A New Place to Stay Chapter 2 - Harry Potter

 Nightmares, early-morning essays, and a garden the size of a potion patch. Harry settles into life at Snape Manor with strict rules, resized Muggle clothes, and a full day of chores that reveal just how hard he is willing to work. Snape watches, tests boundaries, and begins to question what he thought he knew. Between Hedwig’s return, careful homework, and a spotless potions cupboard, dinner becomes an uneasy truce that hints at the slow turn from punishment to protection. A tense, character-driven guardianship chapter built for headphone listening. 

Transcript

Chapter 2: Harry's Chores, Fears, and Determination

Harry woke up, muffling his screams and shouts into his pillow, his heart pounding in his chest. Fear froze him in place.

Terrified that he had woken Snape, he listened intently for twenty minutes before allowing his body to relax. He must not have been shouting too loudly if his teacher hadn't heard him.

Thank goodness for that. To his surprise, Hedwig was in her open cage.

He hadn't expected her for a few more days, and a wide smile spread across his face as he strolled over to her. He began to pet his very first friend and gift.

She chirped happily, her amber eyes sparkling with joy. He had placed her cage in the corner and opened the window for her, of course, and it would stay that way unless Snape demanded he close it.

This was the first time Hedwig could fly during the summer; she was bound to be enjoying it. Outside the window, everything was eerily silent and dark.

Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was only three o'clock in the morning. It was the longest he had ever managed to sleep, especially after going to bed so early.

Realizing he wouldn’t be able to drift off again, he took a book from his shelf, grabbed some parchment and ink, and turned on the lamp, hoping Snape wouldn’t see and come in. The thought of trying to sleep again was unbearable.

For the next three hours, he worked diligently on his Charms essay, reading about the topic so he would know what to write. He didn’t copy directly from the book; he understood that would be cheating.

Instead, he put everything into his own words. For once, his work wasn’t hastily written or filled with ink blots escaping his quill.

It was clear and free of mistakes. He felt a swell of pride—only one day into the summer holidays, and he had already completed an essay.

He imagined Hermione would be proud of him too. He wondered silently if they would write to him this summer.

By the time he finished, it was six o'clock. Harry finished his essay and left it to dry as he quietly gathered the few toiletries he had left.

He knew he had to be careful with the shampoo, using only small amounts. After washing up, he scrubbed the ink stains off his fingers, determined to avoid any reason for being sent away from the table and missing out on breakfast.

Once he was done, he dressed in his school shirt and trousers. There was no way he was going to wear Dudley's clothes—not that anyone would see him in them anyway.

He had endured that during the winter, hidden beneath his closed winter robes. Nobody ever noticed anything other than his school uniform, and that was just fine with him.

He had become somewhat of a trendsetter, which helped him conceal his embarrassment. With everything sorted, he made his way down to breakfast, knowing he only had five minutes to spare.

He spotted his Potions professor already seated, sipping a mug of black tea or coffee—Harry couldn't tell which. He offered a quiet "Good morning" as he took a seat.

Severus merely nodded curtly before returning to his newspaper. Harry didn’t ask for a turn to read it.

Breakfast was served, but instead of large platters, the house-elves brought in plates of food. He tried to eat everything in front of him, but he could barely manage half.

There was a sausage, a bit of bacon, some scrambled eggs, half a sunny-side-up egg, and half a hash brown. He wasn’t fond of black pudding, fruit pudding, or fried tomatoes.

Gratefully, he drank down a glass of milk—it wasn’t often he had that, unless he was at school having cornflakes. At school, they only offered orange juice or pumpkin juice.

Just as he set his utensils down and wiped his face, his Potions professor barked at him, "Potter, go up and change into something you don't mind getting dirty."

Harry willed away the flush of embarrassment creeping across his face. As he stared down at his plate, his mind raced to come up with an excuse.

Finally, one came to him. "I'm sorry, sir; nothing fits me," he whispered.

"Look at me when I talk to you!" Severus demanded, his frustration boiling over. Didn't children know they should look at adults when speaking?

It was the height of insolence. "Sorry, sir," Harry replied, his eyes wide, praying he hadn't messed things up.

"How does your school uniform fit you if your normal Muggle attire doesn't?" Severus asked smoothly, as if trying to catch Harry in a lie. "I got my Muggle clothes years ago; I only received my school things in October," Harry said honestly.

