Catechism

Catechism

By: Dreamfall

Summary: What if the Dursleys were smarter? Smart enough to turn Harry against magic- against himself. How long would it take anyone to realize how much damage was done, and once it was discovered how could they ever hope to fix it? A disturbing look at a Harry who has been taught from infancy to hate and fear everything he is.

Warnings: Quite disturbing. Various kinds of abuse. Harry with something of a house elf mentality. If you don't want to read it, don't.

Author's Notes: Feedback is welcome, constructive criticism particularly so. If it's spelling/grammar/etc e-mail is better than actual comments, but whatever.

Review Response: I've started a livejournal to contain responses to reviews I receive on my stories, as well as update notices, and maybe other story stuff if I get around to it. The address is refusing to show up on here, but it is under homepage on my front page, or you can go to livejournal and it is username dreamfall(underscore)ff If I can figure out a way to make fanfiction just show the webpage I'll add it in later. And if I can figure out how to make an underscore character show up, I'll replace the (underscore) with it:p.

Chapter Three
Settling In

Once inside the school, Professor Snape dropped Harry's hand with an obvious relief that Harry found comforting in its normalcy. The boy's eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. Gray stone walls, darker in some places than others. Occasional open doors revealing black voids beyond, or, in other cases, rooms lit with warm light that seemed to move and flicker as they walked by. There were metal figures he eventually realized must be suits of armor standing at random intervals along the hallway, still and silent. Paintings seemed to be everywhere, splashes of shadow and color that he worked very hard to avoid looking at when he realized that he was catching bits of motion within them. Quiet voices, some raised in greeting to the professor and other softer murmurings, made him wish he could avert his ears as well as his eyes. Professor Snape ignored the greetings, sweeping on down the hall at a pace Harry had to trot to keep up with. Complaining never entered his mind, though his breathing was soon coming hard and fast.

It was a relief when they finally stopped in front of a large stone statue of a hunched figure leaning menacingly forward, wings jutting out from its shoulders. Harry swallowed hard and dropped his gaze as the wings lifted slightly, warningly.

The professor stated in an irritated tone of voice, "Circus peanuts."

Startled into looking up at the strange words, a tremor ran through Harry as the statue stepped aside and the wall behind it split in two. Reluctantly, he followed his guide past it, into the passageway it had been guarding. He dared a look as he passed, then had to fight the instinct to leap back as he found a hideous stone face mere inches from his own, staring at him, large teeth partially bared. Quickly, he returned his gaze to the floor and hurried past the monstrous statue.

He stepped up behind his guide onto a spiral staircase, and then almost fell as he realized the stairs were moving, raising them up. Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, he waited, pale-faced, until the motion stopped. Cautiously, he opened his eyes to find the professor rapping at a large wooden door with a reddish-gold knocker.

"Do come in, Severus," a genial voice instructed. As the professor opened the door and stalked inside, Harry at his heels, it continued cheerfully, "And I see that your mission was successful! Excellent!"

The voice belonged to a tall figure with a long white beard, which flowed over bright blue robes with smaller patches of bright colors flittering about it, sometimes almost colliding. He moved out from behind the large desk as he spoke. Professor Snape stepped aside, leaving Harry with nothing to hide behind as the old man approached, one hand extended. Harry waited for the blow, eyes forward and slightly downcast, hands limp at his sides.

The old wizard reached down and clasped the child's right hand, shaking it twice. Harry managed to suppress the shudder that wanted to run through him at the contact, and reluctantly raised his gaze to see the welcoming smile and faintly concerned blue eyes of the old man. He dropped his gaze again quickly when his hand was squeezed slightly then released, and let his arm drop limply back to his side, waiting.

"Harry Potter," the warm voice said musingly. "My dear boy, it is quite wonderful to see you again. I held you as an infant, you know. I am Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School."

The boy waited, perfectly still.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" his guide snapped. "Say hello."

"Hello, sir," he repeated obediently, uncertainly. He knew the word, of course- but he had never had cause to speak it or have it spoken to him. It felt odd in his mouth.

