A New Place to Stay Chapter 11 - Harry Potter

 Breakfast at Prince Manor turns into a real plan for recovery. Snape puts Harry on a weight gaining diet, adds morning runs, and introduces meditation for Occlumency, then watches a determined Harry circle the grounds and start to change.  At Grimmauld Place, an Order meeting reveals coded alerts from Arabella Figg, debate over training, and the startling reminder that thirteen year old Harry produced a full Patronus. 

 Snape returns home to a cliffhanger, Dementors hovering over an unconscious Harry and cold closing in fast. 

Transcript

**Chapter 11: Exercises and Trusting Snape and Big Trouble**

At breakfast the next morning, Harry once again had a bowl of porridge with fruit, while Severus enjoyed a full English breakfast. Severus no longer expected Harry to sulk about having to eat porridge; it seemed the boy was just grateful to have anything at all.

Severus's perspective on Harry Potter had shifted dramatically in just a week, and he found himself feeling not only furious with himself but also with everyone around Harry for their failures. He had an Order meeting scheduled after lunch, which meant they needed to start their exercises half an hour after breakfast.

It wasn't proper to begin working out right after eating; doing so could lead to an upset stomach. "Once you finish, put on a pair of jogging trousers or shorts and a loose t-shirt," Severus advised.

"You’re going to be working out."

"Working out?" Harry asked, his green eyes wide with confusion. "For your new diet to be effective, you need to exercise," Severus explained.

"My new diet?" Harry echoed, completely bewildered. He knew he was eating differently, but a diet?

He wasn't fat, was he? The thought of becoming anything like Vernon Dursley made him swallow hard.

Severus seemed to sense Harry's concerns. He grimaced at the memory of Vernon and Dudley Dursley and realized he needed to reassure the boy.

Otherwise, he might end up with a Potter who refused to eat in his Manor. Not being particularly skilled at comforting others, he sighed and said, "You need to put on weight, Mr.

Potter. You’re far too skinny for your age.

This new diet will help you build body mass, gain some weight, and develop decent muscle."

Harry blinked, his jaw dropping in disbelief, unable to process what he had just heard. Harry could hardly believe his ears.

His professor was genuinely concerned enough to put him on a diet? It was unexpected, and he felt a mix of gratitude and something he couldn't quite identify.

No one had ever cared for him before, and to the fourteen-year-old, it meant the world that someone did. He had always longed for someone in his life who cared, someone constant to look up to, but that had never happened.

It frustrated him that he was finding that sense of care in his Potions professor. His mind rebelled against it because he was certain Snape hated him—or at the very least, didn't care about anything other than the Boy Who Lived.

He almost sighed in sadness, wishing more than ever that he had a family, someone to love him. “Yes, sir,” he replied automatically, snapping back to reality as he noticed his teacher waiting for an answer.

“Good,” Severus said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. Once Harry had gained some weight, Snape planned to train him.

With Voldemort after him, he agreed with Moody: Harry needed to be prepared. What Dumbledore didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“I also have a book I want you to read and practice before bed,” Severus added, once breakfast was cleared away. Harry looked intrigued and nodded in response.

He went upstairs to change while Severus headed to his library, returning with a few books on meditation. That was the first step in clearing one’s mind.

If Harry could master it, he might eventually be able to occlude his thoughts. That skill would come in handy, especially with his temper and when facing Voldemort.

It was pointless to duel someone who could read every move and predict every spell. Voldemort had no trouble killing even skilled duelists; only Dumbledore could truly challenge him, thanks to his mastery of Occlumency and Legilimency.

“Here. These are the books I want you to read.

It's important that you do so, Mr. Potter,” Severus said gravely.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, concealing his emotions. Harry felt a wave of confusion wash over him.

How important could meditation really be? Still, he decided to follow his teacher’s advice.

He certainly didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Snape’s anger—or his wand, for that matter. Snape had been surprisingly supportive over the past few days, and Harry was determined to keep that momentum going.

