Severus stepped out of the fireplace into his dingy sitting room. He took a quick step away from the fireplace, then immediately launched into a series of cleaning spells, the first directed at his own clothing, and then the rest at the room at large.

Minerva appeared a few short seconds later, landing gracefully on the still-grimey hearth. She brushed herself off, then looked around. Severus forced himself to push past the embarrassment he felt at bringing Minerva into his dingey, rundown childhood home and continued casting spells.

"Where would you like me to start, and what, precisely, would you like me to do?" she asked.

Severus glanced at the bookshelf that concealed the entrance to the second floor. He paused his casting and walked over to open it. "You could start by transfiguring this into a normal staircase. Then, once that is completed, the guest bedroom is the first door on the right; do whatever you wish to do to prepare it for Harry's arrival."

"Consider it done," Minerva said, holding out her wand and glaring fiercely at the bookshelf.

The books flew off the shelf, coming to rest in neat piles along the front wall. Severus took one last glance at Minerva's progress, then finished cleaning the living room. Once he was done, he immediately headed into the kitchen.

And so, with little fuss, Severus and Minerva transformed the house from its prior squalor into a comfortable place to live– into a place that Severus could bring Potter home to.

They were standing in the entryway together, surveying their efforts, when Minerva released a reluctant sigh.

"I have to go now," Minerva said, her tone reluctant. "I've delayed long enough, unfortunately. Send me an update tonight, if you will."

"Of course," Severus said.

Without lingering further, Minerva apparated away. Severus took a moment to savor the fact that he was not in her place– the meeting she was going to was bound to be another bureaucratic waste of time.

Severus took one last walk through his home to ensure that it was ready for Harry's arrival. The linen closet was stocked with clean towels, sheets, and blankets– more than enough to ensure Harry's comfort for the duration of the holiday. The bedroom was clean and comfortable now, thanks to Minerva's transfiguration.

Severus could tell that she had decorated it with Harry in mind– it was a near exact replica of the dormitories that Severus had stayed in during his time as Eli.

The kitchen was clean and well stocked with dishes and other supplies. Severus would have to go grocery shopping soon, but that wasn't urgent yet. The living spaces were similarly clean and orderly now. The only spaces that still needed to be seen to were his office and the potions lab in the basement, but since Potter was hardly going to be spending time in either of those places, Severus saw little need to sort them out now.

Walkthrough complete, Severus focused his mind on Arabella Figg's back garden– it was the newly-designated Apparation site for Order members, appointed so to give them a way to quickly reach Potter in an emergency. it had been created after the disaster with the Dementors proved the necessity– and began to spin in place.

Severus disapparated with a quiet pop and reappeared in the garden. Thankfully, Figg appeared to be out based on her failure to rush out of the house in greeting. Severus set out across the garden towards Number 4, Privet Drive.

As always, Severus was disgusted by the smug uniformity of all the houses in the area. It was clear that most, if not all, of the residents here were far more interested in conforming than in anything else.

Severus felt a rising urgency building in his chest as he walked from Figg's house. It felt as though it took even less time to walk through the muggle neighborhood than the walk through Hogwarts' grounds had.

Severus strode up to the Dursley's house– which was clearly marked by a numeral on the mailbox. The car was parked in the driveway, and the lights were on in several of the rooms, so someone had to be home.

He hadn't thought through what he would do with the Dursleys themselves, but he was sure he would come up with something. Preferably something that wouldn't land him in Azkaban. Severus took one last calming breath, sure that his temper was about to be sorely tested, and knocked firmly on the door.

From within, a muffled voice called, "Petunia! The door!"

The door cracked open moments later, concealing the form of Petunia. "Now see here–" she began, likely about to protest the late hour.

"Evening," Severus interrupted, placing a hand on the door and pushing it open the rest of the way. Then he brusquely made his way past Petunia and into the house.

"Snape?" Petunia spluttered. "What are you doing here? Get out of my house!"

"Is there a problem?" the same voice from earlier– Vernon Dursley, Severus guessed– said.

"No, Vernon, dear, just go back to your telly," Petunia called back. Then, quieter, "Get out of my house, Snape."

"Not until I've collected Potter," Severus stated.

"Fine! Good! Take him," Petunia said, still controlling her volume. "Up the stairs, second door on the left. Just be quiet about it."

Severus glanced up the stairs, then back at Petunia. He tossed her a disdainful look and refrained from responding, instead making his way up the stairs.

He came to a halt outside the aforementioned door and was shocked into stillness. He stared in blank astonishment at the door that bore no fewer than six separate locks, all bolted from the outside.