Blue eyes met black over his head and Professor Snape snorted. "We have a slight problem, Albus."

"Do we? Would you care for a lemon drop, Severus? Harry?"

"Certainly not!"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Are you quite certain, Harry? They're very good."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Very well, then. Have a seat, my boy," he added, gesturing towards a large comfortable chair just to the boy's side.

Harry's gaze jerked up incredulously and he stared for a moment before reluctantly dropping to perch on the edge of the chair, wondering what punishment he would have for so defiling furniture. He couldn't remember the last time he'd dared such an action. But no enraged shout was forthcoming. No swift fist lashed out to knock him from the seat. And he realized. This was what Uncle Vernon meant. Their seduction. Offering him things, having him sit among them- even touching him. Startled, he began to wonder if the taking of his hand had been intended as a punishment after all. Surely it must have been, and yet- it was so confusing.

"A problem?" the older wizard's gentle prompt drew Harry from his thoughts and he noticed that the two men had seated themselves, the headmaster returning to his seat behind the desk and Professor Snape taking a chair similar to Harry's a couple feet away.

"It seems," the professor murmured, a streak of dark enjoyment in his voice, "that the muggles were ... overzealous in their protection."

The older man's head tilted slightly to one side. "That hardly seems a problem, Severus."

"He has not left their house in nearly nine years."

Professor Dumbledore started visibly and his gaze turned from his colleague to the boy, who felt a shiver run through him at the weight of it until it returned to Professor Snape. Finally, the persistent smile gone from his voice, he said blankly, "What?"

"Apparently you told them that only their home was safe for the boy. They interpreted that to mean that he wasn't to be allowed outside the walls. The boy is terrified of the sky, Albus."

For a long moment the old man stared at him. Finally, he murmured, weakly, "This is ... unexpected."

"Your mastery of understatement will never case to impress me."

Considering the ramifications of this news, the headmaster turned back to Harry and studied him for a long moment, noting his stiff posture and down turned gaze. "Harry, dear boy, how many people did your aunt and uncle introduce you to?"

"I'm sorry, sir," he answered softly, not looking up. "I don't understand."

"Other than your aunt and uncle - and I believe you have a cousin as well - aside from them, have you spoken with many people?"

"No, sir."

"How many, Harry?" the old man asked gently.

"Two sir," he replied, wondering if it were some kind of trick question. Questions with obvious answers were usually posed to bring a flaw to light. But usually he knew where his error lay. What had he done wrong?

"Besides Professor Snape and myself?"

"No, sir."

The headmaster sighed and the other teacher groaned. "You can't remember talking to anyone else, Harry?"

"No, sir."

"I see." He fell silent for a long moment, and Harry could feel eyes on him, studying him, though he didn't look up. "Thank Merlin there's five weeks left before school starts. This will not be easy."

Harry spent a split second frantically searching the room for another figure who he could thank as commanded, then remembered that Merlin was an historical figure by whom freaks swore. So the statement had been rhetorical. The second part, however, could be answered. "Sorry, sir."

"Back to that, are we?" Professor Snape muttered irritably.

"Sorry for what, Harry?" the headmaster asked gently.

"For being an inconvenience, sir," he replied. "And for angering Professor Snape."

Professor Snape snorted and the headmaster laughed. "My dear boy! As I was the one who apparently provided the Dursleys with less than clear instructions I clearly brought any inconvenience on myself. Indeed I believe I owe you an apology."

That startled a horrified glance from the boy. "No sir!"

"And as for angering Professor Snape," he continued cheerfully, only a glint of concern showing that he'd heard the interruption, "he is quite used to being angry and you needn't give it another thought."

"So kind, Albus!" the potions master murmured ironically.

"Yes, but Severus, consider. It's not in the least fair to get angry with poor Harry for apologizing: when he apologizes you only get angrier. Besides, you are always so offended when apologies are not made."

"They lose impact and sincerity when delivered with every breath."

The headmaster shot a twinkling glance down at Harry. "Harry, would you ever apologize insincerely to Professor Snape?"

