A New Place to Stay Chapter 1 - Harry Potter

 Fourth year is over and the world refuses to believe Voldemort is back. Dumbledore blindsides Harry with a new “summer placement” for his safety: Severus Snape. What follows is a tense arrival at Snape Manor, strict rules, confiscated wand and cloak, awkward shared meals, and quiet grief as two wary survivors test the limits of trust. A classic guardianship setup with Snape and Harry told in close, character-driven prose. 

Transcript

**A New Place to Stay**  
*by Debs, The Slytherin Snape Fan*  

**Chapter 1 - A New Place to Stay**  

**Dumbledore Informs Harry**  

Harry’s fourth year at Hogwarts had just ended, and everyone was aware of the events that had unfolded. Whether they wanted to admit it or not was another matter entirely.

Some students found it easier to label Harry as an attention-seeking liar or even a murderer than to confront the grim reality that Lord Voldemort had returned. The only person Harry felt he could trust was his best friend, Hermione Granger.

She was a Muggle-born whom he had saved from a troll three years ago. As for Ronald Weasley, that was a different story.

Harry had once believed he could rely on Ron to always have his back, but the redhead had turned on him earlier that year. Sure, they had patched things up, but Harry was no longer certain he could trust Ron as he had before.

The deep bond of trust and loyalty they had shared since their first train ride to Hogwarts was now strained. Harry often looked at Ron and wondered if he felt the same way, or if he even recognized that Harry was no longer the same person he used to be.

Despite being famous, with countless people clamoring for his attention, Harry found he didn't have many true friends. Many claimed to be his best friends, insisting they got along well, but none of it was genuine.

Apart from Hermione, there was no one he truly trusted anymore. Even Dumbledore, who had always been a figure of authority and wisdom, was someone Harry found hard to trust.

He longed for the man’s approval and affection, though. Growing up without anyone telling him he was good made the attention from Dumbledore feel like a blessing.

Yet, if he knew why Dumbledore focused on him so intently, it would devastate him—and that realization was bound to come. The leaving feast had just concluded when Dumbledore had asked… no, demanded… that Harry come to his office.

“Come in, Harry,” the wise voice invited. “Hello, Professor Dumbledore,” Harry replied softly, his words barely breaking the silence.

He hadn’t said much since the terrible events had transpired. He had been Portkeyed away from the school grounds, forced to witness the rebirth of Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort—the man who had killed his parents. Harry had been bound by the one who ultimately betrayed them and caused their deaths, forced to fight for his life.

He still felt the sting of Dumbledore taking him to his office to recount what had happened, instead of bringing him to the hospital wing. He had been hurt badly, yet that hadn’t seemed to concern Dumbledore.

Harry tried to see things from Dumbledore's perspective, but he knew that if someone had collapsed beside him, suffering the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse, he would have rushed that person straight to the infirmary. He would have made sure they were okay first, then sought answers.

He already knew the most crucial pieces of information: Voldemort was back, and he had killed Cedric Diggory. “Harry, my boy, how are you?” Dumbledore asked kindly, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Fine,” Harry replied, the word barely escaping his lips. That’s what he had been telling everyone who asked if he was alright.

He had just witnessed his classmate’s death—of course, he wasn't going to feel better with everyone constantly asking how he was doing. “I see.

I have important news to share. I believe the Dursleys are no longer safe for you, as they once were.

You will not be returning to them. Instead, we have arranged a temporary placement for you,” Dumbledore explained.

At those words, Harry felt a flicker of hope but quickly pushed it down. Dumbledore had never done this when he had asked to go somewhere else.

He had always used that patronizing tone, insisting it was essential for Harry to remain with the Dursleys. How crucial could it be that he now had to live somewhere else?

And who on earth would he be staying with? That thought filled him with dread.

Dumbledore had sent him back to the Dursleys, fully aware of how he was treated—Harry was sure of that. Now, he wanted to place him elsewhere?

Fear gnawed at him; deep in his gut, he sensed he wouldn’t like the answer. “Who?” Harry asked.

Harry asked, already knowing it wouldn’t be Sirius or the Weasleys. He had no illusions about that.

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore replied, his eyes filled with concern as he observed his student. He understood that this news wouldn’t sit well with Harry.

