upon you.” Snape shifted uneasily in the wooden chair. “Nevertheless, I have done my best to see that no harm has come to you while you’ve been at Hogwarts.”

“On Dumbledore’s orders,” Potter retorted.

 “If it were only that simple,” Snape muttered gazing moodily out of the window. Turning back to the teen, he said: “It is more complicated than that, Potter. Suffice it say that I have my reasons.”

Potter looked dubious. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Nor have you answered mine.”

At Potter’s continued silence, Snape acquiesced. “You owe me nothing, Potter. If Dumbledore arrives tomorrow to take you off my hands, the clothes and shoes and glasses would be yours to keep, no strings attached.”

Potter looked unconvinced.

“The only thing that I require is that you treat me, as you should all of your elders, with respect. A modicum of gratitude would not go amiss either.”

Potter paused, seeming to think something over. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Why what, Potter?”

“Why do you care if I have clothes that fit? Or if I can see? Why do you care if my relatives treat me like the Malfoys’ treat their house elves?”

“Common decency dictates that you be provided with appropriate clothing, food, shelter, and medical care.”

“But why you?” Potter persisted. “You could have pushed me off onto another member of the Order.”

Snape closed his eyes for a moment, weighing the situation. Potter would not trust easily. Sighing, he pushed up from the chair and went to the desk. Pulling out the bottom left drawer, he pried up the false bottom and pulled out an old, discoloured manila envelope. Carefully, he extracted a piece of A4 paper. On it was a faded, worn drawing, one he hadn’t looked at in years. He studied it a moment before handing it over to the teen.

At Potter’s confused expression, Snape elaborated. “I drew that when I was a child,” Snape said softly, recalling the assignment clearly. His teacher had asked the children to draw a family portrait. He had drawn his mother, his brother, and himself, all huddled together. Towering over them, large and menacing, was his father; one arm outstretched over the three of them as if to beat them down, the other holding a large, long-necked bottle. It didn’t take a genius to interpret the child’s quavering marks: an overbearing, alcoholic father; a cowed, abused mother and her children, equally terrified of the towering over them.

 “If I’d had any idea of how your relatives treated you, Potter, I assure you, I would not have left you in that situation. Abusing a child is both cowardly and intolerable.”

“Did anyone know about how your father treated you?” Potter asked timidly.

“Only my mother and brother, as he treated them the same. And your mother, Lily. She knew about some of it.” Snape had never meant to tell Lily, but Lily wasn’t stupid. She had always noticed the fresh bruises that Snape had tried to hide. It wasn’t long before she’d put two and two together.

Snape watched as a look of surprise dawned on Potter’s face at the mention of his mother Lily.

“You really did grow up together?” Potter asked. “Here, in this neighbourhood?” At Snape’s nod, the boy continued. “I thought you were just saying that to get a rise out of me. I thought you met at Hogwarts.”

Snape waited as the teen seemed to struggle for words.

“You must have been close to my mother, if she named you as my guardian.”

“Once upon a time, we were, yes.”

“What happened?”

Your father, Snape wanted to say. Instead, he replied, “It’s a long story, fraught with mistakes and misunderstandings. In the end, your mother went her way and I went mine. It is one of the few decisions I’ve never stopped regretting.”

“Will you tell me about her sometime? My mother?”

Snape noticed the light of hope in the boy’s eyes. “Perhaps,” he responded, his throat tightening at the thought of Lily. He had never gotten over losing her; he suspected he never would.

Potter handed back the fragile child’s drawing, and then asked, “What happened to your mother?”

 “My father was driving drunk and wrapped his car around a tree. My mother and brother were killed instantly. I was nearly 16 at the time, and at Hogwarts.”

“And shortly thereafter,” Potter filled in, “you joined the Death Eaters.”

Snape nodded but said nothing.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Snape waved away the boy’s sympathy. His father had only gotten worse after his mother and brother had died. Unable to deal with the self-recriminations and blame, Tobias Snape had turned his rage outward, at his remaining son. Snape, who had lost everything—first Lily, and then his mother and brother—had turned to Voldemort and the Death Eaters to fill the void.

The two of them sat in amicable silence, both lost in their own thoughts, until Snape spoke. “I am loathe to admit this, Potter, but you remind me somewhat of myself when I was your age. Though I was never as reckless and short-sighted as you,” Snape added with an admonitory glare. “You are, however, in need of a stable adult role model, one that cares not only for your basic human needs, but also gives a damn about you as a person.”

Potter looked up, startled. “Other than the Weasleys, and... and Sirius,” here the boy paused to clear his throat before continuing, “there haven’t been a lot of volunteers.”

“I see,” Snape said. “Let us get your basic needs in order first then.” Snape glanced briefly at the neat pile of new clothes on the desk. “You now have appropriate clothing. And you can see properly, am I correct?” Potter nodded. “That leaves a visit to the dentist, and perhaps a full physical examination.” Snape was not surprised to see the boy’s panicked look at the mention of a physical exam. He suspected the boy was hiding more than bruises beneath his overly large shirt. “Am I missing anything?”

When Potter shook his head, Snape continued, looking derisively at his attire, “And perhaps we should burn everything you brought from the Dursleys. Unless you are attached to it?” Snape asked with a raised eyebrow.

Potter shuddered. “No, definitely not attached.”

“Good. The next time I wish to see those rags is when they are smouldering in a fire pit.” At Snape’s questioning expression, Harry nodded. “Now, get changed and come down for dinner. We will discuss the consequences of your irresponsible actions later this evening.”