Harry fought back a shiver of pure terror. The last time he had been accused of an insincere apology was long enough ago that he couldn't remember the details of either accusation or retribution. But it had left him with the conviction that nothing short of magic was worse than not sincerely and whole-heartedly confessing to and apologizing for his many evils. "No, sir," he managed to force out in an almost normal voice.

"There, you see, Severus?"

Not dignifying that with a response, the younger man rose. "At any rate, Albus, I've delivered the boy as you requested and now I will leave you to it."

"Well, there is one more thing, Severus."

"No."

"What?"

"Whatever you are going to ask, the answer is no. I won't do it."

The old man grinned cheerfully up at him. Before responding directly, he turned to Harry. "Harry, my boy, would you be so kind as to step outside for a moment? Just outside the door. Don't go anywhere."

"Yes, sir," he agreed quietly and slid to his feet, then stepped outside and stood perfectly still, waiting. Professor Snape followed and closed the door firmly behind the boy, who didn't move a muscle. The voices inside resumed almost at once, quiet but clearly audible to a boy used to living in the absolutely silence of a soundproofed cupboard and searching for any hint of noise from outside. Especially one used to listening for any order given by his family, even a softly spoken instruction several rooms away.

"Now, Severus. Clearly Mr. Potter is unused to company and will be much more comfortable out of the main stream of things. You are the only staff member presently on the premises whose quarters fit that description."

"Hagrid is much more out of the way."

"Yes, but Hagrid's cottage is outside," the headmaster pointed out patiently. "Harry would need to cross the grounds at least twice daily. I believe we need to be a bit more patient than that with his fears."

"I don't have a guest room," Professor Snape pointed out reasonably.

"You will by the time you reach your quarters," the headmaster promised. "Hogwarts will contrive."

"Then let it contrive a different babysitter!"

"Severus," Albus murmured warningly, and Harry felt his skin crawl. That gentle voice was always the most dangerous. Gentle signified disappointment.

"Albus, no! It's madness. What would I, of all people, do with the boy?"

"It's only temporary."

"No. It's not temporary because I will not take him."

"Severus, I need you to do this. Please."

"No."

"Would you have an old man beg, Severus?"

"I would have an old man rediscover one or two of his wandering wits and find a solution that has some modicum of sanity, that is what I would have an old man do."

The headmaster sighed sadly.

Professor Snape snorted, unimpressed.

"One week, Severus. Share your rooms with him for one week and I'll get you the harder to acquire potions components you've been requesting. And a full flask of phoenix tears for good measure."

There was a moment's silence, then, in a different tone of voice, sounding a bit surprised, the potions master asked, "Where is Fawkes?"

"My dear, boy, did you think he reported his wanderings to me?" the headmaster asked, gently teasing. "He'll be back, though. You've no need to fear your supply of tears drying up." A pause then. "Give me just one week. Just evenings and mornings, you need not entertain him during the day. Please, Severus? One week?"

The younger man groaned. "Oh very well. But I want everything on that list. And then after this week of yours, I'll have three weeks in which no one in this school or on behalf of anyone from this school will attempt to contact me in any way for any reason. Up to and including dementors being released on the premises. Am I understood?"

"But of course, my dear boy. It shall be just as you say." An instant's hesitation, then, "Bring him back in, would you, Severus?"

There was a swish of fabric then the door opened. Harry turned to find Professor Snape glaring down at him. Silently, he followed the man back inside and waited. "Well, Harry, for a few days you're going to stay in Professor Snape's quarters. Is this amenable to you?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not familiar with that word," he admitted, bracing himself for punishment.

Professor Snape snorted but the headmaster only sent the man a disapproving glance before smiling at Harry. "No shame in that. We aren't born knowing everything. I meant would that suit you? Will you be okay with that arrangement?"

