A New Place to Stay Chapter 8 - Harry Potter

 At Prince Manor, accusations give way to truth and careful healing. Harry confronts Snape about Draco’s curse and hears a hard denial, plus a revelation about godfathers, Unforgivables, and consequences. Snape explains why wizards once refused to speak Voldemort’s name and how the Mirror of Erised and Harry’s cloak set up a dangerous first year. The night ends in quiet triage as Snape treats the scars on Harry’s back, reads the cupboard addressed Hogwarts letter, and begins to understand the Dursleys’ abuse for what it was. This is tense, character driven guardianship with real answers and first steps toward trust.

Transcript

**Chapter 8: Slowly Getting Answers**

It was well after dinner when Harry saw his Potions Master again. After Severus had stormed out of the room, Harry had retreated to his own space.

As Severus predicted, he had cried over the still-motionless pictures of his grandparents. He reverently traced the writing in the book, filled with awe; it was his grandmother's handwriting.

He had also discovered Severus's first name. The entire afternoon slipped away as he clutched the book, gazing at his grandparents through a veil of tears.

It reminded him of the first time he had seen proper pictures of his parents, courtesy of Hagrid. Hagrid had given him two of the most priceless gifts he could ever receive: the album and Hedwig.

Harry would forever be grateful to the half-giant, even if he had nearly gotten them eaten by a giant spider. Hagrid was probably his favorite person in the world.

Next on the list was Dobby; he adored the little elf for risking so much for him, even putting himself in Malfoy's crosshairs. Harry was relieved he had managed to trick Malfoy into giving Dobby clothes.

"Here, Potter, drink this," Severus said just before dinner was served. Before Harry could ask what it was, Severus continued, "It should help with the after-effects of the spell." 

Harry wasn’t surprised that Severus knew; he had likely instructed Malfoy to cast it.

The thought of them laughing about him sent a shudder down his spine. Did they find amusement in the fact that his uncle beat him too?

Probably. That thought made Harry feel cold all over.

Still, he picked up the vial and drank it, grudgingly thanking his Potions Master. "Why didn’t you tell me what he had done, Potter?

Surely even you realized what he cast at you?" Severus asked, curiosity lacing his tone. Harry looked taken aback, and Severus, quite rightly, became furious.

"You thought I told him to do it?"

“Angrily snarled,” Harry cringed back into his seat, bracing himself for what he knew was coming. To his surprise, his Potions Master was innocent of the accusations—though that was probably a first in a long list of grievances Harry had against him.

He seemed to have forgotten about the Quirrell-and-stone incident. “Tell me, Potter,” Severus hissed, incredulous.

How could the boy actually believe he would instruct his fourteen-year-old godson to cast that curse? Even if the brat didn’t know Draco was his godson.

“Why wouldn’t I think so?” Harry whispered, pain lacing his voice. “You told him to send the snake after me in second year.”

Severus blinked in shock.

Didn’t the boy see the difference between a harmless Serpentsortia spell and a bloody Unforgivable? Apparently not.

What did Harry really think he was capable of? “Let me get this straight: You think I’m capable of asking a fourteen-year-old boy to cast an Unforgivable on you?

In my care? Under my roof?

Risking him going to Azkaban for some pathetic revenge against you?” Severus demanded, fury bubbling just beneath the surface. “You don’t see a difference between a harmless Serpentsortia spell and an Unforgivable?”

His voice had escalated to a hiss, his black eyes flashing dangerously.

Harry struggled to keep himself from crumbling into a puddle or begging Severus to stop. He could feel the man’s fury radiating from him; he had never seen Snape so angry before.

Now, he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. “Merlin, Potter, I’ve saved your life over the years to ensure you don’t come to harm, boy!” Severus shouted, his tirade abruptly ending as he felt too shocked to maintain his anger.

He couldn’t believe what the boy thought he was capable of. Death Eater or not, when had he ever given Harry the impression that he would wish him such pain?

He had always put himself in front of a... “Snarling, vicious beast to save him, for Merlin's sake!” 

Harry flinched at that last word.

There were two words he despised above all others, no matter how they were spoken. Whether said nicely or harshly, he hated the terms "boy" and "freak," and it took all his willpower not to recoil when they were uttered.

