A New Place to Stay Chapter 12 - Harry Potter

 Dementors descend on Prince Manor and Severus Snape answers with a brilliant doe Patronus. He finds Harry broken and freezing, summons help, and the Order arrives at a sprint. Madam Pomfrey triages fractures and a dislocation while Dumbledore and Remus steady the room. Inside, Skele-Gro, bandages, and hot drinks begin the climb back from the edge, as a side thread at Grimmauld Place sets guards on the Hall of Prophecies and weighs werewolf neutrality. This is tense, close character work that blends guardian Snape, medical detail, and hard choices. 

Transcript

**Chapter 12: Will They Survive or Not?**

Severus groaned as fear enveloped him, clinging like a thick smog. He felt paralyzed, the remnants of his consciousness slipping away.

Yet, he fought back with every ounce of strength he had. He had endured the Cruciatus curse more times than he could count; he refused to let the Dementors claim victory.

He possessed the willpower to resist. The grounds of Prince Manor were a dismal sight.

Icicles hung from every surface, and every flower and potion ingredient lay dead and withered. The world felt frozen, as if time itself had come to a standstill.

It wasn't just the surroundings that were affected; the windows of the Manor were fogged up, and icicles dangled from the roof. It might have been a beautiful sight during Christmas, but in this bleak atmosphere, it offered no comfort at all.

Severus's eyelids grew heavy. With his last fragment of consciousness, he envisioned Lily's face—sad and weary, a reminder of his failure to uphold his vow.

He had thought the Dementors were terrifying, but nothing compared to the all-consuming panic, fear, and pain of disappointing Lily. That realization ignited a flicker of courage within him.

Raising his cold, numb hand, he rasped out the words that could drive the Dementors away, the only two words that could save them now—if it wasn't already too late. “Expecto Patronum!” Severus shouted, pouring everything he had into the incantation.

In an instant, it felt as though someone had turned the sun back on. Warmth flooded through him, reviving his frozen bones.

One Dementor recoiled as a magnificent doe charged forward, driven by a singular purpose—to banish them. It swiftly dispatched the first Dementor and pursued the second, until, with a chorus of screeches, the remaining Dementors fled high into the sky, away from the Manor.

The beautiful white doe bowed to Severus, the wizard who had summoned it, before fading into nothingness, having fulfilled its duty. Severus breathed heavily, still weak in the knees, and crawled across the grounds.

Severus crawled toward Harry's side, praying with every ounce of strength that Harry was alright and that he hadn't arrived too late. In any other circumstance, he would have cursed his own weakness, but his concern for Harry overshadowed everything else.

The boy still hadn’t moved, and dread began to settle in. What struck him the most was that his worry for Harry wasn’t rooted in the fact that he was Lily’s son, or because of the vow he had taken, or even because Harry had the potential to defeat Voldemort when no one else could.

No, this anxiety was personal; all his earlier thoughts faded into the background. He couldn’t even entertain the idea of distancing himself from the boy or treating him with his usual cool detachment.

It was dangerous for a spy to grow close to anyone, especially Harry Potter. It felt like wearing a target on his back.

Yet he was clever; he was a Slytherin. If anyone could manage it, he could.

Someone needed to be there for Harry, and it was becoming painfully clear that Sirius Black wasn’t that person. The real question was whether Harry would accept him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Severus reached Harry, his black robes now stained green and brown from dragging through the grass and mud—clearly, the house-elves had watered everything just before the Dementors arrived. He checked for a pulse.

At least Harry was breathing, but that didn’t mean everything was alright. He hesitated to move him, feeling a heavy weight of uncertainty.

Closing his eyes, he admitted defeat; he desperately needed help. He quickly cast a Patronus message and sent it off, then downed a pepper-up potion and a cheering potion, hoping they would work like chocolate to counteract the effects of the Dementors.

---

“Before you all leave, I need some help guarding the Hall of Prophecies. I fear Voldemort will eventually come after it,” Dumbledore said, suddenly recalling something else he had mentioned.

“What do you mean? The bloody prophecy is just lying around waiting for him?” Sirius asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Sirius didn't know the prophecy word for word, but he had heard from Lily and James what Dumbledore had told them: it suggested that their son would bring about Voldemort's downfall and that the dark wizard was now targeting newborns. He realized that Harry would be in even greater danger if Voldemort got his hands on that prophecy.

