A New Place to Stay Chapter 5 - Harry Potter

 A quiet morning at Prince Manor shatters when Draco Malfoy arrives and everything goes wrong. While Snape wrestles with Voldemort’s summons, Draco finds Harry in the garden and unleashes a forbidden curse that leaves Harry broken and terrified. Snape returns, misreads the scene, and drives Harry to clean a forgotten dungeon room while the boy fights pain, panic, and memories of the Dursleys. This guardianship chapter puts suspicion, protection, and hard consequences under a microscope, perfect for listeners who love tense, character driven Harry and Snape mentorship after Goblet of Fire. 

Transcript

**Chapter 5: The Suspicious Mind of Severus Snape**

Severus woke abruptly to the sound of a door opening down the hall. He recognized it immediately—it was the Potter boy.

Like clockwork, Harry would shower for five minutes, get dressed, and head down the stairs. It puzzled Severus how the boy managed to wake up without an alarm.

He shuddered, recalling his own childhood when the threat of beatings had forced him out of bed each morning. It had been exactly a week since summer began and since Potter had arrived at his manor.

Something was off with the boy, and Severus could no longer ignore it. Harry's subservient attitude was unsettling; it simply wasn't natural.

The boy he knew was filled with defiance—glaring, groaning, and complaining about how poorly he was treated. Severus was certain that it wasn’t just Voldemort haunting him; if that were the case, it would have manifested back in Harry's first year when he first encountered the snake-faced monster.

After a moment, Severus showered, taking more time than Harry had. Once he was dressed, he made his way to breakfast, arriving just in time to see Harry standing by the door like an unwanted guest.

He remained there until Severus finally told him to sit down. Throughout the meal, Severus watched Harry closely, his concern growing as he noted the boy's pale complexion.

“Potter, would you like to see your family today?” Severus asked, observing Harry intently. The boy's reaction startled him; he looked ready to be sick.

“No, thank you, sir,” Harry replied, his voice hoarse and weak. “Is there anyone you would like to see?

How about that mutt of a godfather of yours?” Severus suggested, dismissing Dumbledore’s advice. It was clear the boy needed someone, and he wasn’t about to coddle him.

The reaction to the mere thought of seeing family warranted further reflection. “No,” Harry said.

“Sir,” Harry said, struggling to find the words to tell Snape that no one cared. He couldn’t.

The thought of Snape making a big deal out of it was unbearable. It would just give him more ammunition to use against Harry in front of his Slytherins.

Little did he know, Snape was already suspicious about his reactions to his family. Harry thought he had hidden it well, but the abruptness of Snape’s questions had left him shaken.

He couldn’t let Snape know about his uncle. The idea of them both ganging up on him sent a shiver down his spine; they hated him more than anyone else—except maybe Voldemort.

Why did everyone have to hate him? Was he really that unlovable?

He wished more than ever that his parents were there. “Very well,” Severus sighed, clearly agitated.

If the boy wanted to wallow in depression, then so be it. At least Harry’s presence would give him a chance to observe him.

Something was off, but he wasn’t going to get worked up about it. Harry remained silent, his grip on his fork tightening, turning his hand red as he ate, desperately trying to hide his relief.

He was fine; he was safe—well, at least from Vernon Dursley. He knew the kind of damage Vernon could inflict in just one day.

If he had to come back here and do all those chores, Snape would find out. He wouldn’t be able to perform at his best, not with all the sores he would have.

Swallowing thickly, he realized he couldn’t eat half as much of his breakfast as usual; his stomach was in turmoil. “You can do what you like today,” Severus said abruptly.

Perhaps without anything to distract him, he would finally discover what was wrong with the boy. “What?” Harry asked, wide-eyed.

Nothing to do? What was he supposed to do with that information?

Stay in his room out of the way, just as Vernon wanted? He supposed so.

“Do I need to repeat myself, Potter?” Severus frowned, glaring at the teenager and giving him a very pointed look. “No, sir,” Harry replied quickly.

It seemed he would have nothing to do today. Maybe he could read some more books; Snape seemed to appreciate that.

Over the past week, Snape had given him several books, and they were quite good. “Good,” Severus said, pondering whether to return Harry’s broom.