After discussing the abuse he had endured, he realized that Snape likely wouldn’t raise a hand against him. The things Snape had said about recognizing the signs of trauma made Harry wonder if Snape had experienced something similar in his past.

Had that been what led him down a darker path? Snape had mentioned that his father was a Muggle, yet Harry couldn’t wrap his head around why Voldemort had accepted him.

Voldemort was a pureblood fanatic, and all of his followers were too—he knew that from the names he had overheard, Malfoy among them. Harry placed the meditation books at the foot of his bed to read later and headed out of the room, making his way down the stairs.

He found himself pondering the kind of "workout" Snape had in mind and whether he was even up for it. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t a matter of choice—he was going to do it.

Snape would ensure that. “Right, Potter.

I want you to run as far as you can around the manor. Whenever you get exhausted, just come back...

and take your time. I want to see how far you can go; I’d like to assess your fitness level,” Severus said smoothly.

He was curious to see how far Harry could push himself before collapsing in exhaustion. This wasn’t about being cruel; the boy needed to build strength, and given the effort he had put in over the past few days, Snape suspected the run might be longer than even he anticipated.

There was an exercise room in one of the upstairs chambers of the manor. Although he hadn’t used it yet, Snape knew it was there and that the house elves maintained it in immaculate condition.

Harry would soon be introduced to that room as well. If Snape had his way, the other students wouldn’t recognize Harry when he returned—which was exactly what he intended.

That was for sure. Harry eyed the manor warily.

Knowing Snape was serious, he nodded and began his usual stretches, just like he would before running with the Quidditch team. Then he took off, unaware of the approving nod on his teacher's face as he started.

It felt no different from the workouts during Quidditch practices, where the Gryffindor Captain was relentless in trying to outsmart the Slytherins. Once he began running, a surge of energy filled him, and he felt genuinely glad to be outside.

He focused solely on the sunshine beating down around him, exhaling bursts of air every few minutes. To his surprise, he managed to run around the manor four times.

It was about the size of two Quidditch pitches, and usually, he only ran around that twice. This time, he had run six times more than usual, yet he wasn't injured or bruised from his uncle's belt or fists.

What he didn’t realize was that an energy potion had been added to his morning nutrition shake. Breathing heavily, he hunched over with his hands on his knees, trying to regain control of his breath.

“Breathe; it will pass,” Severus said, watching the teenager with a proud glint in his eye. He felt pride in Harry’s effort; most students would manage only one lap before feigning stitches or exhaustion—even his Quidditch team.

Draco always refused to run, declaring that he was a Malfoy and "Malfoys don’t run like idiots." He had only done it once when he oversaw the team during his third year, but never again. Harry nodded, unable to speak as he focused on calming his breathing.

Sometime later, they sat in the sitting room, the floo warded to ensure no callers could see inside. It would all be for nothing if someone spotted Harry Potter there.

Eventually, Harry was able to breathe normally and now sat quietly in a chair, engrossed in a book. Harry sat with a book on meditation, a look of concentration on his face.

It was a look Severus Snape wasn’t used to seeing on him—or rather, the Boy Who Lived. It was clear that Harry was a different person away from the persona he projected at school.

This realization filled Severus with frustration for having been so blinded by that facade. Right now, though, he preferred the real boy over the mask.

This version of Harry reminded him of Lily, and he found he could handle him—even if, at times, he wished he were more like James so he could continue to harbor his hatred. It would have been easier for his own self-preservation to keep despising the boy.

But things had changed; his feelings had shifted, and his perspective had been irrevocably altered. Considering he had the three Dursleys locked away in his dungeon, that was an understatement.

Just then, he recalled the Order meeting he was about to attend, as well as the previous one where Black had confronted him. "Potter, why haven't you replied to your godfather?" Severus asked, sneering at the word 'godfather.' It wasn’t just because it was Black; it was because Severus didn’t consider him worthy of the title.

"What do you mean?" Harry replied defensively, unable to suppress his instinct to protect himself. He looked up from his book, a cautious expression crossing his face as he recalled the tension between his godfather and his teacher.