Yet, Harry didn’t seem to react at all, as if he hadn’t spoken. Inside, he wanted to roar and shout, to break things and snarl at Dumbledore, but he knew it would be pointless to argue.

Dumbledore would get his way, and there was nothing Harry could do about it. He was underage and couldn’t go to the Ministry—after all, they hated him too.

He felt trapped, constantly at the mercy of Dumbledore's decisions. Now, it seemed he would have to deal with Snape as well.

But what could Snape do that hadn’t already been done to him? The thought of the Cruciatus Curse Voldemort had cast on him flashed through his mind.

Snape was bound to know that spell; what if he used it on Harry? In that moment, Harry realized it was actually safer being with Vernon Dursley than with Snape.

Vernon was a Muggle, and while he could inflict an unimaginable amount of pain, Snape had the potential to kill him. After all, he had been a Death Eater at one point, and he had even shown his newly returned Dark Mark to Fudge.

Harry sighed inwardly, acknowledging that he was being unfair to Snape. Despite the man’s bitterness and his apparent hatred for Harry, he had saved him more times than he could count.

Snape had always been there when it mattered most; the same couldn’t be said for Dumbledore or even his own godfather, Sirius Black. Harry knew he could have fallen countless feet from his broom and possibly died if not for Snape.

The man had looked out for the school and its students when he suspected Quirrell was after the stone. And during Harry’s third year, Snape had shielded him and his two best friends from a werewolf.

He had put himself in front of them, guarding them with his own body. It didn’t matter that Sirius had managed to get Lupin’s attention.

What truly counted were the thoughts behind it—the “ifs” and “buts” that held more significance for Harry. All year, he had been trying to keep Black away from the castle, doing what he did best: protecting everyone without expecting anything in return.

The most recent development had been Snape’s attempt to get him out of the contract. Even if Snape had insulted his intelligence, it was true that Harry didn’t have the power to deceive a powerful magical artifact like the Goblet of Fire.

Snape had been the only one to object, aside from the other schools. Dumbledore had simply stood there, his eyes twinkling, after asking if Harry had done it.

Harry wondered what the rules would be like living with Snape. Would he have a chance to learn them, or would he only discover them when he did something wrong?

His Uncle Vernon had loved playing that game, making Harry think he was getting presents and a birthday cake when he was younger. Just the thought of falling for Vernon's tricks made him feel sick.

Harry shook his head, realizing he had been lost in thought for too long. He stared at Dumbledore without replying.

What was the point? His opinion never seemed to matter.

“Very well, Harry; you will ride on the Express and not let anyone know,” Dumbledore said softly, dismissing him. Dumbledore knew there was no one he trusted more than Severus to ensure Harry's safety.

According to Figg, strange men had been seen walking around Privet Drive recently. It seemed that Lucius Malfoy had been doing some digging and had found copies of the letters sent out during Harry's second year regarding accidental magic.

The sight of purebloods attempting to dress as Muggles was amusing, which was why Figg had reached out. She was to stay and keep an eye on things; Dumbledore needed her there in case he had no choice but to send Harry back once the Death Eater activity ceased.

“What did Professor Dumbledore want, Harry?” Hermione asked, not even letting him finish his thoughts. Harry stepped into the Gryffindor common room, where he found Hermione cradling her ginger-haired cat, Crookshanks.

The squashed-faced feline stared up at him as she gently petted its head. "I'm not going back to the Dursleys," Harry murmured quietly, disregarding Dumbledore's instructions.

"Who are you going with? The Weasleys?" Hermione asked cautiously.

Ron looked up from his spot on one of the Gryffindor-red couches, positioned right next to the flickering fire. Yet, despite the warmth nearby, Harry felt only cold these days.

"No, but I'm not allowed to tell you," Harry sighed, his mood darker than ever. "Surely you can tell us!" Ron protested, visibly upset.

Ron had a knack for wanting to know everyone’s secrets. It didn't matter that Dumbledore had told Harry to keep quiet; Ron would sulk like a five-year-old if he didn’t get his way.

"If Professor Dumbledore told him not to, it’s probably for a good reason!" Hermione chimed in, as she often did when defending authority figures. That was one thing Harry found frustrating about her—her unwavering respect for people in power, even when they didn’t deserve it.

