Harry sat at the desk in the room he’d started to think of as his own, staring out over the front walk. Snape had left a few hours earlier to speak with the Grangers and had instructed Harry to pack his belongings. So far, he’d managed to clean out his trunk, discarding broken quills, spare bits of parchment, empty ink bottles, candy wrappers, stale owl treats, old socks, and whatnot else he no longer needed. Then, he’d neatly repacked his books and his too small robes which he planned to donate to the Hogwarts Lost and Found for other students who might need them like he once had. He’d have to get fitted for new robes when he went to Diagon Alley to get his school books for the coming year.

Harry ran his finger along the grime on the window pane, leaving a streak behind. He’d only been at Snape’s house for seven days, and yet so much had changed in that short time. He was fed three healthy meals a day—and he didn’t even have to cook them. He was allowed to take showers with hot water and no time limit. He had clothes that fit. He had a roof over his head and he was not constantly being reminded of what a burden or a freak he was. Sighing, he took off his glasses and exhaled moist air onto the lenses, then rubbed them with his T-shirt to clean them.

“Here, give them to me.”

Harry turned, startled. He’d been waiting for Snape to return, but hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “What?”

“Your glasses, hand them to me.”

Perplexed, Harry handed them over.

With a flick of his wand, Snape muttered, “Occulus evanesco continuum.” Handing them back, Snape said, “That will keep them clean from now on.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, sliding them back onto his face.

“And why, might I ask, aren’t you finished packing?”

Harry swallowed. To avoid answering, he said defensively, “Why, are you kicking me out?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve stowed your books and your robes...” Snape paused, an odd expression crossing his face. “Do your robes still fit?”

“Er,” Harry stammered.

“Potter,” Snape snapped, “I can hardly ensure that you have appropriate clothing if you do not inform me when you are in need.”

“My parents left me money,” Harry said in defence.

“That money is your inheritance. It is not meant to be used for daily expenses.”

Harry fidgeted with a quill, reflecting that no one else had ever paid for his daily expenses before. He barely caught Snape’s utterance of “foolish child.”

“I will contact Mr. Maclain, my tailor, and have him send new school robes to you at the Grangers.”

“You don’t have to do that, sir,” Harry mumbled, not meeting Snape’s eyes.

“Actually, I do,” Snape replied, crossing his arms over his chest as if daring Harry to debate him on this point.

“Er, ok, thanks,” Harry said, rolling the quill between his fingers. Apprehensively, he looked up at the older wizard. “So, they agreed then? The Grangers?”

“Of course,” Snape said as if that were a foregone conclusion.

Harry wondered how the Grangers had actually responded. He watched as Snape looked around the room, suspicion growing in his expression.

“Why have you not packed your clothes?”

Harry felt his cheeks heat and bit his lower lip.

Snape sighed. “Potter, I told you the clothes were yours, all of them. I insist that you take them with you.”

“I thought I might leave some here,” Harry said, trying not to sound presumptuous. Why this suddenly mattered to him, he wasn’t sure.

“Did you?” Snape seemed to consider this for a moment. “If it is that important to you, then I shall have Mr. Maclain send additional clothing for you to keep here.”

“No,” Harry replied quickly. “That won’t be necessary. You’ve gotten me plenty of clothes already. I can bring them back here with me if... if I need them.”

“Potter,” Snape said looking at him steadily. “Need I remind you that it was not my idea for you to leave?”

“No, it was Dumbledore’s,” Harry muttered darkly.

“Indeed. And while I admit that I was... caught unaware... when you first arrived, I have accepted your mother’s choice.” Snape uncrossed his arms and reached out to straighten the coverlet that lay over the single bed. “In other words, Potter, this is now your... home... if you wish it, and as such, you are welcome to stay here any time that it is deemed safe for you to do so.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry said, feeling relieved that he hadn’t misread the situation. It was odd how the one place in the world he’d have least wanted to come was suddenly one of the few places he felt safe.

“Now finish packing and then you can help me with dinner.”

Late that evening, Harry sat perched atop the desk in his room, knees drawn up to his chest, huddled against the cool window. The house was quiet; he was sure Snape was asleep. Harry drew circles on the grimy pane, adding to the line he’d made earlier, while he counted the minutes to midnight. He sighed knowing that no owls would knock on his window at 12:01am this year. Even Hedwig had not been able to find him here. He felt a mixture of disappointment at that thought and self-recrimination that it mattered so much. His relatives hadn’t celebrated his birthday in 15 years; why should his 16th birthday be any different? Surely Snape didn’t even know it was his birthday, or would be in 20 more minutes anyway.

Shaking his head at himself, Harry hopped off the desk and changed into his pyjamas. He crawled beneath the covers of his bed and stared at the moonlit ceiling. Fifteen more minutes and he’d be one year closer to being a legal adult in the Wizarding World. Ten minutes. Five. Feeling maudlin, he waited as the clock downstairs chimed twelve times. With each stroke, his hope was extinguished just a little bit more. Finally, there was silence.