kbinnz - Harry's New Home

Snape wondered if the boy were even more confused than he had originally thought. It had been obvious from that first detention that Harry had no idea about what constituted appropriate punishments, let alone rewards, but now Severus wondered if he were so befuddled that anything short of a brutal thrashing was seen as incredible leniency.

"Potter, that's quite enough," he said, disentangling the whelp from his neck. He glowered at the brat, who was smiling mistily at him, but somehow the hands that were holding Potter at arms' length were much gentler than they should have been. He had intended to give the boy a good shake, lest he think that such maudlin displays of emotion would be welcome, but instead he found himself patting the skinny shoulders. Really! What was he doing? Just because he'd agreed to look after the boy didn't mean he had to display such appalling sappiness himself.

Time to change the subject.

"Potter, come with me." He cleared his throat uncomfortably and rose to his feet. Harry trotted along beside him as Snape led the way to his personal quarters.

Snape argued with himself the whole way, but in the end he decided that it made sense to get it over with here and now, if for no other reason than he didn't want Albus to pester him about it over dinner. "Go in," he ordered, opening the door to Harry's new room.

The brat тАУ disobedient in this as in all things тАУ gave him an uncertain look and peered in warily. "Go in!" Snape repeated. He brought his hand forward smartly, intending to propel the little monster into the room with a firm shove.

The admonitory push didn't work out quite as Snape had intended, because the next thing he knew, the brat had seized his hand and was clutching it as he ventured forward. The way he was hesitating, you would have thought that a live dragon lay in wait within the dim room.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter." Snape stepped forward, pulling the boy with him. He waved his wand, illuminating their surroundings, and Harry's jaw dropped.

They stood in the middle of a fair sized room, with magical windows providing a view of the Quidditch pitch. A curtained bed stood, blazing with (in Snape's view) garish Gryffindor colors, while around the room bookcases held both textbooks and pleasure reading, not to mention many of the toys and activities that Albus had insisted upon purchasing. A desk in the corner тАУ much too close to the window, in Snape's view; the brat's microscopic attention span would be constantly distracted тАУ had a few basic reference materials, age-appropriate quill set (leakproof, magically refilling, and charmed to recognize misspellings), and a stack of parchments of various lengths.

Snape saw the boy's eye had been caught by the animated hippogriffs on the bedsheets and once again rolled his eyes at Albus' fancy. Surely Potter was too old for such babyish nonsense!

"Wicked!" the boy breathed. Well. Apparently not.

Harry's eyes roamed over the room. It was like a dream bedroom, filled with even more amazing toys than Dudley's had been. There was an easel with paints in one corner, something that looked like an animated, miniaturized game of Quidditch in another, more books than he had ever seen outside a libraryтАж Even something as prosaic as the bed had magical sheets, and he could see through a half-open door that the attached bathroom was large and contained a bathtub as well as a sink and toilet.

Whoever lived here was amazingly lucky! Harry wondered why he would ever leave this marvelous room? If Harry had had a room even a fraction as nice as this, the Dursleys would never have had to lock him away; he would have been all too happy to stay there, out of sight.

Harry looked around, wondering whose room it was. He hadn't thought that Professor Snape had children, but obviously he'd been wrong. Harry felt a sharp pang of loss and тАУ was that jealousy? тАУ in his chest. Stupid, he told himself fiercely. Just because he's been kind to you doesn't mean you're anything special to him. He's just nice, that's all.

Harry fought down a feeling of bitter disappointment, which he recognized as being both unhelpful to him and unfair to the professor. He knew all too well what it was like to be second best, and he had briefly hoped that for once he would be the primary focus of an adult's attention. But obviously that wasn't to be. And really, Professor Snape would be a lot better than the Dursleys. Hadn't he already been kinder to Harry than they had ever been? Even if he had his own child whom he'd naturally care more about, he'd probably still be nice to Harry, and besides, Harry also had the Weasleys.

Ohhhhh, now Harry understood his visits to the Weasleys in a new light. Obviously he was to be sent to the Weasleys whenever Professor Snape wanted to spend time with his real son. Well, that was a lot better than being exiled to a cupboard. Harry tried to smile. See? he told himself. Professor Snape is being awfully nice and thinking about me.

That was the thing about being an orphan. You couldn't really expect anybody else to want you once your parents were dead. Everyone else was busy enough with their own kids, and being stuck with another one was, well, inconvenient. Harry had had that concept drummed into him from a very early age, and he knew he should be grateful for any small kindnesses that came his way.

And he was. Really. It was just that for some stupid, foolish, babyish reason he had imagined that Professor Snape wasтАж his. And it hurt an astonishing amount to realize otherwise.

He forced back his traitorous tears. It would never do for the professor, who had been so nice to him (even giving him a present in the middle of detention!), to guess how presumptuous Harry had been.

"Yes, sir?" he struggled to sound as natural as possible. He looked around the room again. Why were they here? Perhaps Snape wanted him to clean the room? Or was he going to warn him тАУ as the Dursleys had with both of Dudley's bedrooms тАУ that this room was off-limits to him? As if he'd be stupid enough to touch someone else's things! Dudley had cured him of that before he was four years old.

Snape frowned at the boy. He hadn't expected transports of joy тАУ well, actually he had тАУ but for as emotional a little creature as Potter was, this poker faced surveying of the room was infuriating. The little ingrate was apparently too proud even to offer up a token 'thank you', and he had gazed around the room with a distinct expression of acute disappointment.

So all of his efforts (not to mention the house elves') had been wasted, had they? Snape cursed himself for even bothering to try to please the unappreciative whelp. Why had he ever expected a Potter to show gratitude? Naturally the boy felt that any bedroom in a dungeon was inappropriate for the Prince of Gryffindor!

Snape ground his teeth, forcing back the snarls of invective that he could feel rising to his lips. They would reveal too much of his own emotional state. No, better to match the boy's disinterested, faintly contemptuous attitude. He had never let the father know how much hurt his actions had caused; he wasn't about to start now with the son.

When Harry turned to him with an expectant look and question, Snape returned the look with his own scowl. "What is it, Potter?" He'd be damned if he were going to prompt the boy for token тАУ and obviously insincere тАУ thanks.

"ErmтАж why are we here, sir?"

The effrontery of the boy! As if the room were beneath his notice! Irrelevant to him! Fine, two could play at that game.

"I thought you might like to see where you will sleep when you stay with me," he sneered. "Most civilized people do wish to have some knowledge of their accommodations."

Oh no. This was a very bad idea. Harry looked around the enchanting, enchanted room with something closely akin to dread. It was one thing not to have much. It was another thing to have your nose rubbed in it. Being surrounded by all these wonderful things that he could never, ever hope to touch, let alone own, would be much, much worse than being stuck in a small, dusty, spider-filled cupboard. At least in the cupboard, Harry could surround himself with wonders from his imagination. They might not be real, but at least they were his.