She had stood up for Quirrell and Lockhart, kept Lupin's secret until the very end, and even suggested that Moody, who had really been Crouch Jr. in disguise, must have had a reason for showing them those spells.

"I'm going to my bed," Harry said, walking past them and leaving them to bicker it out. A lonely sigh escaped his lips; he knew it would likely be another sleepless night.

He had become accustomed to only a few hours of sleep, always waking up screaming Cedric’s name. Thankfully, he had learned some silencing spells and cast them around his bed.

No one knew, not even Ron—and Harry doubted Ron would even care. As he settled in, Harry sat quietly, waiting for his Potions class.

Harry waited patiently, accustomed to spending hours waiting for his uncle to come for him; this was nothing new. He had let Hedwig out before boarding the train that morning and now sat comfortably on his trunk, feeling a bit better about himself.

He had given away that dreadful money he had won, believing Fred and George could make much better use of it than he ever could. Maybe they would finally open that joke shop they always bragged about.

If only he had known the Diggorys' address, he might have sent some along; it should have been his, anyway. “Come, Potter,” snarled the familiar voice of his Potions professor.

Knowing how angry the man was, Harry quickly jumped up, shrinking and pocketing his trunk before following him. They entered an empty alley, and Harry's heart began to race.

He silently hoped his Potions professor wouldn't have a Portkey. Instead, Severus instructed him to stand closer.

Harry was too relieved to feel annoyed about being so near the man who despised him. Then, without warning, he felt like he was being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner and wondered if this was what that poor bird had felt like when Dudley had sucked it up.

Of course, the budgie had died, but Harry just felt extremely nauseous. Given that he hadn't been eating properly, it was no surprise he wasn't sick; there was nothing in his system to expel.

A nagging feeling at the back of his mind made him pause; this experience felt strangely familiar. Severus abruptly released Harry, as if he were disgusted to have touched him.

Despite knowing he shouldn’t care, Harry felt a twinge of pain in his heart. Was he really that repulsive that his usually composed Potions professor found touching him so revolting?

Severus couldn't believe he had been talked into taking the spoiled... Severus Snape had little patience for the pampered Potter brat over the summer.

He had warned Dumbledore that he wouldn’t coddle the boy; Potter would learn to respect him, one way or another. Yet, despite his resolve, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration that Potter hadn’t lost his lunch during Apparition.

He had prepared a few sharp remarks for the boy, but only Harry Potter could manage to throw him off like that. Walking briskly, Snape left Potter to catch up, leading him to the room he had reluctantly prepared for him.

He wouldn’t make the boy sleep in a cellar, even if the idea amused him; Lily would have been furious. The thought of her angry, fiery red hair would haunt him in nightmares, and he didn’t want to jeopardize his chances of earning her forgiveness in the afterlife.

His treatment of Potter was a mix of expectation and genuine distaste for the spoiled brat. Snape wished he could intervene with his own godson, to prevent him from making the same mistakes he had made as a teenager.

But he knew that any attempt to do so would cost him dearly; Lucius Malfoy would ensure that. Trusting his godson was out of the question, not with the loyalties he had been raised to uphold.

All Snape could do was subtly guide him away from the path Lucius had set for him, a path that had been laid long before the boy even stepped foot in Hogwarts. “This is your room, Potter,” Severus said, opening the door and unshrinking Harry’s trunk.

Harry kept his expression neutral as he placed his trunk by the bed, pondering what to do next. But Snape saved him from further contemplation.

“Breakfast is at seven, lunch at twelve, and dinner at six. If you’re even a minute late for any meal, you will go without.

I do not tolerate tardiness. Do not think you will laze about here.”

“Summer means you will keep this room exceptionally clean.

I’ll have a list of chores for you to complete each day, and if they don’t meet my standards, you will do them again. You will also finish your summer homework and do some extra reading for me, which I will quiz you on later.

Do I make myself clear?” Severus asked sharply. “Yes, Professor Snape,” Harry replied, watching his professor with a neutral expression.

“Good. Since it’s past lunch, I expect to see you downstairs at six o’clock for dinner, and your hands had better be clean,” Severus instructed.

Harry nodded, indicating his understanding. Just as Severus seemed ready to leave, he spoke again, causing Harry's heart to jerk painfully.