It would only be for the day; he didn’t want the boy zooming around his manor all summer. The noise would be unbearable and would surely drive him mad.

He wasn’t accustomed to having teenagers around, especially interrupting his summers. He made no secret of his feelings; he couldn’t be bothered with them, which was why he had never had any of his own.

Everything he owned would eventually go to his godson; he had no one else to leave it to. He had drawn up a will as soon as Draco was born; he didn’t want to risk his inheritance going to the Ministry fools.

However, with Lucius Malfoy’s current spending habits and his tendency to give money away, there might not be anything left for Draco to inherit when his father passed. In that sense, it was probably for the best.

An hour later, Severus knew Harry was in his room; the wards confirmed it. With a sigh, he headed to Harry’s room to retrieve the broom.

Clearly, Potter wasn’t going to do anything unless prompted. How could he get answers from a boy who barely spoke?

He certainly wasn’t about to invite anyone over to placate him. Perhaps he should consult Dumbledore; he would know what to do.

Maybe he could take Harry off his hands and find someone else to deal with him—someone who liked the boy and could figure out what was wrong. The thought of someone else managing to help Potter irritated him, though.

He swore silently as he approached Harry’s room and knocked. Only after receiving a very quiet invitation to enter did he step inside the boy’s temporary room.

“What exactly are you doing, Potter?” Severus inquired. "Reading, sir," Harry replied, his expression strained, as if being polite to Severus was a real effort.

"Here," Severus said, handing over the broom. "Do not go more than fifteen feet above the ground, and do not leave the grounds at all.

The wards only extend so far. If you go beyond my advice, I will know, and you will regret it."

"Yes, Professor Snape," Harry said, his eyes wide, almost comically so.

Severus curled his lips in distaste. He truly hated a respectful Potter, but part of him liked it too—it reminded him of Lily.

Growling softly, he headed for his room, frustrated with the contradictions swirling in his mind. Damn it, he hated the boy for confusing him.

Perhaps he could use Veritaserum on him; that way, he could get his answers… maybe even Obliviate the boy afterwards, and he would never know. As appealing as that idea was, he wasn't skilled at charms—Lily had always excelled in that area.

Damn it, there he was, thinking of her again. Severus took a deep breath, feeling angry with himself.

He knew he wouldn't be able to Obliviate Harry properly, and Dumbledore would certainly have his head for it. As he brewed potions, he silently noted that it took Potter almost an hour to leave his room.

Now, he could feel the wards buzzing as Harry flew around on his broom. Surprisingly, the boy stayed far from the edges of the wards.

Finishing yet another batch for Pomfrey, he set the potions aside and was just leaving the dungeons when the wards alerted him to someone using the Floo to call his manor. Grumbling, he made his way to his sitting room, the only fireplace connected to the Floo network.

He assumed it was Dumbledore, wanting him to come to Hogwarts after walking out of the Order meeting. Instead, he found Lucius Malfoy in his fireplace.

Schooling his features, he closed the door just in case Harry happened to walk by. "Lucius," Severus said smoothly, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Could you take Draco tomorrow? Narcissa and I want to go out for our anniversary,” Lucius asked, his tone surprisingly devoid of the demanding air he usually carried.

He understood that if he wanted Severus to agree, he couldn’t push too hard. Severus suppressed a smirk at that.

“How long?” Severus asked, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. “One day,” Lucius replied quickly.

“I’m planning on taking Narcissa to Paris.”

“I suppose so,” Severus said reluctantly. If he refused to take the boy, Lucius would make his life difficult—he always did.

Severus resolved to ensure that Draco swore an Unbreakable Vow never to reveal that Harry was there. He would need to weave a tale or two to convince Draco to agree.

At least if Draco couldn’t tell his father or Voldemort, that was all that mattered. Perhaps if Draco recognized which side he truly belonged to, he might have a chance to persuade his godson to change allegiances.

“Thank you,” Lucius said. “I’ll drop him off tomorrow morning.

We’ll be back by nightfall. Just have him Floo back around bedtime.

The house-elves can watch him until we Portkey back.”