In that moment, Severus Snape couldn't detect a lie; Harry hadn't received any clothes from the Dursleys in years. His old clothes were becoming increasingly threadbare, and he feared he would soon have nothing left to wear.

"Very well," Severus said tersely, "we shall have to get you some new clothes later. Until then, I will shrink down a pair of jogging pants and a t-shirt." He didn’t relish the thought of altering his own clothes for the boy, but he didn’t want Harry to spend the summer in the heat, getting dirty and sweaty in dressy attire.

Harry wanted to protest that he barely had enough money to last him through the school year, if his vault was any indication. He didn't realize that was just one account his parents had set up for him to use during school.

His father, James Potter, after all, was a pureblood and a Potter; he had more money than most because James and Lily had lived modestly in a home James already owned in Godric's Hollow. Being an Auror had allowed the money to accumulate over the years.

Yet again, Albus Dumbledore had failed Harry—not only by sending him to the Dursleys but also by keeping his inheritance from him. "Yes, sir," Harry replied.

Harry felt a sense of unease as he contemplated whether he would need to get a job before his seventh year to afford his school supplies. Clothes were expensive, which was why he hadn’t gone out to buy any.

He needed to conserve what little money he had to get through school, only spending on essentials and perhaps a few treats during trips to Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, his supposed best friend seemed to think it was because Harry didn’t want to share his money.

The red-headed boy was seriously misguided and narrow-minded. If he wasn’t careful, he would find himself without a decent friend.

“Good. I shall put them in your room; they will be resized to fit you,” Severus said curtly as he stood up, leaving his empty plate and cup for the house-elves to clear away.

As he selected the clothes for Harry, he picked up the list of chores he wanted the boy to do. He was surprised to find Harry waiting in his room when he entered.

Without a word, he handed over two sets of clothes: a pair of black jogging bottoms and a brown and black t-shirt. Harry accepted them, looking surprisingly hesitant, as if he suspected Severus had done something to them.

Suppressing his irritation, Severus barked, “Come down to the kitchen when you’re finished,” before twirling around, his robes billowing behind him as he left. Not wanting to provoke Severus any further, Harry quickly changed into the black clothes.

If it hadn’t been for the horrible socks and holey boxers he was wearing, he would have felt quite comfortable. He had to figure out how Snape had enchanted the clothes to fit so well, but he wasn’t about to ask anytime soon—not with Severus’s current mood.

Once dressed and in his trainers, Harry hurried down to the kitchen, wondering if that would be where he would be working today. He had to stop himself from saying, “I’m here, sir,” and stating the obvious.

After all, he was learning to tread carefully around Severus Snape. Snape could clearly see Harry.

He pushed his glasses up his nose, blinking a few times in an attempt to shake off the headache that seemed to linger constantly. The prescription was wrong; his aunt had gotten these glasses from who-knows-where.

They helped him see better than nothing, so he never complained—though he wouldn’t have anyway. The headaches had become so regular that he hardly noticed them, unless he had gone without his glasses for too long, like when he was working on his charms essay.

"These are the tasks that need to be completed today," Severus said curtly, handing Harry a piece of paper scrawled with his long, spidery writing. "I won't be calling for you, and if you don't show up for meals, that's not my problem." 

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, wondering where he would find the seeds or equipment needed to start Snape's new potion-ingredient herb garden.

"You'll find everything in the shed," Severus added before leaving. Stepping out into the beautiful sunshine, Harry felt surprisingly unbothered by the work ahead of him.

In truth, he enjoyed gardening at his aunt and uncle's house, although nothing compared to the excitement of creating a garden from seeds. As he entered the shed, he noticed it was tidy and well-kept, much like everything else in Snape's domain.

Nothing was carelessly thrown in, unlike the small shed at Privet Drive, which was a fraction of this one’s size. He spotted a basket that would hold all the seeds he needed without spilling, so he decided to use it.

He gathered a large spade, a small one, and a little pronged tool to help him plant the seeds more easily. After leaving the shed, he made his way to the designated spot for the new garden and began digging.

It was messy and hard work, but Harry was used to that. At five years old, he had been mowing the lawn with a massive machine that was bigger and stronger than he was.

Cutting out sections of grass, Harry rolled them up when he was finished and set them aside, unsure of what to do next. The garden needed to be eight feet in both directions, making it quite a task, and it took him hours to complete.

He couldn't take off his shirt, fearing that Snape would see the scars on his back. The whip and belt marks had left faint lines crisscrossing his skin.

