Once the Dursley's had said their good-byes to Harry, in which not even a single fake tear was involved, Severus knelt down to Harry's level. Severus was a rather tall man, and Harry was only eleven, so when Severus knelt, almost as though in prayer, he and Harry were at eye level to each other.

"You must be feeling scared," Severus said quietly, placing a hand on one of Harry's small shoulders, "and quite lonely." Harry shrugged and looked away, using two fingers to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The spike of pain returned to Severus' chest, and he sighed forlornly. Severus patted Harry's shoulder once and then, hesitantly, once more, before he stood up.

"Would you like to see where you will be staying?" Severus thought the boy might feel uncomfortable if he referred to it as, "my room", as well as if he referred to it as, "your room". He had never been very good at dealing with children in need.

Severus had been raised an only child, and had come into limited contact with any other children. His father was a workaholic, and therefore was never home, and his mother was a social butterfly. If she wasn't out at a party or on a cruise, she had guests at home, and Severus wasn't allowed to come down stairs while they were present. So, Severus lived a life of solitude, and rarely saw anyone besides the maids. He didn't even have a nanny to keep him company.

As they walked down the long halls of the church, Severus uncertainly switched between leaving his hand lightly on Harry's shoulder and tucking said hand behind his back. Then, much to Severus' surprise, Harry turned his large eyes up to him and smiled timorously.

"Would you hold my hand?" Harry asked, reaching his slight hand up and blinking his big round eyes sweetly, looking for all the world like an abandoned puppy.

"Abandoned puppy; I suppose that isn't too far off," Severus thought grudgingly as he nodded his acceptance, barely looking at the boy, and took Harry's hand in his.

They came to a stop in front of an old-fashioned wooden door. It had large brass bolts and metal braces holding it together, and looked like it had sprung straight from some medieval castle.

"This church has been around for quite some time," Severus said simply, and Harry nodded, eyeing the stone work and the torches that lit the halls.

"Ah. It is cheaper to use torches over oil lamps," Severus stated matter-of-factly, "You wouldn't understand." Severus opened the door and gently guided Harry in front of him. The room was very dark, and it would have been pitch black if not for the light from the hall. There were stairs that led down to the room, and it being underground gave it no windows and therefore less of an appeal, but the fireplace and larger area made up for it.

An unlit torch hung on the wall of the stairwell, and Severus retrieved a match box from the pocket of his robe to light it. He struck a match and simply dropped it onto the torch, which burst into flame.

Harry started, but then Severus' hand returned to his shoulder, calming him. Severus plucked the torch from its holder on the wall and he and Harry walked down into the room.

The room was thrice the size of any monks' room, though just as bare. There was a single bed with plain white sheets, above which hung a small wooden statue of Jesus, nailed to the cross. Across the room from the bed was an oak desk that was riddled with parchment and quills, and a single oil lamp hung above it. To the left of the stairwell were the fireplace and sofa, cradled in a small nook, the fireplace being on the same wall as the bed and the cross, and the sofa pressed against the wall of the stairwell.

Harry's eyes grew wide, and he whispered, "I get to live here?"

Embarrassed, Severus uttered gruffly, "Yes." Harry turned to smile sweetly up at Severus.

"It's wonderful," said Harry blissfully, "Can I… sit on the couch?" Severus nodded rigidly, flustered by Harry's attitude about his barren living space. Torch in hand, Severus walked over to the fireplace and lit the logs aflame. Harry, now sitting on the sofa with his feet dangling an inch or so above the floor, giggled adorably and swung his feet excitedly back and forth.

Severus felt the ache in his chest again, only this time he felt it lower down as well; in his abdomen. He stood and walked quickly across the room, placing the torch in another holder near the end of the bed.

Harry had looked up quickly, about to ask what Severus was doing, but turned back to gazing at the fireplace once he identified that Severus was doing a mediocre task.

Severus stood next to the bed, looking over his shoulder surreptitiously and starring at Harry. The ache in his chest an abdomen grew stronger, and he gasped, turning his head away quickly.

"What's wrong? Uhm…" asked Harry anxiously.

"Father Severus," Severus said quickly, "and it's nothing, Harry. It's nothing." He sighed, and turned back around to face Harry. "I suppose you can call me Severus in private," he said as he walked towards Harry, "If you like."

"O-okay," Harry said shyly, looking down at his feet, which were still swinging, but now much more idly. Severus walked forward stiffly and stood in front of the sofa, looking down at Harry in an inadvertently menacing way. With an almost inaudibly squeak, Harry stopped swinging his feet and sat stock still, looking up at Severus through the bangs of his messy hair.

Severus sighed through his large nose, reaching one hand up to rub at his temples. Once moderately more relaxed, Severus ignored his aching chest and sat next to Harry on the sofa. Harry peeked timidly at him, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose repeatedly. Severus snorted, his way of laughing, and put his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"It's all right," He said to the boy, "You'll adapt." Harry giggled nervously, and Severus reached across Harry's back and put his arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him closer.

"I promise you, things will get better."