When they got back to the house from the train station, Aunt Petunia had wasted no time in ushering Harry up the stairs and into his room.

"If you've brought anything– out of the ordinary– I don't want to hear it, and I do not want to see it. If I see it, I will confiscate it, and I may not give it back," Aunt Petunia said from the doorway.

Harry set his duffle on his bed, then turned to face her and nodded. He had decided it was in his best interests to just be silent over the entire break, regardless of Uncle Vernon's presence, so he wouldn't forget or make a mistake.

"Good. Don't forget– if you make a single sound, you will regret it," Aunt Petunia said. Then she took a step out of Harry's room and shut the door. The familiar sound of lock after lock sliding into place filled his room.

Harry settled himself onto his hard, springy mattress and stared blankly at the wall until he heard the sound of Aunt Petunia driving off. With the house now empty– Dudley likely off at some friend's house– Harry pushed himself off the bed and went to unpack.

But as he stared at the clothing he'd shoved into his bag, he had to ask himself what the point was. It wasn't like Petunia would be taking him into public over the break, nor would she be spending enough time in his room to care if he unpacked or not. So why should he bother?

He shouldn't, he decided. He opened his wardrobe and set the duffle onto the bottom. It was only two weeks that he would be living out of the bag, anyways.

Then Harry laid down on top of his threadbare blanket and stared at the ceiling. It was going to be a long break with nothing to do– he didn't have Hedwig, so he couldn't write to his friends, and he hadn't brought any school work, so he couldn't even do that. The impending emptiness of the break filled his mind, and he began to drift aimlessly.

Some time later, his stomach began to rumble. Harry quickly placed a hand over it to try and calm it. His nerves over coming back to this place had kept him from eating much at breakfast or at lunch on the train, a situation he now regretted.

Two weeks was an awfully long time, and Aunt Petunia had still made no mention of feeding him.

Harry just had to hope he would quickly reach the point where his stomach stopped rumbling, otherwise Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia might hear, and then he'd really get it.

Maybe if he laid on his stomach with his pillow underneath, that would muffle the noises well enough until it stopped.

It was hard to say if it worked– the angry sounds seemed as audible as ever, but that could just have been because he was so close to the source. This was about the only thing he could think of to alleviate the problem, though, so he just had to hope it was working.

In his new position, Harry stared down, past his floorboard and to the ground, and thought absently that maybe he ought to try and sweep out underneath his bed once his stomach had settled. It would, at the very least, be something to do.

Harry decided as he stared at a particularly large dust bunny, that he had a hard time believing that Aunt Petunia would maintain her stance that he would spend the entire break locked in his room.

Once Uncle Vernon was out of the house for work, Aunt Petunia would realize that here Harry was, taking space up in her home and perfectly capable of doing chores.

Well, Harry amended, probably capable of doing chores. He'd never gone a full two weeks without food before, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to do much after a couple days without anything at all.

On the bright side, his stomach seemed to have subsided. With a sigh, Harry got up off his bed and dragged his desk chair over to the window. He hoped that the view, even a view marred as his was by bars, would help him keep his mind occupied with things that weren't his immediate future.

And so the time passed. Harry got to watch the sun go down, but then the view from his window was little better than his blank wall.

The next thing he knew, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were coming into the house, startling him out of the stupor he had fallen into.

Immediately, his heart began to pound. He knew that Aunt Petunia had planned to keep them separate, to keep Uncle Vernon as ignorant of Harry's presence as possible. But that didn't stop Harry from being afraid that Uncle Vernon would decide to come and express his displeasure.

When Uncle Vernon was stressed, upset, or simply displeased, he would always, without fail, take it out on Harry. There was nothing Harry could do to avoid it, nothing he could do to protect himself– he couldn't even predict when it would happen. Uncle Vernon's moods were too capricious to allow that.

At very least, Vernon's presence did give Harry something to relieve the monotony with since the walls of the house were thin and the sounds of conversation and the telly carried easily.

Harry was attempting to hear the news on the telly, when he blinked in surprise at the unexpected sound of a knock at the door.

Uncle Vernon called for Aunt Petunia to get it, which she quickly did. Then Harry nearly fell out of his chair in shock, because the next thing he heard was Snape's voice.

Snape.

On Privet Drive.

Harry's mind began to race as he tried to figure out what the hell the man was doing there. Was it not enough that he had betrayed Harry? Now he had to come and disrupt Harry's holiday.

Harry was startled, then, by Aunt Petunia. She demanded, in a tone that nobody would ever call polite, "What are you doing here? Get out of my house!"

Harry wished he could have seen it. Though– for Petunia to have been so rude, Snape must have been dressed blatantly like a wizard, which did not bode well for Harry.