Back at Privet Drive, he usually stripped down, as the garden was secluded by tall fences—tall enough for Petunia to see over, but not too high. Petunia was a tall, bony woman; no one would have cared if they had seen him anyway.

They all believed he was at St. Brutus's for boys with criminal tendencies.

Severus watched Harry working from the second floor of his manor, a frown creasing his typically stoic expression. This was meant to be a punishment—not for anything Harry had done, but to show him that life wasn’t fair.

Severus wasn't going to hand him everything on a silver platter like everyone else had. He understood what life would be like for the boy; whether he liked him or not, no child deserved that.

He wanted to take away the silver spoon that had been lodged in Potter's mouth since birth. Hard work would help the boy appreciate everything more and instill some pride in him.

All Severus could do was hope Harry managed to outwit the Dark Lord. He had anticipated that Harry would complain about the long list of tasks or resist in some way, but instead, the boy remained passive and unyielding.

Severus began to worry that Voldemort's return had affected him more than anyone realized. He had expected Potter to become bratty, especially after adjusting to life with his most despised Potions professor—or at least when he fully grasped what he was being asked to do.

Severus had been watching the boy work for hours, and so far, he hadn’t stopped, slacked off, or even taken a break. The sweat poured down Harry's face, but Severus felt no satisfaction from it.

The boy was defying everything Severus thought he knew about him; if only he understood the truth. The task he was assigned was meant to occupy him all day, yet he was already halfway finished.

The grass had been neatly bundled and moved aside. Severus was certain that Harry had never experienced a hard day's work in his life, yet here he was, laboring diligently.

It was puzzling; did he not instill enough fear in his student to prevent him from slacking off? Where were the temper tantrums and the refusals to cooperate?

Where were the threats to tell Black or, even better, Dumbledore? It was infuriating for Severus to witness.

For four years, he believed he could read Potter like an open book—until now. Frustrated, Severus stalked off to the basement, where he began brewing a potion, not emerging until lunchtime.

He ate alone, as Harry had not shown up. He had promised himself not to chase after the boy; if he wanted to skip meals, that was his choice.

Severus shrugged off his worries and instructed the house-elves to clear the table. They were unhappy about it but complied with their master's wishes.

As he made his way back to the room from which he had been observing, he noticed Harry was nowhere to be found. A sense of satisfaction washed over Severus.

There it was, the Potter he was familiar with. He conveniently forgot that the boy had worked for three hours straight earlier.

But that feeling of satisfaction quickly dissipated when he spotted Harry lugging two overflowing watering cans toward the freshly turned earth. Surely, he couldn't have managed to plant all those seeds yet, could he?

How could he have accomplished a day's work in just six hours? Severus scowled at the boy, feeling an unsettling discomfort, as if the situation were somehow his fault.

Harry was exhausted but refused to…

He paused for a moment, realizing he had accomplished more than this before. His exhaustion had never mattered to anyone in the past, and he was certain it wouldn’t bother his stern Potions master either.

Feeling drier than a bone, he couldn’t wait to reach the bathroom and drink—though he had no intention of using the water from the well he had found. Summoning all his strength, he lifted the heavy metal watering can and began pouring water over the seeds, knowing they needed plenty to thrive.

A sigh of relief escaped him as the water drained out, making the can a little easier to manage. Unfortunately, he still had half of the potion patch—his own nickname for the area—to water.

He wished there was a quicker way to transport water from the well, which was quite a distance away. Despite his aching muscles, he grabbed two empty watering cans and made the trek back to the well.

Harry was relieved to see that task completed, but he knew it would likely need to be done at least twice a day unless it rained. He secretly hoped for rain; his arms were protesting with every movement.

He wondered what time it was, but that was the thing about summer—there was no way to tell. A wheelbarrow!

That would make things easier. But he hadn’t seen one around...

What if he asked? No, the very thought sent a shiver down his spine.

He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he requested anything. In his life, he had never asked for a single thing.

Vernon would beat him black and blue; and Snape? He had a temper that rivaled Vernon’s, if that was even possible.

To Harry, they were the same: both scowling and hurling horrific insults about him and his parents throughout his life. Although, he mused, Snape probably wouldn’t appreciate being compared to a large, imposing Muggle.

He wondered how much satisfaction Snape would derive from discussing Harry’s father with his uncle; they both shared a fiery hatred for him. As Harry continued to carry the heavy watering can, he felt the weight of his thoughts bearing down on him.

