A New Place to Stay Chapter 4 - Harry Potter

 Harry’s fourth day at Prince Manor brings a turning point. Snape quietly watches, assigns advanced reading, and then discovers Harry’s flawless Potions essay and a seventh year brew that even he must praise. The afternoon becomes focused lab work, dinner turns reflective, and the library opens like a sanctuary as Harry chooses Defense and Charms texts. A late letter from Sirius reopens old wounds, nightmares return, and we see why this guardianship story blends hurt comfort with careful trust building. Perfect for listeners who love character driven Harry and Snape mentorship set between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix. 

Transcript

**Chapter 4: Days Gone By**

Two days had passed, and Harry found himself feeling quite confused. Snape was watching him constantly.

It wasn’t the usual cold, hard stare; there was something different about it. Harry wasn’t sure what it was, but it was a kind of attention he hadn’t experienced from Snape before.

It certainly wasn’t the usual hatred, and that left Harry feeling uneasy about what it might mean. For the past few days, he had been busy working in the garden, creating a pond.

Harry was curious about it—were there magical fish that could be used in potions? But he never asked.

During lunch over those two days, his Potions Master had been 'conveniently' nearby, reminding him to clean himself up as it neared mealtime. After lunch, Snape showed him the library and handed him three defense books to read.

Severus had listened to Dumbledore’s words during the Order meeting, and he was deliberately disobeying the old fool. He wanted Potter to survive; he had sworn to protect Lily's son, half-James or not.

His vow to Lily was the only reason he continued to live. It was also why he had refrained from killing Pettigrew; the other reason being his Slytherin sense of self-preservation.

No, he would ensure Voldemort was defeated, hope that Potter survived, and maybe, just maybe, he would have done enough to earn Lily's forgiveness. So he instructed the boy to read the books, fully intending to quiz him later.

It kept him occupied until dinner, after which he told Harry to complete his schoolwork and go to bed. Curiously, Severus never heard Harry come out of his room after nine o’clock.

He only heard him briefly around ten to nine when he went to the toilet, and that was it for the night. Snape wasn’t sure what to make of Potter anymore; he hadn’t disobeyed a single one of his rules.

Watching him was revealing nothing; the boy worked diligently and followed instructions without question. It was like observing a machine!

Harry didn't eat or drink much outside of mealtimes, and he was noticeably respectful. Severus began to wonder if the boy he was seeing was truly Potter.

“Have you finished your homework, Potter?” Severus asked smoothly. “Yes, sir,” Harry replied quickly and defensively, as if he anticipated Snape's wrath.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the tone. The boy was unusually prickly with him, especially when answering questions.

It didn't sit right with Severus that Harry was so quiet. Perhaps he was missing his Muggle friends and family.

Severus silently considered whether he could persuade Dumbledore to allow the boy to spend a few days with them, with an emergency Portkey on hand. It wasn't fair to keep a fourteen-year-old locked away and shielded for nearly three months.

He reminded himself that this wasn’t Potter's fault, nor was it his idea. When Dumbledore insisted, he always got his way, no matter what anyone else said, even Potter.

“All of it?” Severus asked in surprise. It was only four days into the holiday; surely the boy hadn’t completed all his assignments.

“Yes, sir,” Harry confirmed, nodding vigorously. “I would like to see them after breakfast.

You will be working in the potions lab today,” Severus informed his unwelcome guest curtly. “Yes, sir,” Harry replied immediately.

Four days into the holiday, and he hadn't been punished once, for a real offense or an imaginary one—this was a record for him. The most he could manage was one day back at the Dursleys', and not even a full day at that.

Vernon relished any excuse, no matter how flimsy, to punish him. The beatings weren’t so bad when he knew Vernon had fabricated a reason, but they felt much worse if it stemmed from something he had actually done wrong, like not finishing his chores on time.

Some time later, Harry found himself in the potions lab, working with ingredients that were unlike any he had encountered before. Harry dug in, doing what he needed to do.

Extracting juice from the stem of a plant was more challenging than it appeared, and it certainly made the task difficult. Only a little juice emerged, and by the time he was halfway through, the vial was barely filled.

Severus sat down in his chair, staring at the scrolls in disbelief. The boy had actually completed all his assignments.

No doubt they were poorly done, as usual; Potter never excelled at writing proper assignments during the holidays. The potions essays he always insisted on were a disgrace.

Not that the boy cared much about it; Severus had enough grading to do without making him redo anything. He had already written the boy off and marked him with the grade he deserved.