Then Uncle Vernon asked, "Is there a problem?"

Harry crossed his fingers in the hopes that Aunt Petunia would say yes. Uncle Vernon would clearly stand no chance against Snape, but Uncle Vernon's attempts to bluster his way through a confrontation would be enough entertainment to last for a while.

Unfortunately, Aunt Petunia just told him to go back to his telly. Then the murmurs of conversation continued too quiet, this time, for Harry to make out the words.

When Harry heard the sound of footsteps of the stairs, he got soundlessly to his feet. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he wished he could use his wand. The footsteps came to a halt outside his door, and Harry's breath became as labored, as if he'd just finished up at Quidditch practice.

At the sound of the locks being undone one by one, Harry stumbled until his back was pressed up against his window. Were it not for the bars, Harry might have decided to just jump out the window and risk breaking a bone. Because it could only be Snape outside his door, preparing to come in– and Harry had put a lot of effort into avoiding the man.

And Harry still could not think of a single motive for the man to be here.

The door opened, and the sight of Snape in his room at the Dursleys was nearly enough to send Harry into a fit of hysterics– the incongruity of Snape in his dour teaching robes against the backdrop of Harry's Muggle room was inexplicably hilarious.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything as Harry stared in astonishment. Then Harry dropped his eyes to the ground and struggled to get a grip on his racing heart and errant lungs.

"Mr Potter, please calm down. I am here to help," Snape said, empty hands held out, placating.

Before he could think better of it, Harry spat out, "I don't need your help, Snape."

Then Harry realized what he'd just done– his door was still open and he had been loud. He looked back at Snape, who had failed to react. That was good, but Harry was sure that if he refused to respond now, Snape would inevitably get mad at him, and nothing good could come of that. But Aunt Aunt Petunia had also ordered Harry to be silent, and Uncle Vernon was home at the moment, so if he responded, Aunt Petunia would get mad at him– madder, since Harry had already messed up.

There was no way that Harry could win.

"I have come to take you away from here," Snape continued.

Away? Harry couldn't leave– he had nowhere else to go that wouldn't put someone more important than him in danger. He wordlessly shook his head, hoping that maybe Snape would just leave.

"You cannot possibly want to stay here," Snape said.

This was enough to pull words from Harry. "Of course I don't," he snapped quietly, voice barely louder than a whisper. "But it's not like I have anywhere else to go."

"Of course you have places to go– I can think of half a dozen offhand," Snape countered, still just as loud as he had been. Harry prayed Aunt Petunia wouldn't blame him for Snape's volume.

Harry tossed his head, denying Snape's words. "Nowhere that's as safe as it is here," he replied, just as quietly as before.

Snape stared at him for a moment, face as devoid of expression as ever. Harry brought his hand behind his back and crossed his fingers, hoping Snape would realize that Harry was right and go away.

"What makes you think that this house is so very safe?" Snape asked, finally lowering his voice to match Harry's volume.

Harry hesitated, unsure if he should tell him. Though it looked like he wasn't going to have a choice in the matter, because Snape was still standing there, expectant.

"There are blood wards here," Harry said reluctantly. "From my mum's sacrifice."

Snape nodded. "Her sacrifice to protect you from Voldemort, you mean?"

Harry nodded.

"And did you not think that the blood wards would fail with the death of the reason for Lily's sacrifice?" Snape asked.

Harry froze, the implications of this sinking in. He was glad that he was leaning against the wall, because he could now reach out to place his hand on it, as he needed the support of something stable. Without the blood wards he had nowhere else to go– he had no reason to stay at the Dursley's, but he still couldn't bring himself to endanger his friends by going to them.

"There's no wards?" Harry whispered, hopelessly wishing Snape would laugh and say it was all a joke– a lie, like Snape's existence as Eli had been.

"Not anymore," Snape said.

Harry collapsed onto his chair, placing his face in his hands, no longer caring that Snape was there to witness his weakness. "What am I going to do?" he asked himself, voice the quietest of whispers. Two weeks spent at the Dursley's– hungry and alone– seemed so much longer now that there was no real reason for him to be here.

"I spoke with Minerva," Snape said. "She agreed that my home is adequately safe for you to stay at."

Harry lifted his face from his hands, incredulous. Snape couldn't be saying what Harry thought he was.

The silence between them stretched out as Harry continued to stare at Snape.

"Did you not understand? I thought I made myself perfectly clear." Snape finally said, breaking the silence.

Harry shook his head in response. "You can't mean it," he said.

"I can, and I do, but to be perfectly clear, Mr Potter, you are invited to spend the holidays at my house," Snape said.