The meaning had been fairly clear from context, but had thrown him because that was not the sort of question he was asked. Besides, he was always to volunteer his ignorance so that he could be punished properly. The time it took for the headmaster to explain was enough for him to realize that he was not going to be disciplined. And to recall that he was to answer the question and to gather himself to do so without showing his shock at being asked. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir," he added, turning to Professor Snape.

He was answered by a sneer from the younger man and a smile from the elder, who exclaimed, "Excellent! Severus, if you would take our young charge to Madam Pomfrey for a check up? And I shall see you both at breakfast tomorrow. Harry, my boy, truly it is a pleasure to renew your acquaintance."

"Thank you, sir," he said uncomfortably, then looked to Professor Snape, who silently swept out of the room. Harry hurried to follow.

They went down seemingly endless passageways. He wondered anxiously how he was ever to find his way around. Home could have fit a dozen times just in the halls he'd already been through! And there were so many more that they'd passed without entering. Eventually he was led into a brightly lit room, the walls startlingly white after all the stone.

A woman in equally blinding robes bustled out of a side room to approach them. "Ah, good! Albus told me you were coming. How nice to meet you, Mr. Potter." Turning to Professor Snape, she added, "And thank you again for the supplies of potions, Severus. Barring a year more accident prone than the one before last-" They both shuddered at the memory. "-this supply should last through the holidays."

"Very good. Let me know if you need anything else, of course. And Floo me when you're done with him," he added, casting a glance of loathing at Harry.

Chuckling, she waved him away, then turned cheerfully to Harry as the door closed behind the man. "Don't you mind him," she recommended, waving one hand towards the door to indicate the potions master. "His bark is worse than his bite."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said softly, perfectly still. "I don't understand."

"Oh!" she expclaimed, surprised. "I thought it was a muggle expression. But I suppose not all muggles use the same ones. I meant that he throws a lot of insults and sounds angry and mean, but he's got a good heart and would never harm you."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Certainly," she smiled kindly down at him and gestured towards a bed. "Hop up."

He hesitated, uncertain. "Ma'am?"

"Just sit on the end of it, for now, please."

"Yes, ma'am," he acknowledged doubtfully. He approached the bed and turned, gingerly perching on the foot of it, careful not to touch the sheet with his hands.

"This won't hurt a bit," she informed him. "I'm just going to do some quick diagnostic charms to find out your general state of health. Just sit easy."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied reflexively, not relaxing.

She crossed the room, pulling her wand out of a sheath at her right hip, and picked up something from the counter with her spare hand. After a few waves of her wand and a few strange syllables spoken, she released the thing in her left hand, which kept moving on it's own. Harry swallowed heavily and averted his gaze as she returned to him. She waved the wand in a complex pattern and spoke several incomprehensible syllables, then paused.

After a moment she began speaking in what could have been more magical phrases, but he recognized occasional connecting words and her tone was different than it had been the times he knew she was casting spells. So maybe this time the talking was medical rather than magical.

Finally the mediwitch flicked her wand, paused a moment, then said, "You have some rather nasty bruises on your stomach and chest. What are they from?"

"I was climbing on a chair to get a glass off a high shelf and I slipped and fell onto the chair," he replied, adding just a touch of chagrin to his tone, as he had been coached to do.

She winced sympathetically but relaxed slightly at the explanation. "Ouch! That must have hurt. Well, I have some salve that will get rid of those bruises in no time. Nothing to worry about there. You're also a bit small for your age, Mr. Potter, but your father came into his growth late also, and I daresay you'll catch up with and pass your schoolmates just as he did. What does concern me a bit is that you are quite underweight for your height and a bit anemic."

Again bracing himself for punishment, he apologized, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't know what that means."

She blinked and colored slightly. "Of course you don't. I'm sorry, I was talking half to myself, I'm afraid. A horrible habit. Anemia is a condition you can have- it means you don't have enough red blood cells in your blood. It can make you feel weak and tire easily, get out of breath easily, and it can take away your appetite. That last is bad because the kind you have a bit of usually comes from not eating enough meat and eggs and dairy products, especially red meat, so not eating is not a good way to solve the problem. But now that we see it, it should be easy enough to take care of." She smiled at him. "Other than that, you're in pretty good shape, Mr. Potter. Very good muscle tone. Your lungs are a bit weak, but Albus mentioned your house arrest when he Flooed me," she said, lips thinning disapprovingly. Before he could say that he didn't know the term house arrest, she hurried on, "I daresay you didn't have much opportunity to run or get other aerobic exercise- that is, exercise that makes your heart beat faster and your breathing faster and harder?"