“Hand over your invisibility cloak, wand, and broom. I won’t have you sneaking around my home.”

Harry's heart raced as he instinctively opened his trunk and pulled out his shrunken broom.

His hands paused over the only memento he had of his parents—well, of his father, really. With a deep breath, he picked up the cloak, swallowing the lump in his throat.

The wand was the hardest to part with; it had saved him from Voldemort. Still, he was used to being without it during the summer.

His uncle made sure everything was locked away in the trunk before it was stowed in his old room—the cupboard under the stairs. Harry wondered if he would ever see his belongings again, feeling the soft fabric of the invisibility cloak in his hands.

Finally, he looked up when he felt his expression had softened. He handed them over without complaint, knowing it wouldn’t matter—Snape could and would simply summon them.

Severus's long fingers grasped the items before he turned to leave. He was surprised that the boy hadn’t protested about his room or the rules he had set.

Even more surprising was that Harry had surrendered what were likely three of his most cherished possessions without a word of objection. Severus wasn’t being mean; he...

Severus just wanted to know where Harry was at all times, especially in his own home. He couldn't allow Harry to sneak off flying, particularly since there was a chance he could go beyond the wards he'd set up around the house.

If someone were to look for Harry and he left those wards, it would be clear that Snape was the one harboring Harry Potter. His position was already precarious enough without adding that risk.

He also understood that while Harry might not intend any harm, accidents tended to happen around him. The boy had a knack for complicating matters—mostly for the Dark Lord, but that was beside the point.

Although Severus couldn't deny a certain satisfaction in taking Harry's belongings, that feeling vanished when the boy handed them over without a hint of protest, especially the wand. Severus couldn’t imagine going a minute without his wand, let alone an entire summer.

The thought sent shudders through him. Yet he didn't stop to consider that this was what he was imposing on a boy who was at the top of the Dark Lord's hit list.

It was disconcerting to see Harry so quiet and withdrawn. Severus grudgingly reminded himself that he had witnessed a boy die and had been forced to fight Voldemort; that would quiet anyone.

Still, this boy had already faced Voldemort, albeit as a mere spirit, and had even defeated Quirrell. Quirrell was no innocent, unlike Cedric Diggory, who had been the first casualty in the impending war that the Ministry was conveniently ignoring.

Once Severus retreated to his own room, he changed out of the Muggle clothes he had worn and took a shower. After he was clean and dressed in his usual casual robes, he placed the three items he had confiscated into a drawer.

Using his wand, he locked it to ensure they were inaccessible, even if Harry decided to rummage through his things—Merlin help him if he did. Severus would not allow Harry to invade his space; it was off-limits, and he would make that very clear.

Harry knew that time was slipping away; dinner was only an hour away. With that thought in mind, he made his way down to the sitting room, opened his potions book, and began reading, momentarily forgetting about the fourteen-year-old boy in his house.

Harry settled into his new surroundings after hearing the soft padding of his professor's footsteps fade away. The room was stunning—much more than he had ever hoped for.

In fact, it was far superior to anything he had experienced at the Dursleys'. In Dudley's second bedroom, he had been stuck with an old, worn mattress and a single cover, along with a rickety cupboard that was falling apart and a small nightstand.

Before coming to Hogwarts, he had never had the pleasure of sleeping on a proper bed or a comfortable mattress. It frustrated him that Ron took everything he had for granted.

Harry would have given anything for the family Ron had. He understood how different their lives were; he longed for his parents above all else, while Ron aspired to be Quidditch Captain and Head Boy, hoping to win both the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup—all of which he had seen in the Mirror of Erised during their first year.

Ron had lived a sheltered life compared to Harry's, and he couldn't help but envy that. The walls of his new room were white, and the bedding was incredibly soft, a lovely coffee color.

He had proper drawers made of oak, a sturdy cupboard, and a four-poster bed, reminiscent of Hogwarts but crafted from fine oak rather than just ordinary wood. Harry knew that real oak was expensive, so he was determined to take care of the room in every way possible.

There was also a desk with drawers topped with a lamp, and on the wall opposite his bed hung a clock. He had never considered where his professors stayed when they weren't at Hogwarts, but he should have guessed they had homes outside the castle.