Maybe Snape hadn’t suggested Malfoy do it, but that didn’t change anything for him. The spell had still been cast.

It did surprise him to learn that Malfoy could end up facing prison time for that curse, though. “Potter, I did not tell Draco to use that spell.

I do not want my godson following in my footsteps or his father's. Unfortunately, Lucius has taken it upon himself to teach him dubious spells at the age of fourteen,” Severus seethed, his anger now directed more at Lucius Malfoy than anyone else.

Harry's eyes widened at this new piece of information: Draco Malfoy was Severus Snape’s godson? How strange was that?

Of course, it made some sense. Snape had always favored Draco; now he thought he understood why.

“I know my godson didn’t know what he was doing… I need to ask what you plan on doing,” Severus said, swallowing hard. The food that had been brought in remained untouched for the past few minutes.

“That can’t be true; even I know the Latin for that spell… but I hadn’t realized it was an Unforgivable,” Harry murmured quietly. “Unfortunately, Draco is very spoiled, and he truly didn’t expect the spell to do that to you.

He adores the ground his father walks on and always has; he believed for a long time that his father had been under the Imperius Curse during the first war. Now that he’s been raised with those beliefs, he just can’t reconcile the difference,” Severus admitted, hoping against hope that Harry would allow Draco to get away with it just this once.

Not that he would be going easy on his godson come the new term—Draco would certainly learn his lesson—but Azkaban... wasn't something Draco needed.

It would only lead him down a path of revenge against Potter, which unfortunately meant aligning himself with Voldemort. "Why are you asking me?

It doesn’t matter what I want; Dumbledore wouldn’t allow me to press charges anyway," Harry said, confused by Snape's request for him to determine his godson's fate. It felt almost like...

independence, and Harry wasn't accustomed to that. He had always been used to having every little decision made for him, manipulated into choices all the time.

Severus noticed Harry's lack of respect for Dumbledore but chose to let it go. "Potter, don’t be foolish; you have more influence than Dumbledore or Lucius Malfoy could ever hope to have," he said, exasperation evident in his voice.

"What? Because I'm the Boy Who Lived?" Harry sneered, and in that moment, he looked so much like Severus that it took his teacher by surprise.

He had never seen Harry Potter sneer before in all his four years of knowing him. What was even more striking was how well that expression suited Potter's features at that moment.

"Yes," Severus admitted. If he had that kind of power, he would flaunt it...

well, maybe not. It all depended on the situation.

He wasn't sure how he would react in Potter's position, because he wasn't, and would never be, in the boy's shoes. Speculation was pointless unless you were actually experiencing someone else's circumstances.

"You saw the papers," Harry eventually whispered, his face downcast and his posture one of defeat. Ah, thought Severus, he had forgotten about that.

The Ministry and the Prophet were currently labeling the boy as an insane, attention-seeking liar. Of course, he might have said the same in the past, but over the last week or so, he had come to see a new side of Harry—one that, against all odds, he respected and even liked, even if he missed the cocky, defiant Potter who used to annoy him.

He hated to admit it, and he refused to do so, but he liked the boy. Severus looked at Harry, seeing a more obedient version of him, rather than the arrogant and conceited boy he had often dealt with.

"Perhaps you have a point at the moment; you understand why they are doing it, don't you, Potter?" he asked cautiously. "They just don't want to admit he's back," Harry muttered dryly.

"Yes. The last war was terrible.

People went missing, lives were lost, and the Ministry was taken over. The world was filled with fear, and everyone was hoping for a miracle.

Hogwarts was on the verge of being invaded by Voldemort's troops, and then, all of a sudden, on Halloween night, everything stopped, as if the world had been put on hold," Severus explained, his voice haunted as if he were reliving the horror. "They had indeed stopped using his name for fear of him finding them.

You see, he cast a spell on his name: anyone brave or foolish enough to say it would find themselves surrounded by Death Eaters and silenced forever."

Harry swallowed hard; the thought was horrific. With startling clarity, he understood why people refused to speak his name.

