A New Place to Stay Chapter 3 - Harry Potter

 Harry wakes sore but stubborn at Prince Manor and Snape surprises him with a salve for blistered hands. A house-elf’s hose hack turns chores into progress, and Harry even laughs for the first time in ages. While Harry gardens, Snape attends an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place where tempers flare with Sirius, training is debated, and the truth of Harry’s summer placement comes out. The day ends with fine food, bone-deep fatigue, and Snape sending Harry to bed before nightmares win. A tight, character-first guardianship chapter made for headphones. 

Transcript

**Chapter 3: Exhaustion and Nightmares—Will They Become Too Much?**

Harry made it down in time for breakfast, and as usual, his Potions professor was already there. He didn’t like the intense scrutiny from his teacher, so he sat down and murmured a quiet, “Good morning.” Just like the day before, Snape only nodded curtly.

Either he wasn’t a morning person, or Harry’s presence was ruining his morning. Harry's uncle was always like that too—cheerful until he caught sight of him, at which point a permanent scowl would settle on his face.

Harry waited patiently for his food, still amazed that he was actually being fed three times a day here. Maybe he wouldn’t have to build up his appetite when he got back to Hogwarts.

At least he could avoid Hermione’s nagging to eat more, or the sickening sight of Ron stuffing his mouth full of food. If Ron hadn’t been so tall and active, Harry knew he would be just like Dudley Dursley—a glutton who thought of nothing but food.

Severus watched the teenager with caution. Where were the sore muscles?

The aches that should be present in a boy who hadn’t done a hard day’s work? Where were the complaints about being sore and not wanting to do anything today?

Instead of clarifying matters, everything seemed to become more puzzling. Severus didn’t like puzzles.

He worked hard to keep the frown off his face; he didn’t want Harry to know he was bothered. He wasn’t about to let the boy win this absurd game he was playing—if he was even playing a game at all.

The only indication Severus had that Harry was sore from the previous day was the blisters on his hands. He noticed how delicately Harry picked up his fork as he ate, adjusting his grip for comfort.

Other than that, he seemed unfazed. Severus was half-tempted to let the boy keep the blisters, allowing them to heal naturally, but he wasn’t a monster, unfortunately.

He summoned a potion for Harry to apply to his hands. "Put that on," Severus said curtly, tossing the tub at Harry.

With his well-honed Quidditch reflexes, Harry caught it effortlessly. Severus noticed the shocked expression on the teenager's face and suppressed his anger.

Did Harry really think he was a monster who would allow him to suffer? Honestly, the boy was just like his father—unappreciative.

After all the times he had saved Harry's life, one would think the boy would trust him a little. Did he ever hear a thank you?

No, Harry just continued with his arrogance. Harry complied, and for the first time, Severus truly saw how bad the blisters were.

He had to stifle a wince; there were about twelve blisters on Harry's hands, some looking rather large. He carefully spread the potion over them and watched as they began to disappear.

To his surprise, he caught a glimmer of something in Harry's otherwise emotionless face. Could it possibly be awe?

He was taken aback. "Thank you very much, Professor Snape," Harry said kindly.

It was likely the longest sentence he had uttered since arriving. To say he was shocked when handed a potion to help with his hands would have been an understatement.

No one had ever helped him before, not with something so small. Sure, Madam Pomfrey had treated him for serious injuries, but these were just blisters—hardly painful.

Yet here was Snape, offering him assistance. It touched him in ways he didn’t want to consider.

Unwillingly, he began to think about how families treated one another—like a father caring for a child with even the smallest hurt. He recalled the time Ron had gotten a finger bitten by a garden gnome, and his mother had healed it immediately.

Harry shook off the unsettling thought of Snape as a father figure and barely suppressed a snort. His teacher clearly despised him.

Harry thought about his father, remembering how often he had spoken about him. As he sat down for breakfast, he found he could eat more than he had the day before, though it still wasn’t enough for a growing boy like him.

