It was only when his alarm went off with its customary strident blare that Severus realised last night had probably not been his brightest moment. He raised his head blearily, then let it fall back to the pillow with a thump. Most likely, the street rat he'd invited into his home had cleaned him out and was even now miles away, laughing at Sev's ill fortune. Wizard he may be, he'd only placed alarm spells on a few of his belongings. Anything that would cause Muggles problems, essentially. He had no wish to get in trouble with the Ministry should some of his magical effects make their way into more mundane circulation. Not to mention the disappointed reaction of Albus Dumbledore, his erstwhile employer.

Still. The child had looked so damned scared last night, Severus had felt like he had no other choice. The nearest children's home was ten miles away and he knew if he'd suggested there, the boy would have bolted like a rabbit. Besides, he'd had a niggling feeling that "Tom," as he'd styled himself, had magic. There was a nearly indefinable spark around the child's skin that he only ever felt around other witches and wizards. Wizards did not tend to fare well in orphanages.

Severus struggled out of bed finally and hit the loo, yawning his way through a lukewarm shower and dressing in his customary sober garb. He dressed like a Muggle for the benefit of his guest, should Tom still actually be there, not having robbed him blind. To his surprise, everything appeared to be still in its place. The guest room door was closed tight. After a moment's deliberation, Severus eased it open.

Tom lay sprawled under all the blankets. His hair was a messy shock across the pillows, his glasses carelessly tossed on the bedside table. The lamp flickered beside him. He'd fallen asleep with it on, most likely.

"Tom?" Severus called softly. He didn't wish to frighten the boy, but the desire was futile as the boy immediately startled awake, his hands flying into a semi-defensive posture over his face. After a moment, the hands lowered, and Severus could see the flush of embarrassment stain the child's face.

"I apologise for waking you," Severus said softly. "It is only that I have many errands I need to do today, and I did not wish you to wake and discover no one home."

"You want me to clear out then?" Tom asked, his voice brusque. There was a half-hopeful, half-hurt look in the boy's vivid green eyes.

"No," Severus said. "Unless you wish to go...?"

"Not...really," Tom cleared his throat and picked at a loose thread on the top blanket. Now even his ears had coloured red.

"Very well," Severus moved on, not wishing to dwell on his newfound ward's discomfort. "In that case, you may stay here today. If you wish, you may leave the house, but considering the adventures of last night, I doubt you shall wish to. The park isn't much better during the day. You may eat anything you find within reach in the kitchen, but kindly do not go clambering about on the counters. Likewise, anything found at eye-level or below in the bookshelves in the sitting room are fit for your consumption, but do not try to reach the higher shelves, please. I shall endeavour to be back by six p.m. but I may be later. At that time, we can talk about what you wish to do from now, and what would be best for you. Any questions?"

Mute, the boy shook his head.

"In that case, I shall see you tonight," Severus nodded awkwardly and shut the door, snatching up his cloak from the hall closet and his wand, which he tucked up his sleeve. Within minutes, he was locking the front door and striding down the road to the nearest apparition point. He had a long day ahead of him and in the brisk, early-morning walk, he could nearly forget about the strange boy that had fetched up on his doorstep the night before.

Harry looked at the closed bedroom door for a moment, utterly bewildered. He'd heard the front door click shut a few minutes earlier, so he knew the strange man, Severus Snape, had left. He had no idea what to do. At the moment, he just wanted to curl up in bed, pull the covers over his head, and try to forget that he was now an abandoned child. Aunt Petunia had always been quite grim in detailing what happened to children who had no place to call home, no family to call their own. A life on the streets was the best a child like that could hope for, and he already knew that he never deserved the best. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that Severus Snape was one of those child killers. Or the ones who liked to sell children. Harry might fetch a good price. He was pretty scrawny, but he was strong, too. He'd done everything Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had wanted, to the best of his abilities. And he'd developed a pretty good ability to dodge Dudley's blows. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Tom snapped. He sounded irritable. He's not going to sell you. He's not going to kill you, either. He's going to help you.

"How do you know, though?" Harry asked aloud. He'd never quite developed the knack of internal communication. "You don't know him."

Not...exactly, no, Tom answered evasively. Still. If he wanted to hurt you, he already would have. Now get out of bed, take a shower, and let's find something for breakfast.

It wasn't until Harry stepped into the bathroom, tousle-haired and still blinking sleep from his eyes, that they discovered Snape's last kindness. A set of play clothes, old and well-patched, but clean, lay folded on the edge of the sink.

And despite being eight years old and despite having it beaten into him that boys don't cry, that you don't cry unless you're given something to cry about, Harry burst into noisy tears.