“Very well,” Severus replied curtly. Lucius, satisfied with the arrangement, disappeared from the fire before Severus could change his mind.

Growling low in his throat, Severus picked up some Floo powder and called out, “Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster’s office!”

“Ah, Severus, can I help you?” Dumbledore asked, his voice coming from behind a mountain of paperwork. “Lucius wants my godson to come over for the day.

What am I supposed to do with Potter?” Severus said, hinting at his real concern: “Get Potter out of my house for the day so I don't have to deal with two teenagers.” 

“I’m sure Harry will be pleased to have someone his own age to play with for a few hours,” Dumbledore replied. Severus said jovially, but he couldn’t help snorting at Dumbledore's poor taste in jokes.

"They hate each other, Albus. Please, just find somewhere for him to go for the day!

Send him to Grimmauld Place to see that mutt of his."

"You know as well as I do that Sirius won't let him back out if he gets him in there!" Dumbledore replied, exasperated. "I do not care," Severus grumbled, only half-honestly.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but he's there for a reason. We cannot move him," Dumbledore stated, his voice firm.

It was clear he cared more about keeping Harry Potter safe from Death Eaters than about Severus’s predicament. "Fine!" Severus snarled in frustration, pulling his head back before Dumbledore could say another word.

What was he to do? He couldn't, in good conscience, allow Potter to remain in his room all day; that wouldn’t be fair.

Yet he really didn’t want Draco to know someone else was there. Life truly wasn’t fair.

He would just have to threaten both boys with dire consequences if they dared to glare at each other. By "both boys," he meant Potter too; no doubt he started all the fights—his godson had more sense than to instigate them.

Too soon for Severus’s liking, dinnertime arrived, and the day was winding down. Draco Malfoy would be there bright and early the next morning, without a doubt.

As usual, Potter was sitting at the dining table; Severus had never known the boy to be so punctual. He had almost forgotten about his quest for answers regarding Potter, but he was too agitated to think about that right now.

So, both professor and student ate in silence, Severus wondering why his life was so complicated, while Harry pondered when the other shoe would drop. "Mr.

Potter, Draco Malfoy will be over for the day tomorrow, as his parents are otherwise occupied," Severus said smoothly. Outwardly, Harry didn’t react, but inside, he felt a tightness in his stomach.

Harry felt a deep sense of humiliation wash over him. Of all people, Draco Malfoy was going to see him toiling away like a house-elf.

It wasn’t that he minded the manual labor—it helped distract him from his thoughts—but the fact that Malfoy would witness it was unbearable. He knew that once Draco returned to Hogwarts, everyone would hear about it, and he would be mercilessly bullied all year long.

Still, a small part of him found solace in the thought that at least it wasn’t a Muggle beating him up or forcing him to work for his own family. He would take Snape any day over that.

“Yes, sir,” Harry finally replied, keeping his expression neutral. “I expect both of you to behave while under my roof, or you’ll face the consequences of your folly,” Severus warned, his tone harsher than he intended.

He wasn’t even looking at Harry, so he missed the barely concealed flinch that followed his sharp words. “Yes, sir,” Harry echoed, a sense of dread settling deep within him.

He knew, without a doubt, that he would end up punished in some form the next day. With great effort, he began to eat his dinner, clearing his plate entirely, just in case he didn’t get any food tomorrow.

Unfortunately, his stomach had grown accustomed to three hearty meals a day. That was one of the hardest parts of the summer for him—the lack of food after the abundance he enjoyed during the school year.

He had grown used to the beatings; his pain tolerance was high, though not without limits. A shudder ran through him as he recalled the Cruciatus Curse Voldemort had inflicted.

It had been nerve-wracking torture, an experience he never wanted to endure again. Severus finished his coffee and stood up.

“Good,” he said, making his way to his sitting room. He was determined to create an even better version of the Wolfsbane potion.

Harry hoped that one day he could help the werewolves transform into their animagus forms, sparing them the agony of changing under the full moon. He wanted to achieve this before Voldemort ignited the next war, ensuring that the wolves wouldn’t fall under Greyback's sadistic influence.

Greyback was a cruel man who would gladly force the potion down a wolf's throat, preventing their transformation. The memories of Greyback infecting Muggle children during the last war sent a shiver down Harry's spine.