It was a matter of intervention. Clutching the letter Harry had undoubtedly given to Snape for him, Sirius felt furious.

"No one except those for whom the prophecies are created can touch them. You know that's how it's always been.

There are over a thousand orbs lying there, unfulfilled or still waiting for their time," Dumbledore explained patiently. "Then get Harry to pick it up and destroy it before Voldemort can get to it!" Sirius argued, his anger boiling over.

"I do not want Harry to be aware of the prophecy," Dumbledore said solemnly, his gaze fixed on Sirius with a grave expression. Sirius shook his head, fed up with Dumbledore's demands.

Keeping him locked away, keeping Harry away from him... now he was risking his godson's life simply because he didn't want Harry to know about the prophecy.

Yet, as usual, he remained silent, allowing Dumbledore to dictate his life, acting more like Remus than ever. "Then draw up a chart; we'll all take turns," Moody grunted, knowing better than to argue with Albus.

The old coot always got his way, convinced he knew best. One day, that mindset would come back to haunt him.

Now, he found himself guarding a corridor because Albus wanted Harry to remain a child for just a little longer. Moody knew the boy couldn't possibly be a kid anymore; he had seen too much in his four years in the wizarding world.

From what he had gathered over the years, and from Albus himself, he understood the truth. After witnessing Voldemort's return, he felt a deep concern for what lay ahead.

If he had been composed, he would have shuddered. Harry had nearly come to believe that he, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, had betrayed the light side.

Crouch Jr. had almost killed the boy, and that would have meant the end of everything they fought for.

Moody still hadn’t forgiven Dumbledore for not realizing that it hadn’t been him. But they were at war, and sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

He had recognized the danger when it mattered; he wouldn’t have let Harry out of Dumbledore's sight. Albus was, after all, the only wizard Voldemort truly feared.

Moody felt utterly embarrassed about being caught off-guard, especially by a Death Eater. As the Order began to leave—each member with their own responsibilities—they couldn’t linger any longer.

Dumbledore gestured for Remus to stay behind, and soon only three of them remained in Grimmauld Place. “How is your mission going?” Dumbledore asked, his gaze fixed intently on Remus.

“They're still adamant about remaining neutral. I can’t really blame them,” Remus replied, sadness evident in his voice as his amber eyes glowed softly.

“Even after you promised them the Wolfsbane Potion?” Dumbledore asked, surprise coloring his tone. “You know how they feel about the Ministry and all its rules.

They refuse to side with Voldemort or create more like themselves,” Remus sighed. Werewolves were pack animals.

Most of the people he had visited didn’t interact with the human world; they stayed with their own packs and hunted smaller animals, taking what they could get. They kept their distance from people, preferring the seclusion of the woods, especially as the full moon approached.

The pack he had visited had three children, one around Harry’s age, and it pained him to see so many werewolves struggling. Remus knew he had been privileged to attend Hogwarts and receive a decent education.

Unfortunately, that didn’t matter much in the real world. People wouldn’t hire him because he was a werewolf.

He could manage a job in the Muggle world, but only for about five months, until his colleagues grew weary of his constant fatigue and illnesses. "Well, at least so far, none of them plan on joining Voldemort," Dumbledore sighed wearily.

He had hoped to gain their support—they would be extremely useful—but it seemed that wasn’t meant to be. "I know," Remus agreed.

The werewolves already had a bad reputation, and if they joined the war, they would be hunted down and exterminated until none remained. While it was comforting to think that no one would ever be infected again, he would prefer not to be killed, thank you very much.

Sirius jumped in fright as a wisp of white shot through the door. He had been staring intently at the floor when he saw it.

Recognizing the Patronus, he felt a wave of loathing wash over him. It belonged to Snape, the only one with a doe for a Patronus.

The thought of Snivellus and Lily was enough to make him lose his latest meal. What could possibly be worse?

Oh right, Harry was with him instead of here. "Dementors have attacked Harry; you have to get Poppy and Floo to my Manor.

I will open the Floo gates for you," the doe communicated before disappearing in a puff of smoke. "Well, at least Harry's all right; otherwise, Severus wouldn't have asked for Poppy," Dumbledore quickly reassured them before either Remus or Sirius could spiral into panic.