Severus felt an urge to insist that Harry finish every last bite, but he held back, not wanting to appear overly concerned. He didn't even dwell on the fact that he had just given Potter a potion to soothe his blisters; he brushed that off, simply not wanting the boy to think he was truly a monster.

After all, Severus would never want to see a child in pain. Once breakfast was over, Severus handed Harry a piece of paper, sending him off to another part of the garden for the day.

Harry was tasked with weeding, planting, and watering the existing flower beds. He didn’t mind the work; he just wished he could find a wheelbarrow.

Just as he filled the two watering cans, a house-elf suddenly appeared with a hose. Harry’s jaw dropped in surprise.

Most of his blisters had come from lugging those watering cans around. “There’s a tap just down there.

The hose will extend indefinitely,” Rose, the house-elf, said curtly before disappearing again. All the house-elves were named after flowers, except for Lily.

Severus would never name a house-elf after her; she was too pure and good for that. Harry couldn’t help but laugh, and it was more than just a chuckle; it was a full, hearty laugh.

Tears streamed down his face as he struggled to catch his breath. The way the house-elf had spoken reminded him so much of Snape...

his house-elves sounded just like him. He couldn’t quite understand why he found it so funny, but it had been ages since he had laughed like that, and he had never laughed so freely in his life.

With a smile still on his face, he poured the water from the watering can back into the well, then dragged the hose over to the tap and attached it. To Harry's astonishment, he discovered that the house-elf was right; the hose extended just as far as he needed it to.

He set the hose aside and returned to the watering can, realizing the garden was enormous. It surrounded this vast estate, and he had only been tending to the front.

The gates bore the initials "PM," and while he wasn't sure what they meant, he was certain it wasn't "Potions Master." In just a few days, he would learn that it actually stood for "Prince Manor."

Harry quickly began weeding the garden, noticing some of the weeds were quite large. It seemed like a big job for the house-elves, tending to all this greenery.

Inside the manor was stunning and beautifully maintained, but he rarely saw his Potions professor. He often wondered where Severus was and what he did all day.

If he was honest, Harry wished he could know if Snape was always watching him or not, so he could at least relax for an hour. Once he finished pulling the weeds, he tossed them into a large bin he had spotted earlier, along with the grass he had collected the day before.

After that, he turned the hose to the shower setting and watered the area. The flowers were vibrant and lovely.

He hadn't seen many of them used in potions, but he remembered grinding up one with blue petals during detention. He had no idea Severus loved his potions that much; it seemed he had planted everything that could be useful.

As he worked, he noticed a patch of poison ivy. "Leaves of three, leave them be," he murmured to himself.

He hadn’t realized they could grow in the UK, so either he was mistaken, or they had been imported. That wouldn’t surprise Harry; just how wealthy was his Potions Master?

Not that it mattered much to him, he thought as he began planting. He preferred to use seeds; the plants seemed to despise being taken out of their little containers.

He was terrified that if any plant died, he would be blamed. His aunt had always been quick to find fault, and he suspected Severus might be the same way.

especially when it came to his potions, which were not his fault! The Slytherins kept sabotaging his brews by flicking in unwanted ingredients, ruining everything.

Harry noticed his arms were turning brown, which was strange since he usually burned red—he was quite fair, after all. But today was different.

Perhaps it was because he hadn't spent all day in one spot, or maybe it was the magic in the air. He would never really understand it.

He had rolled up the short sleeves of his t-shirt to keep as much of his skin cool as possible. As soon as he moved away from the dining area, Severus flooed out of the Manor.

He spent the day gathering potion ingredients, determined not to pay a single coin to that insufferable apothecary when he could collect them for free. He didn't even stop at home for lunch, opting to eat at the Leaky Cauldron and apparating wherever he needed to go.

He even made use of nettles and dandelions for his potions; all-natural ingredients were the best. The juice from the stem was particularly useful in potions, though extracting it in any significant quantity was quite challenging.

His thoughts kept drifting back to the boy working hard at the Manor. A flicker of guilt crossed his mind for making Harry toil all summer, while most children were enjoying their freedom.