He had witnessed the glare Snape had given Sirius, and now, reflecting on it, he understood. He remembered the intense hatred he had felt for Sirius—he was certain it paled in comparison to the look Snape had directed at him.

“Utter disgust and revulsion” didn’t quite capture the expression on Severus’s face. The sight of Black had unhinged him, and considering his mother had been Snape’s best friend, it made sense that he would be furious.

After all, Snape believed that Black was the one who had betrayed her. "He has complained that I'm using you for potions because you haven't replied," Severus continued, his lip curling in distaste.

He knew he was exaggerating, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Harry sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"He never asked me a question," he said, a hint of petulance in his tone. Technically, Sirius had asked a question—just not one that felt significant to Harry.

In truth, with everything that had happened, he hadn't given Sirius much thought. That was nothing new; he usually only considered his godfather when he needed advice, which was rare.

Harry didn’t trust adults and preferred to figure things out on his own. "Excuse me?" Severus asked, his confusion evident.

"He didn't ask me a question, so why would I reply?" Harry shrugged. He wasn’t particularly fond of Sirius at the moment, especially after the way his godfather had complained about Harry being with Snape instead of him.

Oddly enough, he was glad to be with Snape. It wasn’t just Sirius he was upset with; his friends had also stopped reaching out.

At least with Snape, he could read the newspapers and stay informed about what was happening outside—though, of course, there was nothing to report; Voldemort was still lying low. "Because I do not want to endure Black harassing me every time I go to an Order meeting, Potter," Severus sneered coldly.

Harry fought the urge to grimace. They were supposed to be adults, yet they often acted worse than children.

He valued his life too much to voice his thoughts, especially since he had to live with Snape for the rest of the summer. It was a testament to how comfortable he was getting around Snape that he even considered showing his distaste.

He would never have dared to do that back at Privet Drive. "Fine, I'll send him a letter," Harry said, barely concealing his exasperation.

He didn’t want to write to Sirius after the way he had behaved, but it seemed he didn’t have a choice. He certainly didn’t want Snape taking any more jabs at him.

Harry couldn’t help but feel irritated. If Sirius started up again, it would only put him in a worse mood.

Just looking at Sirius had a way of souring Snape’s temperament. He nodded curtly, curiosity piqued.

What could Black have done to upset Potter? It was clear that Black had said something to make the boy angry, and Severus was eager to find out what it was.

It wasn't surprising, though. Black had a knack for doing something foolish, even by Potter's standards.

Just look at what he had done to his best friend—nearly getting him in trouble with the Aurors at the Ministry's magical beast department. Even Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to intervene—Severus would have made sure of that.

"What exactly did Black do?" Severus asked cautiously, wondering if he was being too forward with Harry. Just because he had been forced to reveal details about his own home life didn’t mean he had to know everything about Potter's.

"It's what he didn't do," Harry grumbled, burying his head back in his book, clearly not wanting to talk about it. "I see," Severus said, frowning behind his own book, intrigued.

"If you want, I could mention it at the Order meeting. It would save your owl a flight."

"Okay," Harry replied, his voice muffled.

"If you’d like, I could also send a letter to the Weasleys and Granger, since they are with him," Severus added reluctantly. "They're with Sirius?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse from behind the book.

Severus realized that Harry was hurt by this news, and he regretted revealing it. He was suddenly grateful that he couldn’t see Harry's expression; those eyes could easily break his resolve.

Part of him regretted mentioning the eye surgery, as he found himself focusing on the boy's eyes instead. Harry's mind raced.

His friends hadn't written to him yet, and now they were with his godfather. Why were they allowed to be with Sirius while he had to stay here?

It felt like they were keeping things from him—Sirius... Harry hadn’t even told him that.

Fury began to bubble beneath the surface. This was something he would expect from Ron, but Hermione?

Why hadn’t she been in touch? He had thought he could trust her the most, but now that seemed less certain.

Why did he always end up feeling let down? Why wasn’t there someone constant in his life?

Damn it, he didn’t deserve this. Harry sighed sadly.

It was the story of his life: being kept in the dark, unable to trust anyone, not even his best friends. “They are,” Severus said, his voice tinged with caution.