"No, ma'am, I didn't," he agreed. "Sorry, ma'am."

"Well, it's hardly your fault. We should be able to work on that, too. But for now let's do some quick hearing and vision tests and I'll Floo Severus to fetch you away for the evening. I daresay it's been rather a long day for you. First of all, you're going to hear some sounds of various types and volumes coming from all around. Just point to wherever you hear the sound coming from. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She cast a spell and he began hearing beeps and clicks and hisses and crackles from all directions, usually spaced out by about three seconds. After a few minutes the mediwitch waved her wand and the sounds stopped. "Very good," she announced. "You have exceptional hearing, Mr. Potter. Especially good for hisses, but well above average in every category. For eyes I just use the muggle way," she added, flicking her wand at the wall across from him. A large white chart unfolded itself on the wall. "Take a look at that chart, please, and tell me what the lowest row of letters you can read is."

Harry blinked. She had made a rectangle of white appear on the wall with a darker blur within, but letters? "I- I'm sorry, ma'am," he faltered. "I don't see the letters."

She started. "Even the one up at the top?"

He stared harder, squinting, and offered, tentatively, "E?"

"Well. Quite right but clearly you can't see it by much. I haven't the transfiguration skill to pinpoint your prescription the magical way, but I do have a muggle machine that works. And once I have that I can set a pair of glasses to it. Stay for a moment, Mr. Potter."

"I don't know the word prescription, ma'am," he admitted helplessly, this time not at all sure that she would punish him appropriately but not knowing whether that meant he shouldn't say it or not.

"I'm sorry. In this case it means the curve of the glasses lens needed to correct your vision. It can also mean a type and amount of a potion, pill, or some other medication that a medi-wizard or -witch assigns you to take." As she absently defined the word, she pulled open a drawer, removed something small, and set it on the floor. A murmur and wave later, it shot up to several feet tall and Harry watched through wide eyes as she rolled it over to stand directly before the boy. "A muggle machine- it's too large to store full-size all the time," Madam Pomfrey explained cheerfully. "So I shrink it whenever I'm not using it."

Soon he was looking through the machine and marveling as various lenses were passed before his eyes and the world sharpened and blurred before him. It was incredible. Suddenly he could see things across the room as clearly as though they were inches from his face. The changes grew smaller and smaller until it got difficult to answer when the mediwitch asked if one was clearer than another. Finally she pulled out a pair of wire-framed glasses from a drawer and touched first the right lens of the machine then the right lens of the glasses and concentrated. She repeated the process with the left lenses and pushed the machine a couple feet to the side before passing the glasses to Harry.

"Try those, please, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid you haven't any choice in frames for now. This is the only pair I have on hand."

Awkwardly, he placed the arms over his ears and settled the glasses onto his nose, then gasped. Amazing though it had been with the machine, having so much between himself and the view had made it somehow unreal. Now, though, with only this slim bit of metal and glass-

"Let's try this again. The lowest line you can read, please, Mr. Potter?"

Turning his attention back to the chart, Harry was struck dumb for a moment. The black lines seemed almost beautiful in their sharpness. The E he had blurrily guessed at before seemed absolutely huge now. He let his gaze drift down, enjoying the sensation of vision, admiring the sharp lines of the increasingly small letters. Finally, narrowing his eyes just slightly to be sure the fourth letter was a C rather than a G, he read the bottom line.

"Excellent!" Madam Pomfrey applauded, and Harry felt a shiver run through him at the unfamiliar approval. "Goodness, I don't know how you've done without them all this time."