"I'm coming with you; then I'll brief Sirius," Remus said, his amber eyes narrowing with worry and determination. "Then let's call Poppy, shall we?" Dumbledore suggested, activating the Floo network to reach the rooms above the hospital wing, hoping she was there.

She often spent time away from Hogwarts, visiting family and friends, or sometimes at St. Mungo's.

Thankfully, she was still in the hospital wing. Dumbledore quickly relayed the message.

Poppy nodded, hurriedly grabbing her potions bag, wand, and diagnostic equipment before Flooing to Grimmauld Place. When she arrived, the three of them stepped into the Floo together.

Prince Manor loomed ahead, and thankfully, they encountered no obstacles on their way. Once inside, Dumbledore quickly performed the Find Me spell, and then they took off running as if the hounds of hell were hot on their heels.

Their anxiety deepened when they spotted Severus sitting on the grass. None of them had ever seen him like this.

He was usually tall and proud, never allowing anyone to see him in a vulnerable state. To Remus, this sight might have felt somewhat familiar, but for Poppy and Albus, it was unsettling.

Poppy had patched him up after every single Death Eater meeting, so perhaps it was a bit different for her. “Severus, what happened?” Dumbledore demanded, quickly dropping to his hands and knees, breathing heavily as he examined Harry.

A deep frown marred his wrinkled face, and the usual twinkle in his eyes was absent. Poppy pushed Dumbledore’s hands away, as well as Severus’s, who kept his hand on Harry’s chest, reassured by the slight rise and fall, at least confirming that the boy was still breathing.

That was enough for now, even though Severus’s heart raced uncomfortably. He never felt fear, not even during the Death Eater meetings.

“He’s broken his right leg in three places, his shoulder is dislocated, and he has three broken ribs. He must have fallen at an angle; otherwise, the fall would have broken his back,” Poppy said, running her diagnostic wand over Harry’s body, her own expression clouded with worry.

“Enervate,” Dumbledore cast toward Harry, awakening him from his unconscious state. “What are you doing, Albus?!” Poppy hissed, drawing her own wand and glaring at the Headmaster.

“We must ensure he is aware, Poppy,” Dumbledore replied, his voice serious. “He’s in pain!” she snapped back, disbelief etched across her face.

“We need to know,” Dumbledore insisted, watching as Harry began to moan, slowly becoming more aware of his surroundings. Poppy shook her head, furious at Dumbledore's interference.

She took out a... Poppy prepared the numbing potion and carefully administered it.

Unfortunately, she couldn't give him a pain reliever; Skele-Gro and pain relievers didn’t mix well, as Harry had learned in his second year when he had to have his arm bones regrown. She had to leave him to cope on his own, without the aid of any pain relief.

Thankfully, this time, the process would only take about five hours instead of an entire night. Unlike that fool Lockhart, she wouldn’t remove all of his bones—only the broken ones.

Severus was still shivering slightly, but aside from that, he had regained most of his strength. He wasn’t as shocked by Dumbledore's impulsive actions as he would have been a week ago.

Enervating someone in such pain could easily send them into a coma. Although a small part of him craved answers, he didn’t want them badly enough to risk Harry’s well-being.

He was also relieved that Poppy had only performed her diagnostic charm for today, rather than for the past week or his entire history. God only knew what she might think; his disdain for all things Potter was well-known, and he hoped she wouldn’t think too poorly of him.

His eyes remained fixed on Harry, unaware of the hazel, blue, and amber eyes that were watching him just as intently. He noticed that Harry wasn’t even crying out.

The others frowned at that, but Severus, having learned so much over the past week, had expected Harry to remain silent. He could almost feel Potter assessing his surroundings, wondering if he would be in danger if he opened his eyes.

Severus knew the boy was still in there; the Dementors hadn’t succeeded in stealing his soul. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so tense or so slow to open his eyes.

Finally, Harry’s dull green eyes opened, a grimace distorting his face. Despite the numbing potion, he could still feel the underlying pain.

He groaned and closed his eyes again, wishing nothing more than to black out once more. He had developed a deep hatred for Dementors, and he knew without a doubt that they were the source of his suffering.

Harry couldn’t shake the doubt about who had saved him—the same person who had been rescuing him since he first entered the Wizarding world. It was a complicated feeling.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to respect Snape; he just couldn’t bring himself to use the word “like” when it came to the man. “Do you know who you are?” Remus asked, his wide-eyed worry evident.