“Well, that’s nice,” Harry replied, bitterness creeping into his tone. Severus was at a loss for words.

It was becoming glaringly obvious that not only was Harry being kept somewhere his friends thought he hated, but they were also not keeping in touch with him. Sirius had messed up too; just how alone was Harry feeling right now?

If the bitterness was any indication, Severus would say “very.” He couldn’t believe he actually felt sorry for him; it had been a long time since he felt that way about anyone. He watched as Harry got up and walked out of the room, looking more forlorn than ever.

Damn it, why did his feelings for Potter have to change now? It was going to be a long summer.

Now more than ever, he would feel better if he just didn’t care about what the teenager felt. He hadn’t experienced such warring emotions since Lily was alive.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation, he headed up to his room, pushing his emotions behind his Occlumency shields as he got dressed for the Order meeting. He put on his robes; he wasn’t going to allow any of them to see him casually dressed.

It was hard enough not wearing his robes in front of Harry, but he wasn’t about to walk around his home in stiff teaching robes. He would need every ounce of strength he had for this meeting.

Dumbledore had a lot to answer for, but he couldn’t let the man know he was aware of that—not yet, anyway. The Dursleys had already been reported missing, and Dumbledore was no fool—he would connect the dots.

Ten minutes later, Severus left his room and checked the wards to locate Harry. He discovered that Harry was back in the sitting room.

Swiftly, he made his way there and began to speak. "As you know, the house is warded, as is the Floo," Severus said in his usual blunt tone.

"But I'd prefer it if you were careful in this room, just in case. I should be back within a few hours.

Why don't you go and fly? Remember to stay within the wards," he warned, his voice taking on a sterner edge.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied automatically. A strange urge to smile flickered within him—he felt happy.

Flying was his escape, but why did it make him so joyful? Confusion washed over him.

What Harry didn't realize was that his happiness stemmed from someone setting boundaries, allowing him to engage in something other than chores, and essentially fulfilling a parental role. It was probably for the best that he didn’t understand this, or it would have terrified him.

Severus nodded, and Harry reluctantly handed over a letter, a small piece of parchment addressed to Sirius Black. Snape grimaced at the name scrawled on the front: Padfoot.

He despised the ridiculous nicknames the Marauders had concocted. In truth, he loathed nearly everything about them, so why not their names too?

Sliding the letter into his robes, he walked away, a sense of foreboding settling deep within him. He had to convince himself that Harry would be alright; there was nowhere safer for him.

Yet, that feeling lingered as he apparated away. The next sight that greeted him was numbers eleven and thirteen Grimmauld Place.

With a few quiet thoughts, the missing building came into view. Soon, with a distasteful sigh, he found himself in the dilapidated, grimy residence that the Blacks had once inhabited.

He moved silently through the space, careful not to disturb anyone. As he passed by Black's mother, Severus felt a wave of discomfort.

Just then, Tonks burst through the door, knocking the troll stand as she entered. Severus grimaced as the hag began to screech about "Mudbloods" and "Blood Traitors." Rather than engage, he simply hexed the curtains closed; he didn’t want to touch anything Black had laid hands on.

The mere thought made him feel ill. He settled into his usual seat, waiting for Dumbledore to make his customary grand entrance through the kitchen fireplace.

Dumbledore was the only one allowed to use the Floo, being the house's Secret-Keeper. The rest of them had to apparate nearby and enter through the front door.

Instead of his usual flourish, Dumbledore stood facing the Order, his expression grave. In that moment, Severus realized he had been right: the Dursleys' disappearance had not gone unnoticed.

He composed his face into a concerned frown, feigning worry about the news Dumbledore was about to deliver. "What's the matter?" Molly asked, her voice filled with concern and impatience, as if she had no time for theatrics.

She floated over the tea and coffee pots along with biscuits, setting them on the table while still keeping her gaze fixed on Dumbledore. This was a routine for her, something she had done countless times for her family.

