The Beginning Of A Long Day
His arms are like weights as Harry rubs at his eyes. Sitting up with a yawn forcing its way out of his mouth, he rubs at his eyes before opening them. He huffs at the sunlight beaming through the large window to his right, between the bookshelves.
Hold on. Window? Bookshelves? Sunlight? Did he die while he was asleep? Did he wake up in heaven or another dimension? Was he kidnapped, or did he spend the night on Ms. Figg's couch again?
He pauses. His eyebrows furrow as he looks around himself, and it takes his tired brain a few seconds to realise that this is definitely not his cupboard. The lack of spiders and cobwebs should’ve been his first clue. He should just cross out ‘detective work’ and other jobs of the sort from the list of ‘potential future jobs' to get it over and done with.
Harry is in a large bedroom; he's sitting in a large four-poster bed with a lot of green; the covers are green, as are the pillows and the curtains hanging from the posters; the walls are green with light murals of vines, flowers, and branches; there is a door painted black to his left along with another in the far corner to his right; and finally, there is a miniature library on both sides of the wide window seat flooded with cushions.
Wait, are the vines painted on the walls waving at him? Nope, too early in the morning. Ignore it, Harry; find your glasses.
He spots his glasses on the small bedside table. He reaches for them and slips them on. Lifting the covers off of himself, Harry swings his legs out of the bed and nearly has a heart attack when his sock-covered feet touch the soft carpet lining the whole floor. Shaking himself out of his stupor, memories of the day before slowly returned to his mind. Right, he’s in Snape’s home—mansion—excessively large house. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. Stop freaking out already.
Harry hauls himself out of bed and walks to the door in the middle of the wall to his left, his head still drowsy from sleep and his legs uncoordinated underneath him. His hands fumble with the doorknob for a minute, but eventually he gets it open with a 'click.’
The hinges creak lightly, and Harry pokes his head out of the doorway. He looks both ways. It's a long hallway. He takes a deep breath and steps out, deciding to go left, going back in the direction Mr–Professor Snape had brought him from the evening before. Hopefully he can find the kitchen again without getting lost in the unnecessarily large mansion. His footsteps echo against the polished floor and painting-hung walls as he makes his way towards the end of the hallway. His eyes widen as he gawks at how big the man's house is; the front hall is two stories high, and stairs on both sides of the room lead up to the area where Harry just came from.
The front door—it's a double door, Harry realises while looking at it—reaches halfway up the wall. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling is so large that it could easily fit a small car, and the dark marble floors gleam under the light glaring through the elegant windows on either side of the front doors. Harry quite likes it. Very classy yet not overly obnoxious. Just toeing the line between rich and look-at-how-much-money-I-have-compared-to-you-peasant type of rich. Still, way more than what he might’ve seen back with his relatives.
To the left of the front hall, there are three doors. Thankfully, they all have labels on them—little silver plaques bolted to the tops of the door frames. The one closest to the front door is the living room, then the dining room, and the last is the kitchen. On the opposite side of the hall are three doors: the cellar, the library, and a boot room. Once he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he spots two huge doors between the stairs, with the label "Ballroom" above them. Harry bypasses all of them and enters the door to the dining room.
The dining room is a spacious area with a long wooden table in the centre, surrounded by high-backed chairs. The living room was connected to it, on the far left end of the room. The walls are adorned with paintings of wizards and witches from centuries past, most framed with gold or silver—which is easy enough to see when you get a good view of their clothing.
One man is wearing a penguin suit with a tall top hat on his head with sideburns. In a different frame, a woman and man sit together on an uncomfortably looking chair, the lady dressed in a large gown with a ruffled collar and some type of waist shaping under her dress that Harry thinks might be difficult to breathe in. Meanwhile, the man has a similar ruffled collar, a fancy hat, and working shoes on.
Next to them is a man standing alone in front of a large fireplace, his nose turned up at whoever must have been painting him with a mean glare in his eye. He’s dressed sharply in a suit, a black bowtie adorning the bottom of his neck, a handkerchief poking out of his left sleeve, and on top of his shirt is a clean and wrinkle-free waistcoat with colourful patterns sewn into it; the last item visible on the man is the pocket watch sat neatly on his chest pocket.
While in a separate painting again, a woman is wearing one of those embroidered linen silk jackets fastened with ribbon ties that he remembers seeing in one of the history books he picked up in the library one time while hiding from his cousin during a summer game of Harry Hunting—and every single one of the paintings is moving. Which is just, huh? What?