He was reminded of what Tom Riddle had told him in the Chamber of Secrets: "A name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world." Ironically, even at the age of fifteen or sixteen, Voldemort had been right. If this was what awaited the wizarding world again, ignoring him wouldn’t make him disappear.

They should be preparing to defend against him. "Oh," Harry said quietly.

He felt uncomfortable; he wasn't used to receiving the truth so bluntly. In his own way, he had been protected—not like Ronald Weasley—but kept ignorant of what Voldemort was truly capable of while being forced to play the hero.

"The man you have faced is but a shadow of who he used to be, a specter. You must understand, Potter, up—"

"You've been lucky until now.

Very lucky indeed," Severus said, his tone sharp. "But also very foolish for what you've done." He had often felt the urge to strangle Harry for the reckless stunts he had pulled over the years.

"That's hardly fair!" Harry protested, his anger bubbling to the surface. "And why is that?" Severus replied sarcastically.

He still needed to ask Harry more about his relatives, but he would get to that in due time. He suspected the boy didn’t realize he was beginning to open up, but Severus had used similar tactics often enough to know how to navigate this conversation.

If he left Harry to his own devices, the boy would likely remain silent. By engaging him, he hoped to gain the boy's trust—even if they were discussing the Dark Lord.

Like it or not, the monster was a central figure in Harry's life. "I was practically forced to do it!" Harry snapped, his voice rising in frustration.

"Really? Did Quirrell take you down there at wandpoint?" Severus asked, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

Harry pursed his lips, his breath coming in quick bursts. He couldn't believe Snape was blaming him for things beyond his control.

The fear he usually felt around adults had dissipated once he sat at the table, and now he was just furious with Snape. "No!

But…" he faltered, his voice dropping to a whisper as if admitting this to anyone—especially an adult—was too much. "Dumbledore planned it all… he wanted me to go down there."

Severus raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the revelation.

Harry was blaming Dumbledore for his actions? That was unexpected, to say the least.

But the boy seemed convinced he was telling the truth, which piqued Severus's curiosity. "How can that be the case?" Severus eventually asked.

"He gave me my father's cloak for Christmas," Harry murmured, bitterness twisting his expression. "He signed it, telling me to use it well.

No matter where I left it, it always ended up back in my dorm."

"You lost such a priceless heirloom?" Severus asked, taken aback. Harry flushed bright red.

How could he admit what was coming next? "I ran into the Mirror of Erised; it wasn't even hidden!" he protested hotly, eager to make it clear he hadn't been looking for it.

Severus's eyes widened, and he had to stop his jaw from dropping in shock. Dumbledore had left that blasted mirror where students could get their hands on it?

Not just any student, but Potter? Oh, he was going to have a word with that old fool.

If it had been one of his Slytherins, the situation would have escalated quickly. Given Potter's history, he was surprised the boy had managed to walk away from it.

"It was the first time I'd really seen my parents… and me," Harry said wistfully. "I had very short hair, my forehead wasn't marked, and I had a brother and sister." 

He didn't seem to realize he had just revealed his heart's desire to Severus of all people; he was lost in his own nostalgic thoughts.

Severus swallowed heavily. Just months ago, he would have accused the boy of dreaming about being a prefect, Head Boy, or having all the friends he could ever want.

Or perhaps being told that Black was adopting him. He couldn't believe Harry had just shared such a vulnerable wish; what could be more trusting than that?

Even if it could never come true. He certainly needed to have a word with Dumbledore about his carelessness.

"I even told Professor McGonagall that someone was after the stone," Harry sighed, morosely helping himself to some food despite the heavy conversation. Severus nearly choked.

If what this boy was telling him was true—and he had no doubt it was—why hadn't McGonagall done something? If it had been he whom they approached, he would have checked on the stone, regardless of the boy's age.

Especially knowing how weak the protections were on it. "I definitely knew it was him.

Hermione found out what the stone could do, and I was scared," Harry admitted, surprised at himself for explaining everything to Snape. Why was he doing this?

He should stop, he really should, before he revealed all his secrets. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to stop.

He wanted someone to hear his side of the story. Until now, he hadn't had anyone to talk to who would truly listen.

Snape, true to his earlier words, was listening, and he wasn’t coddling him like a child. It was a strangely welcome relief, as if a weight was lifting off his shoulders.