"Is Harry all right?" Arthur inquired, his brow furrowed with anxiety as he looked at Dumbledore. "Harry is fine, but my reports from Arabella Figg are not," Dumbledore replied, a frown still etched on his features.

"Meaning what, exactly?" Severus asked cautiously. "Here; this is what she has written," Dumbledore said, handing over the letter.

Severus quickly scanned its contents. "Brian: The activities remain the same.

I'm afraid the dogs are still here; nothing can be done about it. They remain hesitant to come near the house, as the cats continue to scare them off.

I have some bad news as well: my next-door neighbors have gone missing. No holiday planned; they just took off!

I'm concerned for their health. Their..."

"Boss has been to the house, and it confirmed my theory.

I'm not sure if this means anything, but I need advice: should I call someone or not? Please get in touch as soon as possible.

There’s been talk of significant temperature drops during this summer day, which is odd; I hope it doesn’t continue! It’s rather abnormal; it happened this afternoon around Wisteria Walk." 

Arabella D.

Figg. "Why is she speaking in code?" Severus asked dryly.

He handed the letter to Molly after reading it, allowing the others a chance to decipher the strange missive. "There is Death Eater activity around Privet Drive.

They don’t know I have someone watching the area, and I’d prefer it to stay that way," Dumbledore replied. "It doesn’t help if you can’t decipher her meanings," Sirius complained, frowning as Molly passed the letter to him.

Severus raised an eyebrow at that; he hadn’t realized Black knew the meaning of the word "decipher." 

"She says the Death Eaters are still patrolling the area but can’t penetrate the wards. She also mentioned that the Dursleys are missing; his boss has visited the house, which means nothing was planned.

As for the temperature drop... I’m unsure if it’s related to magic or just the unusual weather Surrey is experiencing," Dumbledore said, finally sitting down, looking years older and very confused.

He wasn’t in Surrey, so he couldn’t say for sure what was going on. "Shall I go and see?" Arthur asked.

With his experience with Muggles, he would be the obvious choice. "They aren’t there; they’ve fallen below the radar.

I’ve done a few 'find me' and 'point me' charms; nothing came of them," Dumbledore said gravely. "Death Eaters can’t have them, or I would have been called, and they wouldn’t still be patrolling the area," Severus pointed out matter-of-factly.

"Unless Death Eaters acting on their own have had some sport and killed them, unaware of who they are. Or a Death Eater acting alone killed them, thinking it..."

"That would get him past the wards," Moody said bluntly.

He was always the suspicious one, but given that he had lived through two wars, it was hard to blame him. "He does have a point," Severus sighed reluctantly.

"Can you ask around and see what you can find out, Severus?" Dumbledore asked hopefully. "I can't bring it up without raising their suspicions, but I will keep my ears and eyes open," Severus replied, masking his true intentions.

He wasn't about to put himself in danger for Muggles... or at least, that was the impression Dumbledore needed to have.

"If they were dead, wouldn't the Death Eaters be able to breach the wards?" Sirius interjected, not even glancing at Severus Snape. "I don’t know.

Blood wards are very rare, if not completely non-existent. You won't find a paragraph about them, let alone a book," Dumbledore said quietly.

"I looked for many years, but nothing came up."

"Then how do you know the wards at Privet Drive actually work?" Sirius asked, looking mutinously at the table. "Other than the fact that they protected Harry from Quirrell in his first year, they are currently keeping the Death Eaters from entering within a one-mile radius of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging," Dumbledore replied, his tone devoid of sarcasm.

Severus felt a surge of frustration at how casually Dumbledore spoke about Quirrell and Harry's confrontation. For some reason, he couldn't shake the memory of what Harry had told him—the urge to hand over the stone but choosing not to.

How could an eleven-year-old possess the strength to say no? Snape had joined Voldemort at sixteen, motivated by the promise that Voldemort would look after Tobias Snape.

In the end, Tobias had been killed, and his mother had only lived two years longer, succumbing to cancer, a battle she had kept secret until the end. She had passed away after hearing that her son had died.

his Potions Mastery. The last words she had ever spoken to him were that she was proud of him.

