*Yeet* INFORMATION!
It took Harry a whole day and several hours to work up his bravery, but now that he's stood outside Snape's home office, the room being just inside the front doors, it appeared that his courage had vanished completely, like water down the drain. His fist was raised to knock on the door, but he couldn't muster up the willpower to do said action. For a handful of minutes, he's been standing, frozen like a statue, staring uncertainly at the dark wooden door.
A throat cleared itself to his left. Harry turned his head towards the noise; it's Basil. One of Snape’s two house elves.
"Are you alright, Master Harry? You be standing there for a long time." Her voice trailed off, and Harry gulped quietly, his wide emerald eyes darting back and forth between the door and the house elf.
"I'm—I think I'm scared." He ended up whispering, his voice seeming too close to a cry for his liking. "I want to ask Snape a question, but I don't..." A harsh breath exited his mouth.
Basil's eyes took on an understanding look, and she hummed. It's a soft sound, and Harry almost relaxed as it reached his ears. "You think Master will give out or punish you for your question, no?"
A small, jerky nod was all Harry gave as a reply. He wished he hadn’t left Jinx on his bed to nap.
"Master Harry doesn't seem very different from Master." She blurted out.
Harry's eyebrows scrunched together, confusion as clear as day on his face. "What do you mean?"
Basil aimed a little weary smile in his direction, the expression making her look old and tired. "Master Harry thinks his emotions are akin to a burden. Master thought much the same when he was a boy. He wasn't treated very nicely by Basil’s last mistress or her spouse; they were so cruel, and their words were sharper than a blade. Basil didn't like them, no, not at all."
The short elf's eyes glossed over, unshed tears were rubbed away, and Basil sniffed, collecting herself quickly. "Master Snape will do you no harm, young master; ask your questions. He cares too much to do you, or any child, harm. Words can be difficult for anyone. Emotions too." Basil sent Harry another sad smile, snapped her fingers, and disappeared from her spot.
Shifting on his feet and wincing a little as his hand knocked on the door clumsily. He waited, fiddling with the ends of his shirt sleeves. Footsteps echo behind the wood. Harry took an uncertain step backward and wondered briefly if he could bolt all the way back to his room before Snape's hand touched the door handle.
Well, it’s too late now. Snape stared down at Harry with a raised eyebrow from the doorway.
"Uh..." All of Harry's mind dried up like a desert, and his ears turned red. He stammered, desperately searching for the right words to say. The silence stretched uncomfortably as Snape's piercing gaze intensified, making Harry feel smaller and more exposed.
"You have been standing out here for quite a while." Snape stepped back into his office, holding the door open with his hand. "Come in. I just had Borage leave a fresh pot of tea on the table."
Harry ducked his head and entered the office, his sock-covered feet sliding across the wooden flooring with little to no noise. Snape shut the door and made his way over to the chairs on the left side of the room shortly after him.
Harry pursed his lips as he took in the room: There are two tall black-framed windows on the far wall with sheer curtains on either side of them attached to a black curtain pole over the window. Wooden floorboards stretch from either end of the room, matching the wall-fitted bookshelves on both ends of the room. There's a black walnut desk in the centre of the room with a black leather chair behind it and a pine-green mat that covers the majority of the floor in the room.
Finally, on the left side of the room, there was a coffee table with twin armchairs on one side and a matching two-seater couch opposite them. There's a large fireplace to the left of the coffee table, the flames crackling slowly as they warm the room. There was another painting—no, it’s a photo—hung over the fireplace, as if this mansion didn't have enough of those everywhere else.
In the glossy black frame stood a group of people, most of whom have blurred faces; the image looked like it had a water drop pooling just on top of their faces, distorting the image and making it impossible to see who it was.
A slightly younger Snape stood near the far left of the group, a slight upturn on his lips as his dark eyes drifted from one person to the next alongside him. He’s dressed almost identically to his older self: flowing black robes, wrinkleless pants, shining shoes, looking like he’s never even heard of the word 'shower,’ and just as pale-skinned. Beside him, to the right, was a couple—Harry thinks they’re a couple, given that they are standing so close together that it’s difficult to see where one ends and the other starts—a startlingly blond man and a woman with white streaks of hair that stand out boldly against her dark hair.
After that, most faces are a muddled mess, with the odd man or lady looking bored, uncomfortable, jittery, or positively delighted in some cases. A frown tugged at Harry’s mouth as he scanned the unfamiliar faces.
Harry waited until Snape had sat down in one of the armchairs before settling himself on the couch, watching silently as Snape flicked his wand and the teapot poured the steaming liquid into two cups. A stray puff of steam caused Harry’s glasses to fog up.
Snape spoke first, still making the boiling tea flow from the pot and into his own cup. "Tell me, Harry. What is it that caused you to come knocking on my door at," he twirled his wand weirdly, "half past nine in the evening?"
The teapot set itself back down on the coffee table, and one of the cups lifted off of the table and hovered right over Harry's hands in his lap. He plucked the cup from the air and wrapped his hands around it, exhaling slowly at the warmth seeping through the thin pottery.
"It's stupid." Harry muttered in response.
Snape leaned back in his chair, teacup resting in his lap. "There is no such thing as a "stupid" question or problem, Harry."
Weird, when did Snape start calling him by his first name?
"I. Uh, I wanted to know if there was something to fix my eyesight. I don't like wearing my glasses. They aren't even the right prescription." He grumbled the last bit to himself, and Snape merely nodded behind his teacup. Harry's question hung in the air, and Snape took a moment to sip from his cup.
With a flick of his wand, a book came sailing off a shelf and landed in Snape's waiting hand. He flipped to the index of the book and was soon searching for a page in the middle of the book. "Take off your glasses; this spell might just do what you want. It was recently invented by a German wizard, only five years or so ago."
Harry placed his glasses down on the coffee table and leaned a little closer. Snape pointed his wand between Harry's eyes and murmured a strange word that Harry couldn't even try saying in a million months of Sundays. A dim mint light floated from Snape’s wand, and it warped and stretched before wrapping itself over Harry’s eyes and around his head.
The feeling wasn't immediate, but Harry started to notice a subtle change in his vision as a pressure of some type faded at the back of his eyes. Colours were seeming more vibrant, and details were sharpening. He blinked in surprise, realising that the spell Snape cast had worked. He ducked his head and rubbed away the tears dripping from his eyes with his sleeves.
Grateful, Harry thanks Snape, who nods in response before returning to his tea. The book floated back to its place on the bookshelf by itself.
They sat there for a long time. A tray with a selection of light treats appeared on the coffee table a small while later. Harry presumed Borage or Basil sent it while he picked out a handful of biscuits. After a short dip into his tea, most of the biscuits melting the second they touch his tongue. Harry could honestly say that he would willingly die for more of them in the future.
There wasn't much talking; the two of them were just sipping tea in the office or nibbling quietly on a biscuit. Harry accepted another cup at one point or another, the heat from the cup keeping his hands warm. Basil and Borage pop in and out of the room every so often; they don't stick around very long.
Snape's office was so cosy, and without realising it, Harry's eyes drifted shut, and he found himself dozing off in the comfortable chair. His legs curling up underneath him as he sunk deeper into the soft cushions. The warmth of the room and the soothing sounds of Snape's crackling fireplace lulled him into a peaceful slumber.
He was bleary-eyed thirty minutes later when Snape dropped him off in his room to sleep. His borrowed pyjamas were only half on by the time his head hit the pillow.
This was so much nicer than at the Dursleys.