"You knew he would come after you… so you risked your life and the lives of two others to fight him?" Severus asked dryly. He didn't blame the boy; he would have done the same if their situations had been reversed, and he knew it.

"I never knew he would be down there. I was just going to get the stone," Harry protested, his face a stony mask.

"I told them not to come with me; they insisted, and I didn’t know much magic then, anyway." 

That made sense to Severus. Of course, the boy probably hadn't realized Voldemort was down there.

Still, he was surprised that Harry had managed to defeat Quirrell and stop Voldemort, especially considering he had been learning magic for less than a year—most of which was probably useless in a crisis. "You know, for a moment down there, I wanted to give the stone to him," Harry confessed, his eyes glazing over and his expression tormented.

He didn't notice Snape's eyes widen in astonishment. "He promised me my parents.

He said he could bring them back, and we would rule together," Harry smirked. "Of course, I knew deep down he was lying.

As much as I wished it, I knew it wasn't true."

"Indeed," Severus replied smoothly, his mind racing with turmoil over what he was learning. What on earth had happened down there?

All he had known…

Harry had denied the Dark Lord the chance to return to full strength, and Lily's protection had turned Quirrell to dust. He hadn't truly thought about it before—it was how the Dark Lord operated, making promises he had no intention of keeping.

It was fortunate that Harry had refused, or he might have actually gotten his parents back—in the afterlife, as soon as the Dark Lord killed him. Severus was surprised that Harry was opening up so easily, sharing his thoughts and fears.

Then again, when had Harry ever failed to surprise him? It seemed like the boy enjoyed pulling the rug out from under him constantly.

What really troubled Severus was Harry's firm assertion that Albus knew about everything; it was a notion he didn’t want to entertain. Surely, Albus wouldn’t endanger Harry by intentionally setting him up to meet the Dark Lord.

If anyone understood just how dangerous Voldemort was, it was Albus. Seeing that Harry wasn’t about to share any more information, Severus began eating his dinner, lost in thought.

If Dumbledore did know, he would never hear the end of it from Severus Snape. He wasn’t a man who forgave easily, if at all, and sending Lily’s son into danger made him furious.

He hadn’t risked his life to save Harry just for Dumbledore to test him constantly. Suddenly, his fork stopped mid-air as the realization hit him: Harry was telling the truth.

Dumbledore had been testing him. The defenses he had set up were easily beatable—they had been designed for a first-year to get through.

A snarl nearly escaped him in silent fury; oh, Dumbledore was going to hear about this the next time Severus saw him. Both soon left the dining room to pursue their own activities for the night.

Approaching nine o'clock, Severus knocked on Harry's door. “Come in,” called the familiar voice, but this time, there was a hint of caution in it.

“Potter, this salve will get rid of—”

"Of the marks on your back... that is, if you trust me enough to apply it," Severus said, his tone as curt as ever.

Harry felt a deep conflict within him. If there was no proof, Snape couldn’t use it against him.

Yet the thought of letting Snape get close enough to touch him made him feel nauseous. He could be behind him, in his blind spot, and if he wanted, he could do anything.

But then Harry remembered how many times Snape had saved his life—the broom incident, and how Snape had shielded the three of them behind his back. Despite everything, Harry realized Snape had been given far better opportunities to hurt him if that had been his intention.

With a sad sigh, he nodded, deciding to give Snape the benefit of the doubt. After all, Snape wouldn't bother with the potion if he wanted to harm him; he would simply do it.

"Take off your shirt and move down to the bottom of the bed," Severus instructed, surprised that Harry was allowing him to help. Harry complied slowly, his fingers trembling as they traced the hem of his t-shirt.

A resigned expression crossed his face as he pulled it off, clearly uncomfortable revealing himself to his teacher. Severus had seen it all before and wasn’t shocked by much anymore.

The revelation that Harry had been abused was more shocking because he was the Boy Who Lived, not because child abuse was uncommon. If there was no hope for Harry Potter, then who was there hope for?

It was a valid question. Harry flinched at the first touch, but Severus continued applying the cream to the scars that covered his back, from his shoulders down to the waistband of his boxers.