She never learned his secret—that he had joined the Death Eaters and was responsible for her husband's, his father's, death. They hadn’t seen much of each other; between his duties as a Death Eater and his work on Potions Mastery, he had barely slept.

It was something he deeply regretted. His mother had sometimes been as harsh as his father, instigating arguments and contributing to the violence.

Yet, she had also done her best to protect him, even if that meant not doing the one thing that could have saved them both—getting out of that situation altogether. "Sirius told me what happened at the last Order meeting, and I think Moody was right," Remus said, finally breaking the silence.

Moody glanced up at Remus when he heard his name but remained silent. His real eye darted up and back down again.

He had already tried to convince his old friend, but nothing he said had swayed him. Dumbledore was resolute; he wasn’t going to train Harry, and no amount of persuasion would change his mind.

"What about?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling as usual. He knew exactly what they were discussing but pretended otherwise, hoping to avoid another argument about Harry's training.

He had been debating this with Alastor all week, and the Auror was far from pleased with Dumbledore's decision. "Harry needs to be trained; he's a very good student," Remus replied patiently.

Severus snorted, partly out of obligation and partly because Remus’s statement was an understatement when he considered the work Harry had submitted to him over the summer. Remus narrowed his eyes.

"How many people here can produce a fully formed Patronus?" he asked, still glaring at Severus. Severus felt confused about where Lupin was going with this, but he was also intrigued.

"Three," Moody finally grunted. "What age were you when you produced it?" Remus asked, his smirk almost predatory.

"Nineteen, during Auror training," Moody replied, frowning as he recalled the memory. Albus’s face looked even worse than usual.

“Twenty-three,” he eventually admitted, glancing at the others who were staring at him. Everyone’s eyes then shifted to Remus, thinking he was the third person in this strange count.

“I cannot produce a fully fledged Patronus,” Remus confessed, noting the curious looks directed his way. Only Moody continued to watch Snape; the others caught up a few seconds later.

“Seventeen,” Severus sneered, a proud smirk playing on his lips. “Where are you going with this, Remus?” Sirius frowned, clearly confused; even he didn’t know about Harry’s abilities.

“It took Harry eleven lessons to produce a fully fledged Patronus at the age of thirteen,” Remus announced proudly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. “You’re joking,” Shacklebolt gasped, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

He couldn’t produce one himself, and he was an older, powerful wizard. The fact that a thirteen-year-old boy had managed it made him feel incredibly insignificant.

Severus had to stifle the surprise on his face; he was genuinely proud of Lily’s son. Perhaps teaching Harry everything he needed to know to survive wouldn’t be such a chore after all.

Most adult wizards and witches couldn’t perform a Patronus; the fact that a thirteen-year-old could was quite telling. “What is it?” Sirius asked, intrigued.

“A stag,” Remus replied, a small, wistful smile appearing as he reminisced. Severus forced himself to snort; of course, Harry’s Patronus was a stag.

It seemed fitting, as if it could be anything else. Yet he was surprised.

Lily had saved his life as a child; one might think Harry’s Patronus would resemble her—a doe like Snape's own—but no. He silently wondered why it had chosen to take the form of a stag instead.

It wasn’t as if that had been the boy’s choice, and he knew Harry had never seen his father’s Animagus form, so he couldn’t place the blame there. “Go, Harry!” Sirius cheered, his face lighting up with joy.

Harry had performed magic at the age of thirteen. He had been unconscious when the Patronus was cast and had no idea who had done it or what it was.

“Why was he learning to cast a Patronus?” Tonks frowned, her hair a vibrant red today. “The Dementors had a very draining effect on him,” Remus explained.

“Meaning what, exactly?” Shacklebolt asked, though he already had a good idea. “He heard James and Lily’s deaths,” Remus told him, choking slightly on their names.

Even after all those years, it hadn’t gotten any easier. His pack was broken: one betrayed, two dead, and one still a kid in a man’s body.

Severus paled drastically, not needing to fake it; Sirius looked stunned. Severus began to realize that Harry wasn’t as close to the mutt as he had previously thought.