But Potter had gotten away with that for too long. He was probably missing the pampering of his family home, and this would serve as good character-building.

Severus was not one to let anyone lounge around; he was strict with his Slytherins and equally firm with anyone who stayed in his home. He would allow the boy some leisure time over the weekend, after a week’s worth of work.

It would be a well-deserved break, but still a break. He might even lend Harry his broom for the day if he kept up his diligent work and remained—well, there was only one word for it—quiet.

Severus appreciated the silence during the summer, even if this time it felt different. The silence felt daunting and worrisome.

Severus appreciated this quiet version of Potter, the one who followed instructions without backtalk or disobedience. But just because he liked the boy’s current behavior didn’t mean everything was alright.

Potter was acting strangely, and Severus vowed that he would uncover what the boy was up to. It went against everything Potter was known for: loudmouthed, overbearing, a rule-breaker, cheeky, cocky, and defiant.

Severus realized he didn’t have many tasks left for Harry. He had hoped the gardening would keep him occupied, at least allowing him to enjoy the sunshine rather than being cooped up in the manor.

Now that Harry had finished his chores, Severus pondered whether he should assign him something new—perhaps building a pond or a similar project? It would certainly take time, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to plan this out thoroughly.

Dumbledore had summoned him to his office right after the leaving feast and had made it clear that Potter would be staying with him until Death Eater activity around Privet Drive ceased. The mention of Lily Evans had been the key to persuading him.

Severus knew he wouldn’t be able to spend all his time at the manor; much of his time would be devoted to Order meetings or Death Eater gatherings, brewing potions for Poppy, and then working on his own projects, all while ensuring he could fulfill the tasks the Dark Lord assigned him. Life had become significantly busier in the two weeks since Cedric Diggory's death.

Thankfully, the Dark Lord wasn’t strong enough yet to frequently summon his Death Eaters or demand raids. The Order meetings often devolved into members babbling about how to prevent Voldemort's resurgence.

As he finished off his lunch, Severus made his way to the apothecary. He gathered the ingredients he needed, picked up a new cauldron, and grabbed five glass stirrers, since the ones he had were beginning to show their age.

Severus Snape was not pleased with the state of potions. He quickly added knives of gold, bronze, and silver to his collection, paying for them without a second thought.

Once he had shrunk everything down to a manageable size, he apparated to a side street. It was an odd place, as most Muggles would agree.

The number 12 was nowhere to be seen on any house; they were unaware that it was hidden under the Fidelius, or Secret-Keeper, spell. As Severus entered the home of Sirius Black, he grimaced in disgust.

The name suited him now more than ever. “Severus, any news?” Dumbledore asked, sitting at the head of the table, looking as self-important as ever.

The room was filled with quiet conversations, the soft clinking of coffee cups, and the unmistakable aroma of biscuits, no doubt baked by Molly. Even Severus had to admit she was a brilliant cook.

He was surprised that Harry was as skinny as he was, given how much she fussed over him. “Nothing,” Severus replied.

“You know as well as I that he will be recuperating for months. Just because he used Potter's blood doesn’t mean he’s suddenly strong.

He spent thirteen years as a spirit. Trying to use an Unforgivable on the boy only hindered him.”

His lip curled in distaste as he glanced at a few Order members still chatting away—Fletcher and Diggle, if he remembered correctly.

“Unforgivables, Snape!” Sirius snarled, his blue eyes flashing with anger. “Do not downplay what my godson went through!”

Severus’s onyx eyes glittered with silent fury.

How dare Black pretend to be the concerned godfather he had never been! He had squandered Potter's third year and had only just returned from the tropics in time for the final task.

It was fortunate that the Dursleys had provided Harry with the family he needed, even if they spoiled him. Black’s abandonment over the past two years could have done untold damage to the boy.

“Excuse me?” Severus hissed softly, and the room fell into an unusual silence. Everyone knew that he and Black loathed each other, and that would never change.

