“Mr Potter,” Snape calls out at the beginning of class.

“Sir?”  He looks up with a startled look.

“Please stay after class.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” He whispers, ignoring the titters from the Slytherin side of the room.

He can see Ron and Hermione looking at him in askance, and he gives them a tremulous smile.  

. . .

The end of the lesson is both far too soon and also interminable.

Snape gestures at him to follow after the last student has cleaned up their workstation.  He trails behind his professor in vaguely bewildered silence. The man was inexplicably neutral toward him during class, as though Harry were suddenly not worth the effort to yell at.  

Or he feels sorry for me.  

He pushes that thought far from his mind.  Snape has been many things to him, but pitying is not one of them.

His professor leads him back past his office to a portrait with a man and a snake in it that hisses a greeting to them both.  Snape leans in close and whispers something that Harry doesn’t hear. The portrait opens without a word, and he follows the man inside.

“This is your home?” He asks with surprise.