Black didn’t know anything about Harry; it seemed Lupin knew more than he did. Snape shook off his thoughts.

He couldn’t keep this up; it was getting utterly ridiculous. He had dealt with many abused students before.

Why was Harry getting under his skin, slipping past his cold and indifferent masks, and into his heart? He couldn’t allow it; he was furious with himself for letting it happen.

The entire Order fell silent, even Mundungus Fletcher—his name seemed all too fitting, as he always smelled of ‘dung.’ The silence irritated Severus; the quieter it became, the more he thought, and he didn’t want to think. He needed to purge his thoughts of Harry Potter before it got him killed.

He had allowed himself to become emotionally attached, and that was dangerous for a spy. With the boy resembling Lily so much, even if it was regretfully beaten into him, it made him weaker.

Anything that reminded him of her stirred up too many emotions. She had been the only positive influence in his life aside from his mother; he had loved her and only her—there had been no one else.

He had to stay away from Harry. Severus was determined to stop caring.

Damn it, he needed to stop thinking about him all the time. "Is the meeting finished?" Severus asked abruptly.

"Yes, Severus, it is," Dumbledore replied with a sad sigh. "Good," Severus said as he got up.

He remembered the letter at the last moment. Taking it out of his pocket, he tossed it at Black before leaving the dreary, wretched place they called the Order Headquarters.

He apparated back to the manor, and the sight before him made him weak in the knees. Two Dementors hovered over the unconscious form of Harry Potter, sucking out his soul.

Harry's broom lay snapped in half between his legs; he had obviously fallen from it. The sound of Severus’s apparition caught the attention of another Dementor, and a chilling cold began to seep into him.

Suddenly, he was no longer staring at Harry Potter in horror; he was trapped in his own worst memories. "I overheard a prophecy, My Lord," Severus said, barely registering Lucius Malfoy trembling at the Dark Lord’s feet, having just endured the Cruciatus Curse for failing in his mission.

He had no Occlumency shields, and his Lord would be able to read his thoughts anyway, but he wanted to please him. "Tell me," the Dark Lord hissed eagerly.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies," Severus stated, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. "Is that it?" the Dark Lord demanded furiously.

"I'm sorry, My Lord, I was thrown out," Severus replied, bowing low. "Leave!

Find another way to get a job, or the next time I won't be so lenient," Voldemort snarled. With that, everyone else vanished, leaving Voldemort alone to ponder the contents of the prophecy he had just learned.

"The prophecy is about either the Potter boy or the Longbottom boy; both of them shall die before they are old enough to become a thorn in my side."

Voldemort hissed, and Severus paled drastically beneath his Death Eater mask. A sinking feeling settled in his gut.

All he could think about was Lily. He had to keep her safe, but his Lord had promised—promised not to hurt her.

He knew, however, that the Dark Lord didn't always keep his promises, and that terrified him. "May I have the pleasure of killing the Potters, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked gleefully.

"I shall kill both families myself," Voldemort hissed, his snake-like eyes narrowing in anger. After that Death Eater meeting, Severus had rushed off to find Albus Dumbledore.

He needed to beg him to keep Lily safe, to keep her out of harm's way, not caring about his own fate or the fact that he could end up in Azkaban. "I'm sorry, Severus...

Sirius Black betrayed them," Dumbledore said, standing before Snape in his office. "No," Severus whispered, closing his eyes as if hoping this was all a bad dream.

"You swore you would protect her!" Anger flared within him, overpowering his sorrow. "Severus, I'm sorry," Dumbledore replied, looking old and weary.

"Save it for someone who cares!" Severus snarled, fury coursing through him. Dumbledore had failed him, and he didn't care what excuses the old wizard offered; he had failed Lily too.

"Little Harry survived," Dumbledore said after a few moments of silence. "He has Lily's eyes."

Severus fell to his knees, feeling himself sink into an abyss as darkness enveloped him.

He loathed Dementors with a vengeance; they dredged up his terrible deeds with unsettling clarity, as if he didn't already think about them enough.