Without further ado, he opened Harry's potions scroll, quill at the ready to begin his usual critiques, preparing to tell Potter just how terrible his homework was. However, he was taken aback as he started reading.

Twenty minutes later, his jaw nearly dropped. The boy, who had always struggled in Potions, had made no mistakes at all.

Not with the spelling, the properties, or even the correct methods to enhance the potion’s potency beyond the original recipe. Severus had never seen such dedicated work from Potter before, and he was curious enough to head down to the dungeons.

As he entered, he found Harry at the bench, but the boy's hands were shaking, and he looked terrified. Severus felt a twist in his heart at the sight of those fearful green eyes.

Was that fear directed at him? He decided to set that thought aside for now, gathering his composure as he approached the bench, planning to consider the boy's reaction later.

"This, Potter, is very well done," Severus said, gesturing to the potions homework he held. Harry looked up, shock evident on his face; it was likely the nicest thing his professor had ever said to him.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry murmured quietly, pride swelling within him. Harry felt a knot forming in his stomach.

It was a rare moment for his professor to actually commend him. "Why haven't you displayed this knowledge in class?

Or on previous essays?" Severus demanded, his tone sharp. This paper surpassed anything his own Slytherins had submitted, and only a select few had ever discovered how to make the potion more potent.

Unfortunately, Potions was becoming a lost art, rarely practiced correctly. Harry resembled a rabbit caught in headlights.

He struggled to find an answer. Over the summer, he had been confined and relegated to chores.

During the school year, he was too busy trying to survive, keeping Hogwarts open, or just getting his assignments done—especially challenging in the crowded, noisy Gryffindor common room, particularly with Ron around. And there was the deeper truth: he had grown accustomed to underperforming because his aunt and uncle punished him whenever he outshone his cousin, who was more brawn than brains.

"I would like a verbal answer, Mr. Potter," Severus pressed, his voice tinged with impatience.

Swallowing hard, Harry stuttered, "I don't know."

Severus noted something curious: the boy was growing paler, glancing anxiously toward the corner. He looked there himself, only to be met with the sight of a large cauldron—nothing particularly alarming about it.

But when he turned back to Harry’s green eyes, he delved deeper and was struck by a wave of horror: he saw visions of Pettigrew severing his own hand, Harry’s arm getting slashed open, and then Voldemort rising from a man-sized cauldron. It was no wonder the child was terrified.

Without hesitation, Severus sent the cauldron back to the cupboard. "From now on, your work had better be as good as this, Mr.

Potter. Now that I know what you are capable of, I will ensure you continue to do so," Snape stated, his voice firm.

After witnessing the quality of Potter’s work, he was determined to push him further. “Damn straight he was going to,” Severus thought.

From what he had gathered earlier, aside from Defense, Potter was a mediocre student at best. This work certainly didn’t come from a student who was just getting by, and he still didn’t have his answer.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said agreeably. He realized he had to improve if he was going to defeat Voldemort.

The defense books he had been reading were fantastic, filled with new spells he had never encountered before. He loved Defense; it was the one class where he felt he could truly excel, simply because it was expected of Harry Potter.

He didn’t like it, but he was starting to enjoy his time here, and that made him uneasy. He knew that sooner or later, something bad was bound to happen.

It always did. “Good,” Severus said, calming down now that he had Harry’s promise.

“Would you like to brew a potion?” He wanted to see if Potter could apply himself to the practical work, not just the theoretical. “Yes, sir,” Harry replied, shock evident in his voice.

And that’s how they spent the afternoon, completely immersed in potions, forgetting the outside world, skipping lunch, and overlooking the looming war. More importantly, the animosity they felt toward one another faded away, at least for a while.

“Well done, Potter. Go get showered and dressed for dinner,” Severus instructed smoothly after they finished bottling the potions.

The filled vials were lined up in the corner, cooling and ready for transport to Hogwarts. “Okay, sir,” Harry said, walking out of the room.

As soon as the boy left, Severus stopped cleaning. He leaned against the counter, deep in thought.

The brat had never shown any promise in potions before. Never in his life had Severus been more confused.

The blasted Dark Lord made more sense than Harry Potter did, and considering that the old red-eyed, snake-faced bastard was insane, that was saying something. Severus Snape couldn't shake his astonishment at the potion the boy had brewed—a seventh-year potion, typically tackled only at seventeen.

Harry had managed it without a hitch. Severus couldn't claim to have been that skilled at Harry's age; half of his own potions had been a useless mess, and the other half barely passable.

He couldn't even accuse Harry of cheating—Hermione wasn’t here to help him. Snape growled in frustration; he despised feeling baffled, confused, or, worst of all, proven wrong.