For a long moment he hesitated, then, greatly daring, made himself ask a question. "Are you sure this isn't magic?" he asked, looking up at her face, noticing thin brows, warm brown eyes with small wrinkles at their corners, and brown hair with a few strands of gray in it.

She laughed, making her eyes dance and the lines around her eyes deepen and new ones form near her mouth. "Quite sure, dear. Muggles have done some remarkable things without magic and spectacles- eyeglasses, that is, are certainly among them. We can get you a magical pair that changes to match your prescription later. But, for now, these should do."

"Thank you, ma'am," he whispered, blinking at the 'dear' before staring wonderingly around, noticing a glass-fronted cabinet filled with potions he could almost read the labels of, the crisp folds of the linen sheet on the next bed, the flecked pattern to the tile on the floor. Catching motion out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a large feather hovering slightly above a thick sheet of paper, three quarters filled with writing. It moved to write as the mediwitch began to speak to him, and his gaze flinched away from the obvious magic.

"You should have had them long since. Well. I think that's everything for now. Unless there's something you want to bring up? Sleeping poorly? Headaches? Anything else?"

"No, ma'am."

Crossing the room, she opened the glass-fronted cupboard and removed a small covered bowl. "This is the salve I promised for your bruises," she explained, passing him the bowl. "Slather it on morning and night for a couple days and they should vanish in no time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, then, let me summon Professor Snape back and you can go down to your room." She bustled over to the fireplace, removed a handful of powder from a bowl on the mantle, and tossed it into the fire. The flames shot up, bright green, and she stated, "Professor Snape's quarters."

Harry quickly averted his eyes as the professor's face appeared, wreathed in green flames. For the first time he regretted his newly acute vision as green flame licked the face and danced in black eyes.

"Ah, Severus. We have just finished up here and you can come collect Mr. Potter."

"Delightful," he muttered.

Harry raised his eyes as he heard a flapping sound and swallowed as he saw that Professor Snape was now in the infirmary with them, brushing soot off his robes.

The man sneered at him, taking in the new glasses, and muttered, "As though he didn't look enough like his father already."

"Now, now. The poor boy saw like his father, as well as looking like him, poor thing, and I'm surprised he hasn't killed himself stumbling around blind before now," the mediwitch stated softly.

Ignoring the comment, the professor announced, "We'll go back the long way. Children are ridiculously messy with Floo powder and I'll not have my quarters full of ash."

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes but nodded. "Very well. Off with you both. If you are in any way injured or ill, Harry, don't hesitate to return."

"Yes, ma'am," he acknowledged, sliding off the bed and checking quickly to be sure he hadn't mussed the sheet before following as Professor Snape swept out the door and into the passageway beyond. The graceful billowing of the man's robes was fascinating and for a long minute Harry's attention stayed fastened on it before a sudden greeting made him turn. He blanched in dismay as he saw the speaker was the occupant of a large portrait who was waving as they passed. Professor Snape ignored it and kept walking, and Harry hurried to catch up. But having seen it he found it impossible not to notice the other paintings they passed. Portraits of figures who talked and bowed and called out greetings to the passersby. Landscapes with clouds that rolled across the skies and trees that trembled in the wind and sheep that moved as they grazed. A still life of a bowl of fruit- and as they passed it a large hand reached into it from nowhere and popped two grapes off their stem before retreating.

They saw nobody as Snape strode through the hallways and down staircases, Harry half jogging to keep up. Soon they were in a colder, darker part of the castle, most of the walls rough, undecorated stone. Harry shied away from the dark side passages, jerked back from the couple statues whose heads turned to watch them pass, and finally settled for walking so close on Professor Snape's heels that he could see nothing around the billowing cloak. So close that when the man abruptly stopped Harry plowed into his back. He fell back with a horrified apology and would have fallen had the man not spun about, impossibly quick, and grabbed his elbow, steadying him.

At the touch, Harry stopped trying to pull back, standing perfectly still, ready to accept whatever punishment was forthcoming.