Vernon had never gone further, and for that, Harry was thankful. Otherwise, sitting in class for the first month would have been impossible.

It had been the first time his uncle had kicked him until he was black and blue—not just on his backside, but everywhere. Most of the time, Vernon avoided his legs; he wanted Harry able to do his chores, so his wife didn’t have to.

As Severus applied the potion, Harry could feel its magical properties working, knitting his skin back together. He couldn’t remember the last time his back had been unblemished, not since Vernon had started using the strap.

At first, the belt hadn’t left permanent marks unless he had used the buckle end. That had cut into Harry’s skin, making him bleed, and that was what Snape was witnessing now.

"When did it start?" Severus asked, his voice rough as he smeared the potion on, watching the scars fade beneath his hands. Harry stayed silent.

He hadn’t admitted it yet, and saying it out loud would make everything too real. He knew Snape understood, but he hated the idea of admitting it—especially to a wizard, and especially to Snape.

"You don’t have to talk about it, but trust me, Potter, it helps," Severus advised curtly. He almost sighed in exasperation as Harry remained defiantly quiet.

"Would it help if I promise I won’t tell anyone unless I feel I must?" he asked, rolling his eyes. He wouldn’t ever promise not to reveal it to anyone; Dumbledore needed to know, and he would find out.

Dumbledore would never send Harry back there; he would kill them first. Perhaps that would be the best course of action—send them gift-wrapped to the Dark Lord.

It would be a nice present. Of course, the Dark Lord would have no idea that Harry wouldn’t miss them; he would simply think he had dealt Harry another harsh blow.

The Dark Lord would never lower himself to actually read Muggles' thoughts; that much Severus knew. Then again, they weren’t normal Muggles… Obliviated and gift-wrapped, maybe?

It could be a good idea. He would have to think it through, weighing the upsides and downsides of his decisions, but those bloody Muggles wouldn’t get away with abusing Harry any longer.

“Potter,” Severus muttered to himself. He might not have a fondness for the boy, but even he couldn’t condone the physical abuse of a child—no matter how much Harry reminded him of James Potter, at least in appearance.

“I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t,” Harry finally sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “The physical abuse?” Severus echoed, seeking confirmation while struggling to mask his disbelief.

“My uncle doesn’t like magic,” Harry explained simply. “When did you first perform accidental magic?” Severus asked, curiosity piqued.

“I don’t remember a time when weird things didn’t happen around me.” Harry shrugged, feeling a mix of confusion and relief at sharing this with Snape. He had felt oddly reassured when Snape promised he wouldn’t tell anyone unless it was absolutely necessary.

Snape had never lied to him, and Harry appreciated that honesty, no matter how harsh it might be. He had never had an adult to confide in before; he hated that it was Snape, but right now, he was just too relieved to care.

“‘Weird things?’” Severus quoted, clearly confused and eager for more information. “I didn’t know I was a wizard until Hagrid told me,” Harry replied, shrugging again.

“They didn’t want me to go to Hogwarts and tried to stop me.”

“So when you came to Hogwarts, you knew nothing?” Severus asked, incredulity washing over him. “I had only found out two weeks before Hogwarts started that I was a wizard and how my parents really died,” Harry said quietly.

“What did they say had happened?” Severus asked, his eyes narrowing in anger. No wonder the boy hadn’t known anything!

Two weeks was hardly enough time to prepare for a completely new world. It made sense now why Harry had struggled to answer his questions on that first day.

Severus had assumed the boy was simply too lazy to open his books, but it was clear now that he had been unfairly judging him. He hadn’t had a choice.

Unfortunately, Death Eater children were at Hogwarts, reporting back to their parents, no doubt. Harry sighed sadly.

"That they were drunks who died in a car crash." He had believed them; he had no reason not to. He remembered a green light and a high, cold laugh that he had always assumed were traffic lights and his father's laughter before crashing into something.

That’s what he had always thought had happened to his parents. He even had a mark on his forehead, apparently proving that something of the sort had occurred.

Severus closed his eyes. His idea of sending the Dursleys to Voldemort was becoming more credible as time went by.

Petunia Evans had turned into a real nightmare, and he looked forward to meeting her again. He would relish the thought of killing her—how dare she tarnish her sister's name in such a way?