"We will go to Diagon Alley sometime in the next fortnight for your new clothes, when I have some free time," Severus remarked curtly. He was tired of seeing the boy in the same worn clothes.

It had only been four days, but it was beginning to grate on his nerves, especially seeing Harry in black—it only made him look more depressed than usual. "Yes, sir," Harry replied quietly, more subdued than usual.

He had hoped Snape might forget about that shopping trip. He would have to settle for the cheapest options available and work during his summer holidays in the Muggle world.

Dumbledore wouldn’t allow him to work in the Wizarding world, and Harry silently wondered where he would be after his sixth year. Would he still be at Prince Manor, or would Dumbledore find somewhere else for him?

He hated the uncertainty, the feeling of being shuffled around. Would he ever have a place to call home?

A room he could make his own, where he could do as he pleased? Not that he would make a mess—cleanliness had been drilled into him since childhood.

He simply didn’t know how to let things go. Even his corner of the dorm room was tidy—the only clean part.

Ron’s area, on the other hand, was a disaster; he never seemed to clean up after himself. Severus frowned.

Harry sounded more downtrodden than ever. What was troubling the boy?

Shouldn’t the idea of going out and spending his own money be exciting? Snape recalled the thrill he had felt the first time he had money to spend.

Was Harry under the impression he was going with…? "Was he really going to follow the boy every step of the way?" Severus thought.

Well, perhaps he was; the threat of Death Eaters was simply too great. Harry finished his meal in silence, savoring the salmon with a rich cream sauce and a jacket potato.

Dessert soon followed: toffee Pavlova and strawberry cheesecake topped with a generous scoop of whipped cream. These were delights Harry had never tasted before, and he relished every bite.

The meals at Hogwarts were far more mundane—chips, curries, sandwiches, and various meats. None compared to the exquisite food served here.

Perhaps it was the sheer number of students that made a difference. Contrary to what one might assume, Hogwarts had only about fifty house-elves to cater to over two hundred students.

"What do I do at night, sir, now that I've finished my homework?" Harry asked quietly, setting down his spoon after finishing his last bite of dessert. "It's entirely up to you, Potter.

If you wish, you may borrow some books from my library, as long as you take care of them," Severus replied smoothly. He hoped Harry would choose something productive—maybe a book on defense or advanced charms—though he doubted he would find much on Quidditch in his collection.

Snape was not a fan of the sport; he preferred to read proper literature. A book on flying hardly counted as worthy reading material.

Of course, Harry might disagree, considering the book Severus had found him with during his first year. He had taken it, somewhat spitefully; even at eleven, Harry bore too much resemblance to James Potter for Severus's comfort.

He had wished for the boy to be more like Lily, but that had never come to pass. The closest he had seen were moments of good homework and decent potion brewing.

Right now, however, Harry didn't seem to embody either parent. Both had been loud and boisterous—especially Lily, who had spoken passionately about life and magic.

James had been an arrogant troublemaker, but he had certainly made his presence known. "Yes, sir!" Harry grinned, looking genuinely happy for the first time, which took Severus by surprise.

Surely the boy couldn't be that excited about the prospect of reading—could he? Or was he up to something?

A flicker of suspicion gnawed at Severus until he remembered he had the boy's wand. That thought calmed him a bit as he finished his coffee and got up.

Harry, feeling elated, made his way to the library. Finally, he could discover how Snape had managed that transformation with his clothes.

Perhaps he might even find a few books on Defense Against the Dark Arts. He knew he needed to improve; the memory of feeling utterly defenseless washed over him again.

He only knew one decent spell that could save him, and it wouldn't have worked if it hadn't been the brother wand to Voldemort's. He was well aware that the events had affected him deeply, and what troubled him more was that no one seemed to care.

Maybe Snape did, just a little; after all, he had gotten rid of the big cauldron. Earlier, Harry had half-expected Voldemort to rise from it.

His nightmares were worsening, and he felt he had no one to confide in. Perhaps Hermione could help, but he dismissed the thought.

No one expected the hero to be weak or to have nightmares; it just wasn't done. No, he couldn't share this with Hermione or anyone else for that matter.

A mournful sigh escaped his lips—no one could ever truly understand him. He began to browse the vast library and soon found an intriguing book about wands, which he took.

He also picked up two books on Defense Against the Dark Arts and one on Advanced Charms. Satisfied with his selections, he left the library and headed to his room.

After placing the books on his table, keeping them separate from his own, he settled into his comfortable chair and began reading the book on wands. Some time later, his reading was interrupted by a firm knock on the door.

