Author's Note: Disclaimer that sadly, Harry Potter does not belong to me, I own nothing. JKR thought it up first. This story came to me in a dream, so I've been wandering merrily along and hoping I can do it justice.

This story is AU, and set just after seventh year. Voldemort is dead. Dumbledore is alive (as is Severus, obviously). General warning for child abuse, child neglect, and some depictions of violence/past death.

Harry didn't know why he blurted the words out. He wished he could snatch them out of the air as soon as they slipped past his chapped lips, lingering in the chilly dungeon air. Snape inclined an eyebrow at him, looking more rattled than he'd ever seen the man.

"Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks colouring scarlet. He had to get out. Had to get away. Before the laughter could begin, or the sneered imprecations. The insults upon his parentage, his livelihood, every ounce of himself as a person. He knew all the words, most of them from Snape's own mouth.

"Potter," the Potions Master's voice froze him, halfway out the door. He stopped, a clumsy caricature in baggy school robes and messy black hair. Sweat trickled down the nape of his neck, despite how icy it still was down here.

"Yes, sir?" he managed to croak. He couldn't look at the man. He didn't want to see the triumph gleaming there. Poor pampered Potter. Somehow managed to fool the rest of the professors into passing him, and now he didn't even have anywhere to go. He'd wanted to lie, but the memory of Aunt Petunia's starkly worded note was too strong. She'd even passed it on by owl, too, so he knew it was heartfelt (with what little heart she possessed). Don't come back. Don't even think of coming back.

It wasn't like it mattered, really. You Know Who was gone, his Death Eaters rounded up for the most part. The wards had fallen. It had been a bit of a shock to everyone but Harry, and he'd had to field a few uncomfortable looks and probing questions. He'd simply passed it off as an after-effect of You Know Who being defeated. Who knows? Maybe that was it after all.

"If you have nowhere to go, Potter," Snape began slowly. Harry's heartbeat trebled. His palms were sweaty and he wiped them ineffectually on the insides of his sleeves. "If the Weasleys won't take you in," there was an unconscious sneer in the phrase that made his hackles come up. It wasn't that they wouldn't. Never that.

"I suppose you could come with me," the professor finished, with a slight show of reluctance. Harry's jaw dropped and he spun around on his heel, nearly falling.

"What, sir?" he sputtered, rather inelegantly. Snape did sneer at that, and Harry's colour crept back up his neck.

"Do I really have to repeat myself, Potter? If you will-at least endeavour to not be a nuisance, and follow my rules, regardless of your esteemed age...I have no particular aversion to you choosing to come with me, if you would like," the man enunciated. "At least for the summer. I trust by then, you will have established some other form of lodging and employment. I'm sure the wizarding world is, after all, full of opportunities for the saviour of us all." His voice dripped with sarcasm by the last phrase, and Harry stared intently at the floor.

"Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled, seizing the opportunity to escape. He didn't know what ephemeral urge had led him to wander down to the dungeons in the first place, but now he blessed it.

"I will expect you in my office tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp, Potter," Snape called after him. "If you choose to be tardy, the offer is rescinded."

"Yes, sir," Harry panted over his shoulder. He still had a great deal of packing to do, but he felt-lighter. The crumpled letter in his pocket suddenly ceased to have any real significance and as he made his way into Gryffindor Tower for the last time, he surreptitiously dropped it in the fire.

"How does it feel, Harry?" Hermione asked from her curled-up position on the nearest sofa. Ron was slouched next to her, his ears as red as his hair as he stole sideways glances at her that she seemed determined not to pick up on.

"Um, what d'you mean?" he asked. Hermione giggled, rolling her eyes.

"You're free," she laughed. "From Hogwarts. It feels like a dream, doesn't it?" A wistful sigh filled the air. "All those books I never got around to studying..."

"Hermione," Ron groaned, mock-punching her in the arm. "You can't read every book."

"No, but I can try," she retorted, the quirk of her mouth letting them both know she wasn't serious. "I'm exhausted. I think I want to go up to bed. Are you both going home by train?"

Ron nodded, but Harry shook his head, his face prickling uncomfortably.

"Oh?" Hermione inquired in surprise.

"Dunno why," Harry lied. "Safety, I think."

"Oh, that's rot," Ron said, a bit hotly. "Like you couldn't keep yourself perfectly safe, especially with us around you!"

"I know, but," Harry shrugged, looking away. "It's what Dumbledore wants," he lied again, and the other two sighed in resignation, nodding. He gnawed on his bottom lip as he went up with them both, giving a final wave to Hermione as she disappeared into the girls' dormitory. It was strange to think they would never do that again.

Why had he lied? He pondered as he clambered between the soft, thick blankets of his four-poster. The Dursleys had never given him as nice a bed as this. For most of his childhood, he'd not even had a proper bed, much less blankets or pillows. He'd used his old clothing, the rags that were too worn out even for him. Once he'd socked enough of them away, it was actually relatively comfortable, if still chilly in winter, when the icy air seeped in the cracks of the cupboard under the stairs. Coming to Hogwarts had been a pleasant shock, one that he was reluctant to leave at the start of every summer.

Perhaps it was shame, Harry thought, feeling the hard line of his wand beneath his pillow. It was shameful, wasn't it? Admitting that your only surviving relatives don't want you. Would prefer they never see you again. He hadn't expected to stay there long, but he had hoped that with You Know Who dead, perhaps Aunt Petunia at least could soften her heart. Just a bit. Just enough to let him stay there for the summer maybe, figure out what he wanted to do with his life.

It was painful to realise he should have known better.

The question was, Harry mused as he settled into a more comfortable position, was Snape the worse of two options.