Those innocent children never survived their first transformation; the pain was unbearable, and without magic to assist them, they simply couldn’t endure it. After the war, Severus had mercifully granted two of those children a painless death through a potion that sent them into a deep, eternal sleep.

The weight of that memory had haunted Harry for months, his dreams filled with their faces, a constant reminder of the tragedy he had witnessed. Climbing the stairs to his room, Harry settled onto his bed with his Advanced Charms book.

He still hadn’t found the spell that would make his clothes fit better, and the disappointment nagged at him. He hoped to discover it by summer's end.

The string he had to tie around his midsection was irritating his skin, turning it red, and he had to pull it tight, leaving half the fabric unused at the sides—just a reminder of how his cousin had treated him. Determined to keep his distance from Draco Malfoy, Harry wanted to avoid provoking his Potions teacher’s wrath.

He knew Severus would always side with Draco, regardless of the situation, even if he witnessed it firsthand. If that meant staying cooped up in his room to avoid the blond, so be it.

After all, family tended to believe one of their own over someone they didn’t favor. Harry was under no illusions about Severus’s feelings toward him; he was well aware that his teacher despised him.

Nothing Harry did could ever change his teacher's opinion of him. He had tried countless times, putting forth his best effort in Potions, despite the flying ingredients often making a mess of his brews.

The only compliment Snape had ever given him in the four years they had known each other was regarding his summer homework. It wasn’t long before Harry slipped into bed, but it was even less time before he woke up, terrified and unable to sleep again.

In his nightmare, Cedric Diggory had red eyes, which then morphed into his parents, blaming him once more. The chilling chant of three voices calling him a murderer haunted him more than he could have imagined.

“Hey, Uncle Sev,” Draco said with a grin. As usual, the blond boy looked immaculate, even right after stepping out of the fireplace.

Severus rolled his eyes at the title but chose not to comment further. “Sit down,” Severus said smoothly.

Draco complied, confused. Sure, Severus wasn’t the affectionate type, but he usually didn’t issue orders so sternly.

“Harry Potter is here for this week… Dumbledore’s way of testing me, no doubt,” Severus declared, a twitch in his eye betraying his discomfort at sharing this with his godson. He even managed to conceal the lie—an essential skill for a spy.

It was no wonder Severus had been able to maintain his cover for so long. “Potter?” Draco sneered, his disgust evident.

“You will keep out of his way, Draco—I am serious!” Severus insisted, his onyx eyes locking onto Draco’s, demanding obedience. “Or you will find yourself back home with the house-elves, and I will inform your father.”

“Of course, sir,” Draco replied, paling slightly at that threat; he knew Severus kept his promises.

“Good,” Severus said, visibly relaxing. He had warned them both that if they started any trouble, they would regret it.

He hoped the same would hold true this time. Fourteen-year-old boys typically wouldn’t dare defy him, but both of these boys were incredibly coddled and pampered.

There was no way they would let up on each other. If they misbehaved, they’d both find themselves scrubbing the dungeons.

He was honest about that, and he would make them regret it if they started fighting. He had only asked Potter to remove certain ingredients from his herbal garden—the ones he needed for his experimental potion to improve the wolfsbane—then to hose down everything else.

At least it would keep him busy. Just then, the worst possible thing happened: his mark burned fiercely.

He was being summoned by Voldemort. ---

Ice-blue eyes watched as his godfather left, a malicious gleam appearing in them.

Draco began making his way around the manor, searching for Potter. Twenty minutes later, he found him, and a wicked grin spread across his face.

There was Potter, harvesting herbs from the garden, no doubt ordered to do so by his godfather. Perhaps he should ask to stay longer; he wanted to see Potter taken down a peg or two.

That was likely exactly what his godfather had in mind. “Well, well, Potter, never thought I’d see the day you sat where you belonged… in the mud,” Draco sneered, trying to give Potter one of his fiercest glares.

He wasn’t pleased when Potter continued working, not even glancing in his direction—he wasn’t used to being ignored. “Look at me!” Draco snarled, fury boiling inside him as he drew his wand.