Even Dumbledore couldn't bridge that divide. "Behave yourselves," Severus thought.

There was just too much hatred for even an adult to manage. "Your Master," Sirius drawled, "used all three curses on him.

Two failed: the Imperius curse when he tried to get Harry to bow to him, and of course, the killing curse when he Portkeyed away. Unfortunately, Harry ended up feeling the effects of the Cruciatus curse twice." His voice, once dripping with sarcasm, now sounded choked.

"Yet you thought I’d better bounce off after Lupin and forget about your godson," Severus sneered in disgust. He would never abandon Draco like that.

Light or Dark, he had a responsibility to that boy until he turned seventeen. Black had failed at every opportunity to connect with Potter.

Severus didn’t care about their relationship, but the principle mattered. Potter needed someone who could truly understand him; the Muggles, despite their best efforts, couldn’t.

Not many people could grasp what Potter was going through, and of course, Severus wasn’t about to be one of them. He watched Sirius Black, satisfied at having provoked him.

Severus winced inwardly. That spell was horrendous; it should never have been invented, and no fourteen-year-old should have to endure it.

Voldemort hadn’t tortured children before; he hadn’t even killed one until the Prophecy had come along. Wizards and witches who stood in his way had paid the price, but Muggles had died needlessly because Voldemort felt vindictive.

The raids had been the worst, but thankfully, Severus had never had to take part in any of it. "I did what I was told to do, Snape!

Harry was fine at Hogwarts," Sirius insisted adamantly. Severus didn’t bother correcting Black; anyone could see the boy wasn’t okay.

He had just faced the man who wanted him dead and managed to escape with his life. If Black truly...

Severus thought to himself, if Sirius wanted to delude himself into believing that Harry was all right, then so be it. Old fool that he was, it didn't matter; he shook those thoughts off.

"So what else has happened? How are we going to prepare to defend everyone from Voldemort?" Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor House, asked.

She was a fair but strict witch with a taste for shortbread and Scottish tea. At that moment, she sounded rather foolish saying "You-Know-Who," as if she was afraid of him.

Severus knew she was a formidable witch who could give Voldemort a run for his money. "Well, Remus and I are reviewing all his old attacks, trying to identify patterns," Shacklebolt informed her.

"We did that last time," Sirius protested, frowning. "It was a waste of time."

"We think we might be able to uncover a pattern," Remus countered, his amber eyes rolling in exasperation.

He truly disliked how daft Sirius could be at times. "Fine," Sirius shrugged, seemingly unfazed.

Severus had to stop himself from snarling at the man; he truly despised Black. He hated Black more than he hated James Potter, and that was saying something.

After all, James Potter had taken Lily away from him. She would have been his if Potter had just stayed away.

She would have forgiven him and married him, and Harry Potter would have been his. Unfortunately, that hadn’t happened.

He shook off his dark thoughts and listened to the Order prattling on about everything. "There's only so much we can do without the Ministry.

They are adamant that Voldemort is NOT back. Is there any way we can convince them?

Perhaps get Potter under Veritaserum or something?" Shacklebolt asked hopefully. "I don't want Harry near the Ministry," Dumbledore said, sounding very firm.

"It will help us if we do!" Shacklebolt said, exasperated. "We need to warn people and gather all the help we can."

"We can get it right this time!

We didn’t do much during the last war, but now we have the chance," Tonks said, supporting Shacklebolt’s point. "Fudge would cover it up anyway," Moody grunted, his magical eye scanning the house to ensure it was safe.

He dreaded the thought of another war, yet the battle-hardened part of him was eager for the chance to take down more Death Eaters. He had tried to catch Malfoy last time and had failed, but this time, he was determined to see the slimy blond in Azkaban before long.

"True," Minerva nodded grudgingly, acknowledging that Moody had a good point. "Who’s training Potter?" Moody asked, completely ignoring McGonagall’s earlier comment.

"Training?" Dumbledore replied, looking at his old friend as if he had lost his mind. "He’ll be after the kid.

