All crying had done for Harry was make him feel like he would never want to move again. It hadn’t solved anything. The Dursleys were still going to be the same, and he still had the bruises and the slight build to show that they hadn’t cared for him. Harry had already felt poorly before Snape had talked to him; why did Snape have to cut him to the quick in such an icy manner?

After a short nap Harry stood testing his legs as he looked about the large bedroom. He remembered the door that Snape had used to leave the room, and there was another that Harry thought might have been a closet.

Harry padded to the door that he assumed was a closet, his toes squishing pleasantly into the thick carpet as he walked. He gently opened the door and peered inside. He had half-expected Snape to be behind the door waiting for him so that he could chastise Harry about being too nosy. He was relieved to find that Snape was not there, and the door led to a very impressive bathroom.

An ivory colored tub with silver claw feet stood empty in the center of the room. A matching sink below a mirror decorated with a mosaic pattern of red roses rested in the center of the back wall. Even the toilet looked almost too lovely to ever be used, and Harry smiled at the thought of dancing about because the toilet was too good for him. The rugs in the room near the bath matched the burgundy carpeting of his room; they were made of a velvety soft material and he skimmed his foot on the surface, enjoying the way it felt against the soles of his feet. The floor was tiled in a dark gray marble and it was so finely polished that he could see his reflection as clear as a mirror in the dark surface.

As he watched his reflection on the floor, Harry realized suddenly that his clothes were different. When he had met with Snape, he had been wearing the filthy clothing that he had cleaned the yard in; he hadn’t ever had the chance to change. He remembered these robes fitting better during the school year, and now they seemed looser. He shrugged his weight loss off, and felt the skin of his arm in an almost nervous gesture. Not only was his clothing clean, but he was as well. Harry really didn’t want to know how he had been cared for, or who had cared for him, but he was glad that he was clean.

As he exited the bathroom, he glanced around the bedroom for a pair of shoes. He hadn’t been wearing any when he had been taken from his uncle’s house and he had no intention walking around barefooted if he could help it. He found his trunk of belongings along with Hedwig’s empty cage against the wall near his bed. Harry searched for the pair of school shoes he kept hidden in the trunk, but he wasn’t able to find them. The shoes were gone.

At the edge of the bed was a pair of suede black boots that reached up just past the ankle. They reminded Harry of children’s booties, but for now they were better than running around barefooted. He slipped the soft soled boots on and found them to be a perfect fit. As he tested them out, he found that anything he stepped on he felt through the sole of the boot. These were not meant for hard travel, but they were better than nothing.

Harry went to the door that Snape had used to leave the room. He reached for the handle and hesitated. He jumped back as the door opened gently. Harry backed away from the imposing figure of his Potions professor.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked as his dark eyes spied the boots on Harry’s feet.

Harry swallowed and shook his head. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. There was no need to punish him for thinking about opening the door.

“Are you hungry?”

Harry looked confused for a moment. Was he hungry? He hadn’t thought about it. He probably should have been starving, but he felt nothing.

Snape pulled his wand from the folds of his robes and flicked it in a soft motion. A plate of food appeared on the floor near his feet. From where Harry was standing it looked like more cider and a sandwich. It smelled like warm roast beef, and in response to the smell Harry felt his stomach rumble in longing.

Harry watched warily as Snape picked up the tray of food and set it on the night stand near the glowing lantern. “Tonight you may eat in here,” Snape said. It sounded like an order to Harry, but he would rather not be dragged into a dining room at the moment to eat with Snape.

As soon as Snape had turned and left the room, Harry turned his attention to the meal he’d been offered. He was quite sure that he last time he had eaten a decent meal was in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. He missed that place as if it were a dear friend.

Harry barely gave his tastebuds a few seconds to recognize the soft bun that covered the tender roast beef. The mild provolone cheese was perfectly melted by the warm meat, but it could have been a head-cheese sandwich and he would have wolfed it down in the same hungry manner. Within a few disappointing seconds the only evidence of the sandwich was a few crumbs on the silver plate. Harry licked his finger and cleared the plate of the crumbs as well; he was not going to leave anything behind.

