Harry sat on the windowsill of his empty dorm.

The farewells from his friends had been brief, and, for the most part pretty cheerful. Only Hermione had though that staying at Hogwarts wasn't a wise thing to do. It was empty, and she had wondered in the privacy of her own head how Harry would cope.

With the return of Voldemort becoming publicly known, parents had panicked and wanted their children to be where they could see them. Harry had laughed when he first thought of that. You want your children to be safe, so take them out from under Albus Dumbledore's eyes. Oh, the irony.

Harry had walked up the path to Hogwarts slowly, stopping once or twice along the way to gaze out at the scenery.

He had decided that, as soon as the war was over, he would find himself somewhere to live in a secluded spot. He wanted reprieve. As soon as this whole fiasco was over, he would find himself somewhere to just be. Somewhere where there were no judgements, no eyes accusing him over blood he would undoubtedly spill.

He shifted his position on the ledge. The stars were out, and the snow was still in the quiet moonlight.

It really was quiet out there; the only sound was the wind chasing itself lazily through the parapets of the tower. The snow reflected the moonlight surprisingly well, twinkling where the lethargic gusts knocked flakes carelessly from the ledge.

Harry found himself searching for faces against the reflection of the glass, but for once did not restrain himself. When he found himself looking for Cedric's face, for his godfather's face and for his parent's faces, he usually shied away. He did not want their guilty stares.

He saw his own face, pale and withdrawn. He noted the scar and the acid green eyes. Then he saw an owl flutter past the castle; he saw Cedric Diggory stride past and wave casually at him, then explode in a flurry of green feathers. He saw Sirius approaching him, but he got no further than a few feet before falling into a long dark pit. Harry tried to reach him, screaming his name, but all he could see was his pale form disappearing down a long dark shaft then there was a swish of curtain and the man was gone. Harry was screaming now, screaming more and more and more and he fell, but he wasn't falling down he was running, trying to outrun the tachometers of Hell, toward a green light, but only as he reached it he realised he'd been running to his death -

Harry jerked awake with a start, shivering. He glanced at the clock, and saw it was four in the morning. Someone was tugging on his leg. He looked down.

"Oh hi, Dobby."

Harry swung is legs down from the ledge, but his muscles were stiff from sitting there.

"Dobby was cleaning sir, and Dobby is waking up sir because sir was having a bad dream," said the elf fearfully. Harry smiled.

"Thanks."

The elf beamed and disappeared with a flash.

Rubbing his head tiredly, Harry climbed into the cool sheets of his bed. He fell asleep almost immediately.

When Harry awoke the next morning, it was to an empty room. Slightly disoriented for a moment, he dressed and headed down to breakfast.

It was a subdued affair. The tables had been replaced by a single, smaller one. Harry managed to strike up a conversation with Professor McGonagall about his transfiguration homework.

He left the table and took his time wandering up to the tower. He didn't want to move to Snape's living quarters. It was as simple as that.

Actually, it wasn't. His rage was subdued but very, very fiery.

All his stuff was packed and ready to go. He stared dully at his trunk and kicked it half-heartedly.

Why, oh why, did he have to do this? He knew Voldemort was in his head and wasn't in his head, and he knew how Snape hated him. He hadn't the strength to forgive Snape for hating him anymore.

Before he knew it he was sat on his bed, face in his hands. The depression settled in his system like the snow outside, a dead white blanket. He expected to cry, but no tears would come. Instead his eyes burned and his soul hurt.

He pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his face tiredly. Growing up was a harrowing experience, to say the least, and having the burden of the world on your shoulders really didn't help.

lllllll

He was levitating his trunk down to the dungeons when he saw Snape standing, arms crossed menacingly, next to a tapestry of snakes winding through each other.

"These are my personal quarters," rapped Snape sharply as Harry lowered his trunk. "If you reveal their location, if you divulge the password, if you in any way abuse them you will have me to answer to."

Snape seemed to consider this a suitable threat. He was making no effort not to ominous, and his dark eyes glittered strangely with a light that clearly bespoke menace. Harry almost raised an eyebrow, as tempting as it was, but he was going to have to live with the man for a week, after all.

Snape turned and tapped the tapestry with his wand, and muttered "Infinitum."

The snakes writhed for a moment as they all wriggled aside, revealing a menacing, dark oak door. Snape took ahold of the handle and stepped in, not bothering to wait for Harry.

Harry stepped onto a cold stone floor. The room he had entered was spacious, with tall stone walls. A fire burned in a huge grate on Harry's left, and there was a chair by the fire. It was leather and high backed, and had the look of a lot of use. Harry also spied another, stiffer-backed chair behind what looked like an overused mahogany desk. Papers were strewn all over its surface, and it looked desperately in need of a holiday. Harry saw several large bookcases against the opposite wall. There was a green rug covering perhaps half of the floor, and Harry could see down into a passageway with three more doors branching from it.

A fire burned in the hearth but it seemed cold and indifferent rather that cheerful. The room was chilled and impersonal... except for the chair in front of the fire. It had a slightly worn-through-the-years look that too much time had been spent there, too many emotions spilled in its leathery embrace -

Not for the first time Harry wondered if Legilimency could not only be applied to the mind, but to the places were the mind had spent a lot of time -

Harry's three-second reverie was cut short by Snape striding to stand in the middle of the room. Harry Occluded his mind and waited.

Snape's eyes seemed to glow with malignancy.

"These are my quarters. This is my main room. You will not leave mess. You will not eat in here. Any time you spend in here will be silent and productive. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," said Harry simply.

Snape narrowed his eyes, obsidian glinting maliciously in the firelight. Harry didn't permit himself any kind of surfacing emotion.

Abruptly, Snape turned on his heel and stalked down the passageway. Harry, resigned to the worst, levitated his trunk and followed.

Snape stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway, and he pointed to the door at the end of the passage.

"That is the bathroom."

He then pointed to a second door.

"That is my room. You will not, under any circumstances be it death, torture or dire need, enter."

Snape paused in front of the third door in the hallway.

"I see Albus has been tampering with the dimensions in the castle already. I believe this will be your room."

Snape turned the handle and pushed the door in.

The room was large enough, with a simple four-poster and a half-empty bookshelf. There was a fire on the opposite wall, and a cozy-looking chair in front of it. There was a small desk and chair in the opposite corner of the room from the bed. There was also a dark-wooded wardrobe.

In contrast to the main room, it had a touch of homeliness and comfort about it, and Harry couldn't quite place why until he realised there was a large scarlet rug with a gold lion upon it. The colours were not brass but comfortably faded.

Harry heard the door close unnecessarily loudly behind him, but he didn't flinch. Instead, thinking that at least he could charm the door against noise, he began to unpack.