He was taken aback when Potter still refused to look at him or even draw his own wand. Harry knew this could only end badly, so for his own sake, he continued to ignore the blonde.

He didn’t have his own wand and no way to defend himself against the irritated boy. He hoped Malfoy would back down, realizing he wasn’t armed.

Surely, the blonde wouldn’t attack an unarmed opponent… Who was he kidding? The idiot would love that.

"I'll use it, Potter. I've learned a new spell that I think you’ll like," Draco sneered, his frustration boiling over as Harry continued to ignore him.

Even at school, Harry usually stood his ground, looking him in the eye. But now, it was even more infuriating that Harry was just sitting there, refusing to take the bait or draw his wand.

Draco's temper flared, and he shouted the new spell his father had taught him: "Carnificina!" 

His heart sank as he witnessed the immediate effects of the spell; his father had shown him the incantation but hadn’t explained what it truly did. Shock immobilized him as he watched Harry convulse, writhing on the ground and screaming in agony.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Draco snapped out of his daze and released the spell. He took one last look at Harry, who had fallen unconscious, before fleeing the scene.

Shaking uncontrollably, he stumbled into the living room, feeling nauseous. He had only meant to inflict a little pain or perhaps shock Harry—not to do this!

His godfather was going to kill him. A chilling thought crossed his mind: did the Ministry know?

He was still an underage wizard. If they were aware, they would also know the type of magic he had used, though he still didn’t fully grasp the gravity of his actions.

The spell he had cast was akin to the Cruciatus Curse—banned and illegal, carrying a guaranteed life sentence in Azkaban. Severus Apparated into the room, taking in the disgusting, run-down surroundings that had clearly been neglected.

Not that Voldemort would care about such things. He saw the monstrous figure seated on a throne.

The Dark Lord looked slightly better, but not by much. Severus was surprised that he still had enough magic to summon them.

"Severus, where does Dumbledore have Potter?" Voldemort hissed angrily. "My Lord?" Severus replied.

Severus frowned, feigning confusion while subtly using mind magic to make Voldemort believe he was genuinely perplexed. “He hasn’t gone home to his worthless Muggle relatives,” Voldemort hissed in response.

“I have no idea, my Lord. I didn’t know Dumbledore had moved him… perhaps he’s just staying indoors?” Severus suggested, allowing a mix of disbelief, shock, and disgust to seep through his mental barriers, revealing the emotions Voldemort sought.

“Lucius, any luck getting past the wards?” Voldemort demanded, his anger palpable. “No, my Lord.

They’re set along the entire street. We can’t even get close to Number Four, Privet Drive,” Lucius replied regretfully, his planned trip to Paris interrupted by this urgent summons.

“Crucio!” Voldemort snarled, his fury evident. “Find the brat!”

“I will, my Lord,” Lucius promised, pressing his hand against his bleeding lip, feeling a wave of self-disgust wash over him.

“You had better!” Voldemort growled, shifting his ire toward Severus. “You, Severus, had better find out if the brat has been moved.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Severus assured him, masking his true feelings with a facade of submission.

“Crucio!” Voldemort hissed again. ---

Harry, having fallen unconscious from the spell Draco had cast, found himself entwined in Voldemort’s mind.

He could see everything happening around him, as if through a foggy lens. He watched as Severus coldly lied to Voldemort about his whereabouts.

Any doubts he had about Severus’s loyalties faded in that moment. He winced at the pain the Death Eaters were experiencing, fully aware of the agony that spell could cause.

He felt it coursing through him now, just as he finally broke free from Voldemort’s mind and regained consciousness. His body throbbed with pain; he would have thought it was the Cruciatus Curse if he hadn’t heard the incantation.

He couldn’t believe Draco Malfoy had done this to him. could actually cast that curse on him.

Sure, they were rivals, and yes, the blond had hurt him before, but never to this extent. He couldn't move; every time he tried, a jagged pain shot through him—nerve-ending pain.

Unfortunately for him, whether he liked it or not, he was about to be moved. Severus Apparated back to his manor, trembling from the aftereffects of the curse.