"Come in," Harry called cautiously. What could Snape want?

Did he need him to do something? Was he about to be punished?

He had done his best…

Harry was on the verge of working himself into a panic over his chores when Snape walked in, carrying his homework scrolls. He placed them on the table and surveyed the room with a wary expression, nodding in approval.

"Your homework, Potter," Snape said curtly before exiting the room once more. Harry was surprised to see how tidy his space was.

He had expected to find everything thrown about haphazardly, but instead, the room was remarkably well-kept. Perhaps his aunt and uncle had been stricter than he realized.

Maybe he did have chores to tend to after all. The scattered books around the room reminded him of Lily's when she was his age.

He had been thinking about her all day, and he blamed Potter and his infuriating green eyes. If it weren't for those eyes, he wouldn’t be reminded of Lily all the time—or so he told himself.

As he read late into the night, he remembered to use the bathroom before nine. He felt proud of himself for getting his work done and avoiding trouble.

Was his uncle right or wrong? If he were truly a burden, Snape would have taken out his frustrations on him by now.

His back hadn’t felt a single blow yet. Yet, Harry knew he had to face the crux of the matter—there was still time left, and he shouldn’t get his hopes up.

The night dragged on; despite his exhaustion, he didn’t want to sleep. He feared that Cedric Diggory would haunt him in his dreams.

He could only bear so much blame before feeling cold all over. Cedric kept blaming him in his nightmares, and it was already hard enough that he blamed himself.

Just as the clock struck eleven, an owl swooped into his room. He caught the letter from the barn owl, and it flew right back out, as if it couldn’t bear to stay.

Hedwig was out hunting or perhaps just stretching her wings. From the messy handwriting, he could tell it was from...

Sirius opened the letter and glanced at it before dropping it with an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Sirius, I'm really getting over watching a classmate die and Voldemort coming back.

Thanks for asking," Harry thought sarcastically. The letter was a rant from Sirius, chastising him for not mentioning that he was staying with Snape, and even more so about what a terrible person Snape was.

“Dear Harry, I’m sorry you’re stuck with that bastard. I’ll keep trying to get you out of there.

You can come stay with me; I’m sure it’s better than where you are now. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?

Why did I have to find out from Snivellus himself? I thought you wanted to keep in touch.

Don’t take any of his nonsense, Harry. If he hurts you in any way, let me know, and I’ll take care of him.

Tell me where you are so I can keep an eye on you. I don’t like the fact that he has you.

He’s a slimy Death Eater; I don’t care what anyone else says. I don’t trust Dumbledore, not after this!

How could he send you there? This place is more protected, wherever Snape is.

Get back in touch with me as soon as you can, so I know you’re safe. And if anything inappropriate happens, let me know right away.

Padfoot.”

Harry shook his head in sadness, the letter trembling in his hands as he sat down on the bed. Tears streamed down his face.

Why didn’t anyone care? It was clear that Sirius didn’t, not really.

If he did, he would have asked how Harry was doing instead of just ranting about Severus Snape. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tossed the letter into his trunk, ruthlessly forcing back the tears.

He hadn’t cried in years—since he was five, if he remembered correctly. Vernon had seen him crying back then, after his cousin had broken his ankle by stomping on it.

It was the first broken bone he had ever experienced—well, that... He could remember it clearly.

His uncle had asked him why he was crying, and in a moment of vulnerability, Harry had foolishly told him. Instead of offering comfort, his uncle had stomped on his other ankle and slapped him hard, insisting that boys didn't cry, before shoving him into the cupboard.

At that moment, Harry understood that tears were pointless. They didn't help anyone, especially not him.

Now, after all those years of holding back his emotions, he found himself on the brink of tears once again, overwhelmed by the weight of the situation. The illusion of family had been shattered by that one letter.

He had always imagined that a family would care more about him than about the person he was living with. A brief rant about his living situation, followed by a simple inquiry into how he was doing, would have sufficed.

But receiving an entire letter focused solely on that—it hurt. Swallowing thickly, he removed the glasses that weren't really his but were better than nothing and set them on the nightstand.

A few more lonely tears slipped down his cheeks before he was once again engulfed in darkness and nightmares. That night, he slept for only two hours, waking up screaming for Cedric to run.

As always, for some inexplicable reason, Snape never heard him. Harry wondered if perhaps he did hear him but simply didn't care.

Surely, if he was waking Snape up, he would have yelled at him to shut up or hit him. Little did Harry know that his wish had magically silenced the room, creating a safe haven for his own magic.