If he stands any chance of survival, he needs training," Moody barked, startling nearly every member of the Order, except for Severus Snape and Dumbledore. "Voldemort won't be happy that he got away again."

"You can say that again," Severus snorted, though his expression revealed how serious he was.

The boy was safe at his manor for the summer, but once it was time to return to Hogwarts, danger would surround him—not just from the usual Slytherins. Not all Death Eaters were Slytherins, after all.

Pettigrew was a prime example of that. Severus grimaced at the thought of the rat.

He had to physically restrain himself from killing the wretch who had betrayed Lily. He valued his own life and was determined to see the one who truly killed her brought down.

Life had a cruel irony: Voldemort killed Lily, and she was avenged by her one-year-old son. "He won't be getting trained.

Not yet; I want him to have a chance at a childhood," Dumbledore said, his eyes solemn and sad. "He won’t be anything if..."

“He doesn’t get trained,” Moody bluntly argued.

“He’s just a child! He shouldn’t be trained in anything!

Hogwarts will keep him safe!” Molly snapped angrily. “I wouldn’t let my Ronnie go through it, so Harry shouldn’t have to either!” 

“Voldemort doesn’t even know who your brat is!” Severus sneered bitterly.

“He knows exactly who Potter is, though, and he will do anything to kill him. Do you realize how many times he has managed to foil Voldemort’s plans?

Four times.” 

Despite everything, Severus had a grudging respect for Potter for those acts alone. Besting Voldemort once took courage, but four times?

Well, he had done it more than anyone else alive, and he was only fourteen years old. Molly looked ready to explode, but Arthur placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

Huffing in disgust, she promptly turned away and ignored Severus, who merely sneered in response. That was a very Gryffindor move—turning one’s back on an opponent in disgust.

He could see where the rest of the Weasleys got their revolting manners from. “Will Harry even be able to come to us for any time this summer?” Arthur asked, as he had promised his daughter that the boy would.

“No,” Severus said, cutting Dumbledore off before he could speak, which surprised almost everyone in the room. He sneered at the looks he was receiving; honestly, he wanted the wizarding world to survive, thank you very much.

“It’s nothing to do with you, Snape!” Sirius retorted furiously. “You didn’t tell them?” Severus asked, his face impassive as he turned to Dumbledore, hiding his anger and incredulity.

He was angry at the old fool for keeping it a secret and incredulous that Potter hadn’t mentioned it to Black. He hadn’t even complained in a letter to the mutt about being treated like a slave or how nasty they were, taking away his things.

Hadn’t he even told Weasley? Severus was sure Weasley would have complained to his mother, and poor mummy…

Severus would have screamed at Dumbledore like a banshee.

Yet, part of him would have gladly paid to witness that scene; he was in shock. More than ever, he was convinced that something was wrong with the boy.

"Tell us what?" Remus asked, his voice dropping low. It was remarkable how he could make his voice sound so friendly, even at that pitch.

He glanced between Snape and Dumbledore, and Severus could see the realization dawning on Remus's face, which almost made him smirk in amusement. "Harry isn't at the Dursleys this summer," Dumbledore admitted softly, continuing with his explanation.

"There has been Death Eater activity in the area, and Figg has been keeping an eye out. Better safe than sorry; I'm not sure the wards are secure enough." His voice was soothing yet grave, capturing everyone's attention.

"Why isn't he here? It's under the Fidelius!" Sirius demanded furiously.

"So were the Potters," Severus sneered, feeling the weight of his anger. He blamed Black for their deaths; if he hadn't suggested Pettigrew, they would have been fine.

Black's scheming had cost Lily her life, and that fueled Severus's hatred for him. "Shut it, Snivellus!" Sirius snarled, trying to rise, his eyes narrowed in disgust.

Severus felt his temper flare, his fingers brushing dangerously close to his wand. He loathed that name with a passion; it hadn’t gotten any easier to hear since he was eleven.