Gaping at the living paintings, Harry closes the door behind him and walks up to the table. Two places are set in the middle, across from each other. A door to his right swings open—the kitchen, Harry and Professor Snape had fruit in there yesterday—and in strides Professor Snape, the man dressed and looking nifty in his black trousers, shirt, dress shoes, and robe on top. A few steps behind him two smaller people follow him into the room, both of whom are wearing simple black and grey clothing.
Snape spots Harry within seconds and says, "Ah, you're awake. Good, I was beginning to think that I'd need to send either Basil or Borage to summon you." He sits down on the other side of the table, across from the chair Harry is standing behind.
A blush spreads on Harry's face; he quickly sits down and fiddles with his hands while the two short people with long pointed ears—Basil and Borage? Float plates, bowls, and cups onto the table.
Snape turns to the person—a creature?—closest to him. "Borage, prepare an outfit for our young guest; we'll be departing once we're finished breakfast."
The creature nods, clicks its fingers, and vanishes into thin air with a "pop."
"What! How?" Harry gasps, his wide eyes staring at the now empty space. Snape sips from his cup, amusement shining in his eyes.
"House elves. Every magical household has them—the older houses anyway. They are attracted to those with ancient magic; the more magic you have, the more likely you are to attract them. Elves stay with one family throughout their lives, bound to the homes of their owners." The older man stops to eat a bit of his breakfast. Harry frowns and swallows the food in his mouth. Snape puts up his hand as Harry goes to open his mouth.
"They aren't slaves; they like being put to work because it makes them feel important. It's quite insulting to ask an elf if they wish to be free, so don't. Depending on the house elf you ask, their reaction can range from a heart attack to an emotional breakdown. Teleporting with elf magic is one of their many gifts; house elves live from decades to centuries, pair for life, and never have more than four offspring, if that much." He finishes with a barely noticeable shrug of his shoulders.
Harry listens carefully to Snape's explanation, nodding along as he takes in the information about elves. He can't help being a little uneasy about the idea of owning another being, even if they don't see it that way. But he understands that it's a part of the "magical" world, and he'll have to accept it. He makes a mental note to treat any elves he may encounter with respect. Maybe he could ask some house elves—should he meet them—about wizarding history or to tell him about who they work for. Knowledge and power and all that.
Drinking the last of his orange juice, Harry rises from the table, pushing his chair out from underneath him and tucking it back under the table. Snape gets up as well, wiping his face with the cloth he had laid across his lap at the beginning of the meal.
"We'll be leaving in fifteen minutes. Borage should have clothes laid out for you upstairs; I'll be waiting at the front door." With that said, Snape leaves the dining room with his dark robes flowing behind him. Does he have them that long just to have a dramatic flair?
Heading back up to his room, Harry’s eyes find their way back to the paintings lining most of the walls. The level of detail in all of them is amazing, not to mention that they're able to move. He nods briefly to the young-looking man with eyes even darker than Professor Snape's—he is dressed in dress pants, a shirt as white as the snow falling outside the window behind him and polished shoes. His hair is tied back with only the stray lock falling around his face—in the painting hung parallel to his bedroom door, and he receives a pinched but pleased smile and nod in return.
A thought enters his head while he closes the bedroom door behind him, and suddenly he's quite happy with the lack of paintings in his room. A shudder runs down his spine. It would be gross to have people staring at him while he got dressed, let alone watch him sleeping.
Turning towards the bed, he spots the clothing set out for him and Harry mumbles under his breath. "I don't have anything that looks like this."
Picking up the black pants and the freshly ironed beige shirt in his hands, he finds that they're just the right size for him, and the black shoes on the floor are the right size too. He quickly changed into them, admiring himself in the mirror, which he'd hardly noticed before. He doesn't even know where it came from. It’s just sort of… floating in the middle of the room.
As he leaves the room, he wonders if he should ask Professor Snape about the mirror but decides against it, not wanting to seem overly curious. He heads down the stairs, going two steps at a time, and greets Snape at the front door as he exits the house. The man locks the doors and leads Harry down the steps leading up to the house.
"Wonderful, let's go, shall we?" Snape extends his right arm to Harry. The boy grimaces, reluctantly catching hold of the man's elbow and clenching his jaw.
Once again, Harry feels the stomach-twisting sensation of apparition. His fingers wrench tightly to Snape's sleeve, and his legs come close to giving out from underneath him.