As he finished watering the plants, he couldn’t help but ponder what life might have been like if Voldemort had never existed. His life would certainly have taken a different turn.

He knew now that his parents had loved him deeply. Even after four years, it still amazed him; love surged through him when he thought of them, replacing the disgust and shame that had once filled his mind when he believed they were just drunks.

No, they hadn’t died in a drunken car crash that nearly claimed his life; they had sacrificed everything for him, loving him more than their own lives. He recalled the awe he had felt when Hagrid revealed the truth to him.

That revelation was why, after enduring years of taunts and cruel remarks, he had reacted defensively and angrily whenever his parents were mentioned. Aunt Marge had learned that lesson the hard way, though the repulsive, overweight woman couldn’t remember it now.

He had been terrified at the time, fearing he would be expelled. He would rather face anything than return to the Dursleys' full-time.

He knew they wouldn’t let him attend high school; he would be stuck serving them until he turned seventeen, only to be cast out at the first opportunity. He was certain his uncle would hand him over to Voldemort himself if it meant saving his own skin.

Once he finished watering, he stepped back, satisfaction washing over him as his green eyes gleamed with pride at his handiwork. He removed his glasses and wiped the sweat from his forehead, using his shoulder to dry the moisture from his neck as well.

He felt so thirsty and hot; all he wanted was a nice cold drink and a refreshing shower. But he wasn’t sure if Snape would appreciate him using his bathroom whenever he pleased.

He didn’t want to push his luck; after all, he was grateful just to have access to a toilet and a bath. Back at the Dursleys', he had made do with washing in the sink, using cold water.

The toilet was a privilege he could only use when they allowed it. As he worked, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Whenever he wasn't locked in his room, his beady-eyed aunt kept a close eye on him, constantly threatening to tell Vernon that he was just lazing around. The thought of earning twenty swats with the belt spurred him to work faster and harder.

He could sense her malicious glee and disgust as she observed him. Deciding to take a break, he slipped into the bathroom to relieve himself.

He drank some cool water from the tap, letting out a sigh of relief. But as he glanced at the clock, panic set in.

It was three o'clock—he had missed lunch. He had completely forgotten.

There was nothing to remind him; his stomach no longer rumbled with hunger. It had grown so accustomed to being ignored that he barely felt it anymore.

Without a watch or any way to tell the time, he wondered if he would even get dinner. Snape had warned that if he wasn’t on time, he wouldn’t be fed.

Did that mean he wouldn’t get any meals for the day? Or just the one he missed?

This was what Snape meant by new rules. Harry didn’t know what they were, and the uncertainty filled him with dread.

He lingered in the bathroom, his stomach twisting in knots, wishing for a clearer understanding of things. If he completed everything on the list, perhaps he might earn dinner if he behaved well.

After all, his aunt sometimes rewarded him with leftovers when he had done a good job in the past. Despite his exhaustion, he steeled himself and got to work on his new task.

He made his way down to the dungeons and slipped inside the Potions lab. The sight of the various potion ingredients waiting for him was daunting.

Thankfully, there was a clock on the wall—at least he would have some sense of time. He really wanted dinner.

The thought of the delicious fruit he had enjoyed yesterday made his mouth water. For the next three hours, he immersed himself in his work.

He cut, sliced, diced, and crushed the potion ingredients, carefully placing them into their respective containers, which were already enchanted with preservation charms. He labeled each one meticulously, determined to do a good job.

In clear handwriting, it took him only an hour and a half to finish everything. He opened the potion cupboard and was dismayed to find it in a terrible state.

Was cleaning it part of his job? Maybe he should take it on; it couldn't hurt.

Nodding to himself, he made his way to the sink, pouring hot water into a basin mixed with a cleaning solution. He found a sturdy scrubbing brush and began tackling the mess in the potions cupboard.

He started with the floor, but unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about the walls since they were lined with wooden shelves. Using an upturned piece of unused parchment, he reached up to clear the cobwebs from the ceiling.

Once that was done, he carefully removed the potion ingredients from their containers and jars, taking care not to spill anything. Before long, he was scrubbing the wooden shelves, and in just under an hour, the place was spotless.

He spent the next half hour organizing all the ingredients alphabetically. The potion ingredients went on one side, while the herbs were neatly arranged on the other, also sorted in alphabetical order.