He wasn't about to tolerate it throughout the entire war. Turning to Dumbledore, fury blazing in his eyes, he made his intentions clear.

"I'm leaving. If you have anything to say, you can say it to me.

I won’t put up with that bastard during the war. I endured him throughout my school years; I don’t have to do it now," Severus sneered, standing up.

the nearest couch and fall asleep right there. “He does have a point.

We cannot keep fighting among ourselves,” Shacklebolt said, casting a disapproving look at Sirius. This was a grown man, the same age as the one who had just stormed out.

In fact, Sirius was older, and that was saying something. Severus Snape wasn’t someone you wanted to alienate; he was the only one providing any valuable information.

“Until you can curb your tongue, Sirius, I no longer want you attending meetings,” Dumbledore declared, struggling to contain his anger. Snape was their crucial source of intelligence.

Without him, the Order was practically useless, and Dumbledore knew it. “Why does he get to have my godson?” Sirius snapped, frustration spilling over.

“Shut up, Sirius,” Remus demanded sharply, trying to pull Sirius back into his seat. “Would you rather see him dead at the hands of the Death Eaters in his home on Privet Drive?” Dumbledore asked calmly, his usually cheerful face now expressionless.

“No, but he could come here! Bring him here!” Sirius protested angrily.

“He stays where he’s protected. The manor is very old, and the wards have accumulated strength over the years.

Nowhere could be safer; it’s more protected than here or even Malfoy Manor… not that I’d ever place him there,” Dumbledore’s voice was stern and final. “Sirius!” Remus growled when he noticed Sirius was about to speak again.

“Fine!” Sirius hissed, sitting down but still looking furious. As soon as the Order meeting was over, he was going to write to his godson and make sure Snape wasn’t mistreating him—he wouldn’t put it past the bastard.

He had always been jealous of him and James. Only Sirius Black could confuse psychotic rage for jealousy.

---

Harry had managed to get everything done for the day. He trudged up the stairs, exhaustion evident in every part of him.

He was half-tempted to just flop down on the nearest couch and fall asleep right there. Harry wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the bed and sleep.

He hadn’t had much rest the day before or in the days prior. Though he was accustomed to it, the exhaustion was starting to overwhelm him.

He wished he had the courage to venture down to the dungeon for a vial of Dreamless Sleep. After the tournament, he had tried it, and it had provided him with the best sleep he’d ever experienced.

All year, he was up at six o'clock for classes, and during the summer, he woke early to prepare breakfast for the Dursleys while his aunt watched him. The concept of a long lie-in was foreign to him.

But that dreamless sleeping potion had allowed him to sleep for a full twelve hours straight. Instead of collapsing onto the bed, he took a shower and made sure his hands were clean before heading downstairs.

He found his professor sitting in his usual chair. Harry quietly moved around him, lacking the energy to even say hello.

Snape didn’t appear to be in a good mood, and Harry didn’t want to risk angering him. Dinner was exquisite—beef, asparagus, and baby potatoes—and Harry had never tasted anything like it in his life.

Dessert was plain yogurt with an assortment of fruits, which he enjoyed even more. He could have eaten all of it, but he only had a little of the yogurt, steering clear of the rhubarb he didn’t like.

“Go to bed, Potter,” Severus said, observing the exhaustion etched on the boy's face. Harry struggled to keep his eyes open, a clear sign of his fatigue.

Despite his weariness, there was an air of relaxation about him that piqued Severus’s curiosity. He wanted to ask why Harry hadn’t contacted anyone to complain about his situation, but he held his tongue.

Admitting that Dumbledore hadn’t informed anyone about Harry’s presence, and that no one had a clue he was there—at least, not until now—wasn't something he wanted to share. He had assumed that Potter and his mutt were close, but how close could they be if the mutt hadn’t known?

Severus felt a surge of frustration. Frustration bubbled within him as questions swirled around in his mind, with no answers in sight.

He decided he would have to keep an eye on the brat and uncover the truth for himself. He was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if it meant risking everything.