Harry continued to stare at Snape for a moment before his eyes shifted to the wall behind the man. Did he want to go with Snape? Not particularly, but with the news that there were no blood wards protecting Privet Drive, he had no other choice.

And surely it was better to go with Snape to his home– where Harry would only be endangering someone who was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Because Harry's mere presence was enough to put anyone around him in danger. And, though Harry knew it was selfish of him, he felt significantly better about putting Snape in danger than he did about endangering his friends.

If Harry was able to survive 11 years with the Dursleys, and every summer since then, surely he could handle two weeks with Snape.

"Alright," Harry said, getting up from his chair. "If you're sure."

"I am," Snape said.

Harry crossed the room to his wardrobe and picked up his duffle. Then he went back over to his bed and pulled his backpack on. "I'm ready to go," he said.

"Do not forget, you will not be coming back here," Snape said. "So if there is anything else you would like to take with you, now is the time to pack it."

Harry had a hard time believing he would not have to come back here again, but he obligingly gave the room a glance over, confirming what he already knew. There was nothing here for him, nothing except the lingering memories of long, nightmarish summers.

"I'm ready to go," he repeated.

Snape pulled the door open and walked out of the room first. Harry trailed behind him, carefully closing the door as he went.

"So you are taking him," Aunt Petunia said from the foyer below.

"I am," Snape replied.

Then Aunt Petunia smiled nastily, and Harry instinctively braced himself.

"When you realize what an irksome burden he is, don't bother bringing him back here, Snape. He is no longer welcome."

Snape halted, one foot still on the staircase, and then pulled out his wand. "If you value your continued well-being, I would not say such things," Snape said, his voice low and threatening.

Aunt Petunia's mouth closed with an audible click of her teeth.

Then Snape glanced over his shoulder at Harry, who had also stopped moving.

Snape turned back to face Aunt Petunia. "If you had even one iota of care left for Lily, I would tell you that you would one day regret how you have treated the last remnants of her blood. But it is beyond clear that any love you held for her is long gone, so all I have to say to you is: I hope it was worth it."

Harry stared in confusion at Snape's back as the man finished dismounting the stairs and pulled the front door open. He gestured for Harry to precede him out of the house. Harry obliged without even a glance behind him at the house he had grown up in.

Snape followed him out and passed him on the walkway. Harry quickly matched his pace, trailing a meter or two behind him.

"Where are we going– sir?" Harry asked, realizing that if he was going to be living in the man's house, under his authority, he ought to address him respectfully.

"To Arabella Figg's house. The apparition point for this area is there, and I would prefer not to risk being seen by Muggles, so we will take the time to go there to Apparate."

This didn't tell Harry what he really wanted to know– which was anything at all about their final destination– but he was loath to continue to pester Snape. Not over something so trivial, not when Snape was already going to put up with Harry's presence for the next two weeks.

They made it to Mrs Figg's house in no time. Snape guided them around the house and into the garden. Harry hoped they had permission to be back here– it felt wrong to be trespassing on her property without even dropping in to see her first.

There was a secluded spot tucked between the tree and the garden shed that Snape guided them over to. After cramming himself as far back towards the fence as he could go, Snape gestured to the small amount of space left over and said, "Come, stand here."

Harry did not want to stand so close to the man, but again, Harry would be living with him, and nothing good ever came of antagonizing those he lived with. So Harry shoved down his discomfort and went to stand where Snape had indicated.

"Have you ever apparated before?" Snape asked.

"No, sir," Harry said.

"This may be an unpleasant experience for you, then," Snape said. Then he held out his arm and continued, "You need to grip my arm tightly– do not let go or you will end up splinched."

It took Harry a moment to work up the resolve to grab the proffered arm. As soon as he did, Snape contorted his body into a spin, and Harry felt the exceedingly uncomfortable sensation of being compressed on all sides, then sucked through a straw.

Moments later, they landed. Harry had just enough time to see that they were in a kitchen before he dropped to his knees, one arm planted firmly on the ground, the other wrapped around his stomach, which was once again gurgling loudly.

Harry groaned inaudibly and closed his eyes, trying to shove down the pain in his stomach. A moment later, the pain receded, and Harry was able to clamber to his feet. He kept his head ducked, sure there was a blush of shame discoloring his face. He had been able to survive being pulled to Voldemort, but simple apparation brought him to his knees with nausea.

"Are you alright, Potter? I have stomach-calming potions available, if you need one," Snape said.

"I'm alright, thank you, sir," Harry said.