It reminded him of how his aunt always forced him to tidy her spice cupboard, which she rarely used, as he was the one who ended up cooking decent meals—often through beatings and threats from her. Harry would have enjoyed cooking if it weren't for the constant threat of frying pans, rolling pins, or skillets to the head.

Petunia always found something to hit him with. It started with a newspaper when he was two and escalated to harder, more painful objects as he grew older.

He had learned early on that Petunia was likely too weak to truly hurt him. She wouldn't have been able to strike him without injuring herself, and the truth was, she really hated touching him.

Once he finished everything on his list, he double-checked it. It only included the garden and the potion ingredients.

Satisfied, he headed upstairs for a quick shower, making sure he was thoroughly cleaned. Afterward, he got dressed again in his school clothes.

He left his dirty clothes folded on his bed, unsure if there was a washing machine available for him to clean them. He considered asking Snape but quickly dismissed the thought; he wasn’t about to ask anyone anything.

He had learned long ago that asking questions was a risky endeavor, and this was definitely a question he didn't want to voice. As he walked down the stairs, he wondered if any of the teachers had ever noticed that he never raised his hand in class or asked questions.

Shaking off those idle thoughts, he hesitantly entered the dining room, uncertain if he was welcome. Snape wasn’t there yet, and he didn’t want to risk sitting down, so he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“Sit down, Potter,” came the drawling voice of his Potions master from behind him. Harry had to will himself not to flinch at the sudden proximity of the voice.

That would only draw attention or, worse, provoke a smirk from Snape, which he wanted to avoid. “Yes, sir!” he replied, relief flickering in his green eyes, though unfortunately, Snape didn’t see it.

Harry quickly moved out of his teacher’s way, taking the long route around the table. He didn’t like being too close to adults when he was alone; bad things had a way of happening in those situations—Vernon, Quirrell, Lockhart, Moody, and Voldemort.

Snape hadn't done anything particularly wrong, but Harry had never lived with him before. “Did you do everything?” Severus asked, his tone impassive, betraying none of his feelings.

Harry preferred the sneering, sarcastic Snape—at least then he could gauge his mood. This version of Snape was unpredictable, and that made him uneasy.

Nevertheless, he answered as quickly as he could. “I did, Professor Snape.” 

“Very well; start your summer homework,” Severus instructed.

He didn’t like being confused, especially when it came to this boy. that garden so quickly.

Severus knew it would have taken him at most half an hour with magic, but doing it manually? For Harry's first time, he had expected the child to take the entire day.

The potion ingredients he had assigned for Harry to work on after dinner were now irrelevant, as both tasks had been completed in an impressively timely fashion. Severus doubted that even any student at Hogwarts could have accomplished it so quickly.

He was certain the boy hadn’t used magic—he had been watching him closely. It was fortunate, really, or he would have accused Harry of cheating.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied automatically, his heart sinking. No food for him, then.

He rose from the chair, intending to start yet another essay, disappointment welling up inside him. He hated feeling this way, especially when it came to adults who continually let him down.

Yet, deep down, he knew better; Snape was a man of his word. Harry silently regretted not having come to lunch.

He had been too busy! He had to get everything done; food had never been a priority.

In the Dursleys' household, it wasn't a necessity; it was a hard-earned privilege. He knew he should be grateful for anything he was given here.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Severus snapped, his anger barely concealing his confusion and indignation at Harry getting up without asking to be excused. Hadn’t those Muggles at least taught him some manners?

He knew they had, based on yesterday... or maybe the boy was finally getting used to him, revealing his old self?

Severus would prefer that—a brat he could handle; a respectful, silent Potter he couldn’t. Swallowing thickly, Harry replied, wondering where he had gone wrong.

"To do my homework, sir." A rare frown crossed his face, rare in the presence of an adult. If that had happened under the roof of...

Vernon Dursley would have been seeing stars. “After dinner, Potter, I will not allow you to return to Hogwarts starved and be accused of mistreating you,” Severus snarled furiously, still wrapped in disbelief.

Did the boy actually think he was meant to start his homework right now? Miss his dinner?

After skipping lunch as well? Surely, the world had shifted on its axis.

Just how frightened was Harry Potter of him that he was complying without protest? Normally, the thought of the Potter brat being scared of him would have filled Severus with glee.

But right now, it was a rather unsettling sight. After all, this was a boy who had faced Voldemort four times—three of which Severus could recall—over the last four years.

The only break Potter had ever had was in his third year, and even then, there was someone believed to be a Death Eater after him. “Yes, sir,” Harry replied, and Severus could hear the relief in the boy’s voice.