As Harry reached for the warm goblet of cider he allowed the scent of it to mellow the urge to ravage it as he had the sandwich. He was sure that had Dudley been given the same meal he would have protested that a warm drink did not go well with a warm sandwich. His cousin would have preferred a raspberry iced tea and he would have pitched a fit until he got it and made everyone in his company miserable in the process. When Harry wasn’t with his relatives, the thought of Dudley throwing a fit was amusing; Dudley’s parents seemed to bend over backward for him for nothing.

Harry gave his warm cider a little swirl in the goblet and took a small sip. The drink was sweet and spicy, just as it had been before, but he enjoyed this drink better now that he was awake. He smiled as he enjoyed the cider to the very last drop. As he took the final swallow, he noticed a slight bitter taste in his mouth, but Harry didn’t seem to be bothered by it. He felt warm, and lazy. Even the aching from his healing bruises seemed soothed from just a little food and drink.

Harry settled down on the floor, leaning his back against the side of the bed and tracing little patterns of crescent moons and stars into the thick surface of the carpet. Harry wondered briefly if he really felt warm and safe in this room or if it was just a temporary happiness from being full. Either way he didn’t really care; he hadn’t felt this good in a very long time. Within a few moments Harry released a contented sigh and didn’t even notice how heavy lidded his eyes felt.

It was midmorning when Harry woke to find himself in his bed. Strange that he had no memory of getting ready for bed, but he had managed to set his boots neatly beside the bed and place his glasses on the night stand as if it were automatic. If Harry hadn’t put himself to bed there was only one other person who could have done it, and Harry thought that was next to impossible. Harry glanced at the night stand where his glasses had been placed, and as he slipped them on he remembered that he had left Snape’s silver plate there. The plate was gone, and his glasses had been in its place. If Snape had been there he had been awfully considerate, but Harry held onto his doubts where Snape’s kindness was concerned.

Harry stood and stretched his muscles. He slipped into his boots and approached the door that led out of his bedroom. He gently tested the door handle to see if it was locked; to Harry’s complete surprise the door had been left open. He wondered if that had been a mistake or if Snape had wanted him to be able to come and go as he pleased.

As quietly as he could Harry slipped out of the room. He did not know where he was going, but he intended to find the way out of this place. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to stay with Snape even if he had nowhere else to go.

Fine paintings of ancestral wizards adorned the walls and watched Harry suspiciously as he passed. There were little displays of finery everywhere, weapons on the walls, fine vases and statues. Harry stopped abruptly when a striking white carved horse on a small cherry-wood table caught his eye. It seemed to gleam in the soft light of the sun that came through the partially shaded windows placed high in the walls. The horse was frozen in a rear of anger. It’s white teeth bared, front hooves poised to strike and it’s long immoveable mane and tail flicked into wild positions as if blown by the wind instead of carved by a chisel. The work of art had completely stolen his attention from finding the exit. Harry wondered if such an animal, had it been alive and full size, could ever be ridden by anyone.

He reached out to touch the horse’s small muzzle with his hand and jerked back suddenly at the sound of a stern voice behind him.

“I would not touch that if I were you.”

Harry whirled to see Snape standing behind him with his arms folded within the drape of his cloak. The man looked annoyed or angry, but Harry saw no difference. Both emotions were dangerous, and he had no desire to experience the result of either emotion from Snape. Harry’s eyes flicked about for an easy escape.

Harry stood stock still as he watched Snape approach him with measured steps. It was the same pace his uncle had used. The angry clip, clip of hard-soled shoes on the wood floor set his fear in motion.

It would only be a matter of seconds before he was shoved away into some tiny space intended for soup cans and jarred peach preserves. There was no telling when his next meal would come in the darkness of the tiny space; no one to talk to and no way to tell how much time had passed. It was bad enough being treated like a freak, but then shoved into a space where there were only a few inches to shift positions was utter cruelty.

No, he didn’t want to let that happen ever again. With a slight hesitation Harry took flight from the teacher. He wasn’t certain where he would run, but he knew he had to get away or at least try.