In the long pause that followed, Harry did his best to survey his surroundings without lifting his head. They were standing in a meticulously clean kitchen. A Muggle kitchen, Harry realized, spotting the ordinary gas stove and refrigerator. The thought of Snape possessing a Muggle kitchen was oddly incongruous to Harry, who, if asked, would have assumed that Snape was a pureblood.

"Would you like a tour of the house?" Snape asked.

Harry held himself still as his mind raced, considering the question. Here he was in Snape's kitchen– for unfathomable reasons– and Snape was offering to give him a tour. There was no way the offer was genuine. "That's alright, sir."

In the following silence, he tried to find the words to ask where he would be staying. He wasn't certain it would be a proper room, and he didn't want to anger Snape or imply that he was spoiled by making that assumption. "But– uh, if you could show me where to put my things?" Harry decided on.

"Of course. Follow me," Snape said, striding out of the kitchen.

Harry snatched his duffle from where he'd dropped it and hurried after. As they passed through the house, Harry caught brief glimpses of clean, well-kept rooms. Harry thought it was a little odd that the staircase to the first floor was in the living room, but he kept this to himself.

At the top of the stairs, Snape opened the first door on the right and gestured for Harry to precede him into it. Harry's jaw dropped and he blinked a few times to be sure that he hadn't imagined the room in front of him. Whatever Harry had been expecting of the room Snape was guiding him to, this had not been it.

It looked as though the Gryffindor common room had been transplanted into Snape's house. The walls were painted the same warm red, and the trim was all soft gold. On the wood floor, there was a patterned rug that Harry thought he had seen in the common room.

Harry drifted further into the room and ran his hand down the hangings around the bed. These hangings could have been pulled right from his dorm. It was all so familiar– it felt just like Hogwarts, the only place he'd ever felt truly at home.

And then Harry was jarred by this realization. The realization that he could feel at home in Snape's house.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Snape was still standing in the doorway, watching him. Harry cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir," Harry said, hoping Snape could hear his sincerity.

It would hurt far more to lose this room now that he had it than if he had never seen it at all, so Harry wanted to make sure that Snape knew his gratitude was genuine.

"Think nothing of it," Snape said. "Meals are at 8am, 1pm, and 7pm."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, not sure what else to say.

Then Snape nodded and left, heading down the stairs.

Harry waited until he heard Snape dismount the stairs, then wandered over to the door. Snape had left it open, leaving Harry torn with indecision over whether that meant he was allowed to close it or not.

In the end, he decided that Snape would be more mad if the door was left open and Harry ended up disturbing him with noise. So he closed it, noting as he did so that the door locked from the inside.

This observation caused Harry to hurry over to the window and pull aside the curtains– red, like his bed hangings– to see whether there were bars. He couldn't see any bars– but it was dark out, so he calmed himself before he could get too excited.

To confirm the absence of bars on his window, Harry grabbed the handles along the window sash and cracked the window open, slipping his hand out and running it along the bottom of the window. There were no bars.

There were no bars on the window and the door locked from the inside and the room was furnished like Gryffindor Tower, like the closest thing to home that Harry had ever known.

None of this made any sense at all. Snape hated him, Snape had lied to him, Snape had betrayed him. And yet– it seemed like Snape had prepared a room for him to stay in and like he was planning to feed Harry three times a day.

Harry couldn't imagine what could have driven Snape to do all that.

Unless– unless he hadn't chosen to.

Professor McGonagall had probably sent Snape to get Harry from the Dursleys– to make sure Bellatrix wouldn't be able to get to him. And McGonagall had probably needed to facilitate everything as much as possible to make Snape agree to do it, so she had probably been the one to set this room up, since Harry could not imagine Snape doing this.

Of course, she would be too busy to keep an eye on Snape for the whole of the vacation, so Harry couldn't count on her to keep Snape from mistreating him entirely.

Harry wondered how long it would take Snape to drop the veneer of civility he had adopted. Because as time wore on, he was sure to get sick of Harry's presence and lash out.

It was inevitable, after all. Much like the Dursleys, Snape did not like Harry and had not wanted to take him in, but he had been forced to by circumstances and meddling outsiders. So, much like the Dursleys, Snape would eventually realize that no one was watching. That no one would care what happened to Harry, so long as he returned to Hogwarts more or less in one piece.

Harry would just have to stay on his guard. It wouldn't do for him to be caught unaware when Snape could change his mind at any moment.

AN: so the GOAL is an update every weekend at least, but things are. interesting. at the moment, so I am hesitant to commit to an update schedule. the best i can do is tell y'all to subscribe so you're notified when i do post

anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! harry is away from the dursleys and we have a Whole lot of interactions between snape and harry ahead of us :D please let me know what you thought in the reviews!