After that, there was silence. Severus found himself lost in thought, eating dinner almost on autopilot.

He struggled to reconcile the Harry Potter he knew at Hogwarts with the one sitting across from him now. Was the boy afraid of him, or was it the looming threat of the Dark Lord that weighed him down?

The idea that the brat could be scared of him rubbed Severus the wrong way. He wanted Harry to hate him, to loathe him even, but fear?

That was a notion he had never contemplated. Right now, it seemed to hold significant weight; he had never seen the boy so downtrodden and afraid before.

Surely, he couldn’t have broken the boy with just a bit of hard work? No, Harry had been quiet and sullen since he had arrived.

Once dessert was finished, Severus left the room, snarling in anger and agitation for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. Harry watched him warily.

Harry climbed the stairs to his room, keeping a wary eye out for Snape. The mood he was in reminded him all too well of Vernon, just before the beatings would begin for no reason at all.

He shuddered at the memory of the last time; it had left him with three broken ribs, a broken nose—which he had painfully fixed himself—a black eye, and a broken arm. Yet, even after all that, he was still forced to complete his chores, which took him much longer than usual.

Once he was in his room, he shut the door and let out a breath of relief so deep that it made him shake as he sank into the chair. He tucked away his now-dry Charms homework and started on his Transfiguration essay.

He didn’t stop until he had written the required length, adding a bit more than necessary. His body trembled, and his eyes were barely able to stay open.

Even an hour and a half later, his heart was still racing, making it impossible to sleep, even though he longed for it. After leaving his homework to dry, he took care of Hedwig, feeding and watering her, and giving her some treats.

She was used to drinking tap water; that was what he had to provide her at the Dursleys'. Occasionally, he managed to buy a bottle of water when he went shopping for his aunt, but it wasn’t often.

Thankfully, Hedwig could usually hunt for herself, so the food he bought for her typically lasted a year. With the window still open and her cage unlocked, he quickly used the bathroom, making sure it was safe to leave his room.

It wasn’t nine o’clock yet, so he felt secure. After completing his nightly rituals, he slipped into bed, turned off the light, and whispered goodnight to Hedwig.

Eventually, the fear began to fade from Harry’s mind. Snape’s inexplicable snarl had wound him up like a ticking time bomb.

Even now, he felt as if he were waiting for Snape to come and unleash his frustrations on him; it was all he had ever known, and he didn’t expect anything different. His wide green eyes were fixed on the door, while the clock ticked incessantly, a loud and irritating reminder of the passing hours.

Before long, it was nearly midnight. Harry was as tense as a drawn bow when unconsciousness finally claimed him, his exhaustion washing away his fears and leaving him in a haze of fatigue.

He longed to feel numb, like he had after escaping Voldemort. The adrenaline had faded once he returned to Hogwarts; even when Moody transformed into Crouch, he felt more numb than scared, which he knew he should have been.

Harry wished he could always feel that way. He hated being scared, fearful, and in pain all the time.

Now that he had tasted happiness, love, and excitement, the pain felt even worse. For eleven years at the Dursleys', he had managed to cope with it, but after just a year at Hogwarts, he began to despise the constant fear.

Four years later, nothing had changed; something had shifted. Hope, perhaps?

He couldn’t be sure. At five o'clock the next morning, Harry woke up screaming, fear coursing through him once more.

Terrified that he had woken Snape, he held his breath and lay perfectly still for almost twenty minutes. Swallowing down his anxiety, he got up and returned to his homework.

This time, it was his Divination assignment; he was deliberately avoiding the Potions one. He knew he should just tackle it and get it out of the way, but he wanted to do his best.

He didn’t want Snape to have any excuse to hurt him. They weren’t at Hogwarts, and thanks to Dumbledore, he was completely at Snape’s mercy.

Snape understood this, and that thought terrified him. So, no, he wouldn’t give the man any reason to lash out; he would comply with every command, even if it left him exhausted—he was used to it.

If Snape wanted to hurt him, it would be for nothing, just as Vernon had always done. Harry made sure to do everything right, except for...

Harry recalled the worst days, when Vernon had demanded the impossible with an endless list of chores. It was during those moments that he noticed the clothes he had worn yesterday.

Both sets were clean, ironed, and neatly folded on the chair beside his desk. A wave of relief washed over Harry; that was one less thing he would have to worry about.