This place was enormous, beautiful, and well-maintained—too well-kept for his Potions professor to manage alone, which meant there were house-elves involved. The thought of doing chores didn't bother him, especially knowing there were house-elves around to help.

That could do it. It would keep him busy, which was exactly what he needed.

If he didn’t stay occupied, his mind would wander, and his guilt would multiply tenfold. Perhaps if his Potions professor kept him engaged enough, he might even get a decent night's sleep.

But he worried about how to keep his nightmares to himself. His uncle had beaten him black and blue for waking him up, and he dreaded what Snape might do if he woke him during the night.

Harry imagined Snape would be furious just having to deal with him. Unbeknownst to Harry, wish magic was tingling in the air around him, silencing his worries.

Wish magic was powerful, and both Dumbledore and Snape knew just how powerful Harry was. After all, he had been Voldemort's equal since he was just one and a half years old.

He pulled out his clothes, putting away only his school things, which he would be wearing. At least the shirts and trousers—and maybe his winter cloak, if he needed it—were ready.

His cousin's cast-offs were kept in his trunk. The socks and underwear he had to wear went into a drawer.

Most of the underwear had strings attached to keep them from slipping off. Dudley was far too big, and Harry was far too small and skinny for his age, so it was no surprise.

He still didn’t know about the spell that could shrink the clothes to fit him better. Just looking at the mustard-colored socks his uncle had given him years ago for his birthday made him gag.

He pulled out all his books and lined them up on a shelf, knowing he would be using them all this summer. He felt grateful to finally be able to do his homework properly this year, rather than under the cover of darkness—what little homework he had managed to smuggle up the stairs.

His cousin's clothes were enormous, and while he could fit ink, paper, and his assignments in them, unfortunately, there was no room for books. He had to memorize what he could, completing the rest on the train ride to Hogwarts or the night before classes began.

His homework was usually a mess. Harry glanced at the clock and realized it was time to head downstairs.

He wasn't entirely sure where the dining room was located, but he knew he had to eat, even if he didn't feel particularly hungry. He didn't want to risk breaking any rules, especially not with his professor, Snape, so close by.

Uncertainty hung over him about what tasks awaited him the next day, and he needed food for energy—and to avoid the possibility of fainting. Despite the manor's vastness, finding the dining room was surprisingly easy.

It was right next to a large kitchen, and as he entered, he spotted house-elves busily plating up food. Standing there awkwardly, he hesitated, unsure of where to sit.

He didn’t want to offend his professor by sitting too far away, nor did he want to provoke his ire by sitting too close. “Sit down there, Potter,” Severus instructed curtly, nodding toward an empty seat to his left, with one chair between them.

Harry complied, feeling out of place as he took his seat. Eating at a table outside of Hogwarts was a new experience for him.

At home, he was never allowed on the furniture, which was why he preferred to sit on the common room floor most of the time. Now, sitting at a table made him feel like he was about to be scolded, a feeling he was all too familiar with.

He was used to the classroom seats, but this was different. He made sure not to rest his elbows on the table and tried to recall all the rules of proper dining etiquette.

“No elbows on the table,” his aunt used to remind Dudley, though he never seemed to care. Harry carefully folded his napkin and placed it on his lap, feeling vulnerable and confused.

He wanted to avoid any reason for his Potions Master to berate him. Lost in thought, he waited patiently until the food was brought in.

Without thinking, he thanked the house-elf, causing it to gasp in surprise. Harry winced, bracing himself for the inevitable scolding from his teacher.

The house-elf had already disappeared, and Severus was busy filling his plate with generous portions of food, not even glancing in Harry's direction. Harry's heart began to settle as he realized it was probably best not to thank a house-elf again.

He waited patiently for Severus to finish plating his meal. When he finally scooped up his own food, he took only small portions compared to his Potions Master’s.

His plate was mostly filled with vegetables: broccoli, peas, and carrots, along with half of a tender chicken breast—the other half had fallen off, so he left it behind and added a scoop of fluffy mashed potatoes. Severus frowned slightly at the meager amount of food on Harry's plate.

If the boy wanted to starve himself, so be it; he had no intention of playing nursemaid. He was unaccustomed to children who filled their plates with vegetables when there were plenty of other options available—roast potatoes and chips, should he have wanted them.