He wasn’t in the best of moods, so when he saw Potter sprawled on the ground, clearly unbothered, and the chores he had assigned him—the only chore—still unfinished, he chose to take out his anger and frustration on him. Stomping over to the boy, part of him felt a twisted sense of elation at seeing him return to his old self, finally giving him a reason to punish him.

Another part, the part that stemmed from his love for Lily, was filled with disappointment. He grabbed Harry by the upper arms with enough force to wake him up.

Severus was too furious to notice how limp and shaky Harry was; he nearly forced him to walk down to the dungeons. With a flick of his wand, he threw open a door to a room that had been unused for ages.

Disgusted, he tossed Harry away from him and snarled, "Have this room spotless by the time I get back, or your punishment will be twice as bad!" 

He stomped up to his own room, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. Grateful to be alone, he took the necessary potions to counter the effects of the Cruciatus curse and shed his Death Eater garb before stepping into the shower.

He stayed there for forty-five minutes, slowly relaxing as the pain faded from his entire being. His potions were truly remarkable, and no one could deny that.

The effects of the Cruciatus and the pain were gone, even if only temporarily; he knew he would need to take another dose soon. ---

Harry was breathing heavily, leaning against the wall, his heart racing as if it might tear itself from his ribcage.

He didn't think he could... Harry had never been so scared in his life, not even as a small child.

He was in agony, struggling to understand why Snape was so angry with him. He had a room to clean and no idea when Snape would return.

It took him three tries to steady himself on his shaking legs, unsure whether the tremors were from fear or pain. With trembling hands, he filled a bucket with water and added a degreaser.

The room was mostly empty—just four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. Lifting the bucket from the sink, he carried it toward the room he had been ordered to clean.

He had gathered water, cleaning supplies, a cloth, and a scrubbing brush from the supply cupboard. Unfortunately, the bucket slipped from his grip, spilling half the water onto the floor.

Frantically, he grabbed the bucket, his whole body shaking. He crawled to the corner and began scrubbing, terrified he wouldn’t finish in time.

He remembered how his uncle acted in moods like this, and he feared Snape would be just as punishing. Would he be subjected to the Cruciatus Curse simply because Snape had lied to Voldemort to protect him?

He hoped not. But the thought pushed him to scrub the floor with even more vigor.

His entire body shook with fear, and tears he couldn't hold back streamed down his face. In the small dungeon room, the only sounds were Harry's irregular breathing, the scrubbing of the brush, and the sloshing of water.

Beneath the disgusting black mess, he could see wooden laminate that had once been varnished. He wasn't sure what time it was, but his stomach grumbled softly.

As he scrubbed frantically, he couldn’t help but think it was probably after lunch. He had grown so accustomed to regular meals that the thought of going without nearly brought him to tears.

Harry longed for the comfort of meals again, but Hogwarts felt far away. He wanted nothing more than to stop; his arms ached, weak and sore, and pain coursed through him.

Yet he couldn’t afford to rest. He had to finish before Snape returned.

The mere thought of facing the Cruciatus Curse kept him moving. Snape might unleash it on him for lying to Voldemort, and no one would care; they never did.

He had nearly completed the task when he suddenly stiffened, fear coursing through him. Someone was approaching—Snape, without a doubt.

Panic surged within him; he wasn’t finished. The weight of the moment became too much, and he felt the onset of a panic attack, struggling to breathe.

He fought to regain control, wheezing in fear as he scrubbed the floor harder, determined not to let Snape see how terrified he was. He was Harry Potter, after all.

He was supposed to be a hero—obnoxious, spoiled, and arrogant. No one could see him weak; if they did, they would know what a freak he truly was.

They would realize he had no chance of saving them. He wasn’t naïve; when they finally understood that Voldemort had returned, they would look to him.

Just because he and his mother had managed to defeat Voldemort all those years ago didn’t mean he could do it again. As the footsteps grew closer, they quickened, and Harry felt the darkness closing in.

Black dots danced across his vision, and he struggled to breathe through the fear. Finally, he succumbed to unconsciousness, freeing himself from the turbulent emotions that had plagued him for the past week.

He was liberated from the pain of the curse Malfoy had cast on him, from the agony in his arms where Snape had gripped him, and most importantly, from the exhaustion and fear that threatened to consume him whole.