“Unfortunately,” the fourteen-year-old murmured quietly. Severus felt a smirk trying to break through, but he held it back.

It was moments like this that reminded him that the boy truly belonged in Slytherin. Sarcasm was second nature to them; Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, on the other hand, took offense far too easily.

He noticed Lupin frowning, but Dumbledore had his twinkle back. The smirk faded, replaced by a growl of frustration—how could he have missed the fact that Dumbledore seemed to care about Harry only as a weapon against Voldemort?

Lily would be rolling in her grave; she had always thought highly of Dumbledore. He had been the kind of grandfatherly figure she had longed for, especially since both her sets of grandparents had passed before she was born.

“Severus, are you okay?” Poppy asked, beginning to cast a diagnostic spell on him. “I’m fine.

I’ve already taken some potions. Once I have a hot chocolate, everything will be just fine,” Severus replied sharply.

“There’s no need to take that tone with me, young man,” Madame Pomfrey chided gently, her hazel eyes filled with concern. He was never this irritable unless he was in pain or worried about something.

She assumed it was Harry on his mind, but she was mistaken. “Just get him into the house and sort him,” Severus retorted peevishly.

He rose on shaky legs, determined not to show any weakness. He remained still until he regained the strength to walk.

As he moved with them, he spoke softly. “Just one word: ‘Rose.’”

“Yes, Master Snape?” the house-elf replied, blinking wide-eyed at everyone, clearly bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

She knew better than to ask questions. Her master despised bowing and scraping, preferred brevity over a hundred unnecessary words, and had no patience for impertinence.

It would indeed be impertinent for her to inquire further—after all, she was just a house-elf. “Get the living room cleared for a sick child, and have coffee and hot chocolate ready for us when we come in,” Severus instructed.

His tone lacked the sternness he often displayed when addressing others, though no one could accuse him of sounding soft or particularly kind, either. “Yes, sir,” Rose said, popping away immediately.

Unlike most house-elves, she wore an actual black robe tailored to fit her, with "PM" embroidered on it. It didn’t surprise anyone that she wore black, but it did surprise them that she was clearly free yet chose to continue serving the surly man.

Poppy followed Severus as he led the group into his home; it was the first time Poppy and Remus had seen the place. Dumbledore had been through once but had never seen it from the outside.

It was quite impressive indeed. Then again, old manors always were; a considerable amount of money was spent on making them that way.

The Princes had been much like the Malfoys in their prideful lineage; thankfully, they hadn’t ventured into darkness. It had shamed them when their only daughter, Eileen, had disappeared to marry a Muggle.

After that, no wizard wanted a “sullied” witch, as it was often put. Not that Eileen had cared; she had Severus and settled into a rather bumpy marriage.

The clue was in the word “bumpy.” She had given up her heritage and name to avoid an arranged marriage, but clearly, she had no regrets. Severus had been fortunate that his grandparents had not wished for their line to vanish completely, or...

Their assets were set to go to the government, which meant the Ministry of Magic. Severus opened the door to the living room, conveniently located next to the sitting room.

The only difference between the two spaces was that the living room was cozy and lacked a fireplace connected to the Floo network. Poppy quickly floated Harry in, who had remained silent, and that worried her greatly.

She lowered him onto the couch as gently as she could, then began her work, removing the broken bones and getting him to swallow the Skele-Gro potion. After that, she carefully removed his top clothing, taking her time to avoid aggravating his injuries.

Severus chimed in, offering his help—his strength was an advantage in this situation. Thankfully, Harry had gained some weight and no longer resembled a starving waif.

Still, he was far from being at a healthy weight for his age or height, which had been stunted. Once his clothes were off, Poppy cast a spell that wrapped bandages around his torso tightly yet gently enough for him to breathe.

This was only a temporary solution until they could administer the rib-restoring potion, which couldn’t be used alongside Skele-Gro—very few things could. Severus felt a mix of sadness and pride as he observed Harry’s silence.

It saddened him to see how badly the boy had been treated, that enduring this pain had become almost routine for him. Yet he felt a flicker of pride that Harry was bearing up under the circumstances, knowing that complaining wouldn’t help and would only worsen his condition.

Severus tried to shake off his worries now that Harry was safe—he was on the mend and didn’t need his Potions Master fretting over him—but he failed miserably.