Instead, he was eating slowly and deliberately. Eventually, Severus finished his own meal, and only then did he notice that Harry had started eating more quickly, as if he feared his food might be taken away or vanish.

Rolling his eyes, Severus wondered why the boy assumed he wouldn't be getting any pudding. “May I be excused, sir?” Harry asked softly.

“What for?” Severus replied, taken aback and struggling to hide his surprise. “I have finished, sir,” Harry said, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

Severus wanted to snap at the boy for addressing him in that manner, but Harry's soft voice and confused expression held him back. Resisting the urge to close his eyes and sigh in exasperation, he sneered, “I assume, then, you do not want dessert?”

Harry blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes.

Did he really think Severus was a monster who would deny a child food? Even though he had said that if he was late, he wouldn’t...

Severus wasn't entirely sure if he would ever follow through on his promise. He thought to himself that one meal couldn't hurt anyone, so he might consider it if the brat started being tardy and refused to join him for breakfast, lunch, or dinner on time.

Suddenly, the food vanished, and Harry remained seated as dessert quickly arrived. This time, Harry just nodded with a smile instead of thanking the house-elf; he was simply relieved that nothing had been broken.

He was acutely aware that he would likely face consequences for it; he understood how house-elves reacted to praise, having learned that lesson with Dobby. The dessert consisted of meringue, ice cream, and a delightful assortment of soft fruits—fruits he had never encountered at Hogwarts before.

They usually only had apples, oranges, bananas, and occasionally kiwi. Once again, Harry waited for Severus to serve himself before he dared to touch anything.

He must have been doing something right earlier, as Severus hadn't even given him a disdainful look. Harry started by scooping up just half a bowl of fruit.

It looked incredibly appealing, and he couldn't resist. The Dursleys would never provide him with fresh fruit, so this was his chance to see if it tasted as good as it appeared.

He kept his emotions in check as he savored the dessert—peaches, raspberries, blueberries, melon, watermelon, cherries, chunks of plum, apple, kiwi, and pineapple. He relished every single bite.

The flavors danced on his tongue like a little slice of paradise, and by the time he finished, he craved more. But he never dared to take another helping.

He had already received more than he typically would at the Dursleys—much more, in fact. As tempting as the thought of more was, his stomach wouldn't be able to handle it.

The sickness he felt from what had happened to Cedric certainly played a part in his reluctance to eat, but even before the final task, he had been consciously reducing his portions, preparing for the inevitable return to having nothing for months on end. "Thank you very much for dinner, sir.

Is there anything you..."

"What do you want me to do tonight?" Harry asked softly. Severus raised an eyebrow, a glint of amusement shining in his black eyes.

"No, go bathe or shower, or whatever it is you prefer. Get into your nightclothes and turn in early.

You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow. And remember, never leave your room after nine o'clock for any reason, except if you need the bathroom."

Severus couldn’t help but feel amused by Harry’s behavior.

The spoiled brat he had come to know seemed to have vanished. Sure, Cedric Diggory's death should have changed him, but to this extent?

Thanking his least favorite Potions professor for dinner? Something felt off.

Unless, of course, Harry was trying to be nice in hopes of shortening his chores. Severus snorted at the thought; it was an almost Slytherin move on the boy's part, and he didn’t mean that as a compliment.

Harry nodded and left the room, and despite his attempts to deny it, Severus felt a twinge of worry. The child's submissive demeanor was troubling.

Perhaps Harry just needed a decent night's sleep, and facing his chores would bring back the brat he was more familiar with. The boy had to learn that he couldn’t get everything in life with just a look; Voldemort wouldn’t lie down and die.

This was real life; he wasn’t a hero in a storybook. Despite his disdain for Harry, Severus wanted him to survive the war—not only because he had sworn to protect him but also because he was half Lily.

Some real work wouldn’t hurt the boy. Severus had plans to train him later in the summer; Harry needed to know how to protect himself.

He had no intention of going easy on him; Death Eaters wouldn’t be using tickling charms. In the end, the boy would come out stronger, and perhaps a little more proud of himself—not just because of his status as the Boy Who Lived, but because of something he had accomplished on his own.

If only he…

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