For a moment they stood there, poised, then Professor Snape removed his hand and looked thoughtfully down at the pale face of the child before him. Finally he turned to a large portrait of a scribe working frantically at his desk and cleared his throat.

The scribe pushed brown hair back from his eyes and glared up. "Your timing is as atrocious as always!" he snapped. "I found the most fascinating treatise on- but I'd rather continue it than discuss it, so go in already, and let me get back to work!"

As it spoke, the portrait swung open, revealing a room on the other side, and the professor waved for Harry to enter. Terrified but knowing he already deserved enough punishment without adding direct disobedience to the reckoning, he slipped forward, through the opening, past the freakish painting, and into a room of quiet dignity and comfort. All the lines were smooth and clear, wood molding perfectly polished but without carved decoration. The floor was a shining dark gray tile and the furniture sleek cream leather. A single area rug with a geometric pattern in dark green and cream padded the floor between the couch that dominated the center of the room and a huge stone fireplace across from it. A big armchair sat near the side of the fireplace, angled slightly away from it, and bookcases of some goldish wood lined most of the walls. There were two doors in the wall opposite the painting they had entered through and two more on the wall opposite the fireplace, a few feet behind the couch. There were no lamps or lights that Harry could see, yet the room was filled with a soft bright light offering full illumination without tiring the eyes.

Following him in, Professor Snape eyed the nearer of the doors behind the couch with irritation. "That, I suppose, would be your room" he commented, moving forward to throw open the door.

The room was about the size of Dudley's second bedroom. It housed a twin bed heaped with blankets, the top of which was a rich dark blue and looked incredibly soft, a dresser, an empty bookcase, and a small desk and chair. A door to one side was open to reveal a closet only slightly smaller than his cupboard, and beside the bed stood his suitcase.

"This will suffice, I hope?" the professor demanded.

"I-" he was about to object that he didn't want so much more than he deserved, and bit himself off as he recalled that he was to play along and not obviously spurn their seduction. "Yes, sir," he said quietly. Then wondered if he had been mistaken and it was, after all, a test to see if he knew his place, as black eyes flashed in irritation.

"It may not be a palace, Potter," the man snapped, "but you'll receive no special treatment while you are with me, so you'd best gratefully accept what you're given."

"Yes, sir," he agreed, uncertain as to what he had done wrong, but recognizing it, too, whatever it was, as deserving of punishment. "Sorry, sir."

"Sorry for what?" the man demanded.

"I'm sorry that I don't know what I did wrong, and I'm sorry for doing it, sir."

The answer seemed to make the tall man even angrier, and Harry dropped his gaze, waiting for the first blow to fall. It never did. Patiently he waited for further instructions.

Finally the professor asked, "Are you hungry?"

"No, sir," he replied quickly, pleased that he'd gotten that, at least, right. He had been fed two days in a row and was as far from hungry as ever that he could remember.

"Sulking, are you? Well. Do it on your own. Come out if you change your mind. And as you're only here a few days there's no real point in unpacking your suitcase. But do so if you choose." Not waiting for a response, the man left the room, closing the door behind him.

Harry hesitated, not sure what he should do. He took an uncertain step towards the bed and reached out to touch the cover with one finger, but shuddered and jerked back from the soft opulence of it when he was a hairsbreadth away. Even to keep up appearances he couldn't go so far above himself. How was he to improve, to fight being a freak, in such a room as this? He set the pot of salve down on the dresser, knowing that he couldn't use it. Punishments were not to be healed.

For a long moment he stared desperately about. The, inexorably, his gaze was drawn to the closet and he realized what he had to do. Taking a breath to steady himself, he went to the closet, entered it, and pulled the door shut behind him, sealing himself into the dark. He curled up on the floor, angry with himself for missing his thin nest of rags as cold seeped into him from the hard stone floor. He didn't deserve such comforts. He turned so he couldn't see the thin line of light marking the bottom of the door, and pretended he couldn't hear the soft sounds of Professor Snape moving about the room beyond his and the various creakings and groanings of the castle.

"What are you?" he imagined being asked. And obediently began his catechism.