Lily was ten times the woman Petunia could ever hope to be. With his nostrils flaring, he finished applying the salve to the child's back but didn’t move.

"Your Hogwarts essays? Your work—why do you turn in such abysmal work when I know you are capable of so much more?" Severus asked, fighting the urge to grind his teeth in frustration.

Harry remained silent, his head bowed even lower, if that was possible. The child had wrapped his arms around his stomach as a way of seeking comfort.

Severus felt his heart contract at the sight—how many times had he himself done that? But at least he had had his mother for comfort.

What had Harry Potter had? Who had he had?

No one, and that thought upset him deeply. The boy needed someone to comfort him—Black or his friends; he shouldn’t be locked up in a manor with a teacher.

He began to realize just how lonely Harry Potter truly was in the world. "A verbal answer, if you please," Severus said, his voice soft but firm—he wanted an answer.

"I got a report card at the end of the year. I was five, nearly six years old.

I stupidly thought they might actually be proud of me."

Instead, I was punished for embarrassing them, or rather for doing much better than their son, and I was shoved into my cupboard for three weeks without food. It was a good thing, really; he had broken my wrist, and I wouldn't have been able to do my chores," Harry shrugged.

"Those animals are the reason you don't do your best?" Severus asked, his fury barely contained. "What do you mean, your cupboard?

Do you really mean you went without food for three weeks?" 

Gift-wrapping them for the Dark Lord would be too kind! Perhaps he should have some personal fun with them first.

He had a lot of experimental potions he could try on them; that would be entertaining. Harry stiffened at the sound of Severus's furious voice so close to him; nothing good ever came from someone so angry being near.

But nothing happened; Snape just sat there, waiting for him to respond. Harry refused to turn around and face Snape, knowing he wouldn’t be able to keep talking if he did.

Instead, he slipped off the bed and opened his trunk. Snape watched with narrowed eyes, curious about what the boy was up to.

Harry pulled out a faded, half-burnt piece of parchment. It looked familiar—it was an acceptance letter to Hogwarts.

He handed it to Snape, observing his teacher's reaction for the first time, feeling anxious when those dark eyes widened in disbelief. "They kept you in a cupboard?" Severus asked, grappling with his inner turmoil.

He was supposed to be calm and collected; none of the other students had affected him like this. Perhaps it was because this was Lily's son, or maybe it was because he had never encountered a case so horrifically bad before.

Harry James Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
Number 4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey  
England  

"It's all I knew for ten years," Harry whispered, still standing awkwardly. "That house has four bedrooms!" Severus hissed indignantly.

"The master..."

Harry nodded as he recalled his aunt's guest bedroom, his cousin's room, and the spare space filled with broken junk. "Do you know how those letters are written?

Does anyone ever see them?" It was a question that had lingered in his mind since he first received that letter—the one he had pulled from the fire, its address intact while everything else had been burnt away. He didn't know what it said, but he had kept it as proof that someone knew him, where he was, and what was happening on Privet Drive.

"Hundreds of those letters are sent out each year. Most recipients either decline or choose a different magical school," Severus explained, recognizing the curiosity behind Harry's question.

"Professor McGonagall has an enchanted quill that writes her signature for her."

"I guess that makes sense," Harry replied reluctantly, recalling Rita Skeeter's malicious quill with a hint of disdain. "What happened once the first letter appeared?" Severus asked, gesturing for Harry to sit down.

He tucked the jar of salve into his robes, knowing it wouldn't be needed now that the scars had faded. If only it were that easy to erase the mental scars; he understood they never truly disappeared.

All he could do was help the boy overcome it, to make him see it wasn't his fault and encourage him to live his life. "My uncle thought wizards were watching them.

He gave me my cousin's second bedroom," Harry said, shuddering at the memory. "My cousin wasn't happy about that, and he made sure I knew it." He recalled how relentless his cousin and his friends had been during that time.

"Why didn't you tell anyone, Potter? You wouldn't have had to return to them," Severus pressed, hoping for a better response this time.

He noticed the hooded expression on Harry's face and waited patiently, hoping to receive a truthful answer—or any answer at all.