A New Place to Stay Chapter 14 - Harry Potter

 At Grimmauld Place, Remus faces a barrage of questions from Sirius, then calls him out for sabotaging trust with a snide letter. Back at Prince Manor, Harry wakes bruised and exhausted while Severus Snape does the quiet work of care, pain potion, soup, diagnostics, and practical comfort. A talk about house-elves leads to the truth about Dobby’s freedom and Lucius Malfoy, and Harry begins to relax into being looked after. This is close, character driven guardianship with gentle humor, healing detail, and the first real steps toward trust. 

Transcript

**Chapter 14: Sirius Is Confused, and Harry's Getting Better**

Curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. Remus flooed back to Grimmauld Place and was immediately confronted as he stepped out of the fireplace.

Sirius fired off a barrage of questions, most of which had little to do with the recent Dementor attack. "How is he?

Is he all right? Did he get hurt?

How did he look? Is Snape treating him right?

Does he have any bruises? Did you talk to him?

Did he seem happy? What's wrong—why aren't you talking?" Sirius demanded, his worry evident as he noticed Remus's silence.

"He was just attacked by Dementors, Sirius. He wasn’t talking; he fell from his broom, which, incidentally, broke," Remus said with a heavy sigh.

"He let Harry fly?" Sirius asked, taken aback. Maybe Harry’s letter had indeed been written without Snape’s input after all.

"Of course he did! He’s not going to keep him locked up all summer.

You keep thinking the worst of him!" Remus sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Of course I do!

You're only grateful because of the potion," Sirius snapped, slumping down into a chair, feeling sad and guilty. "Regardless of my personal feelings for Snape, he’s a teacher and wouldn’t abuse Harry.

Dumbledore would find out, and Snape would be in a world of trouble. You know that.

Plus, Harry is as much Lily's son as he is James's, and you know how much he cared for Lily," Remus remarked, sitting down and observing his friend, who seemed overly tense. "So how is he?" Sirius asked, the letter in his pocket almost burning him as he thought of its contents.

Even worse, he knew Harry had a point. "He has a few broken bones, but they are being healed as we speak.

He’s fine; the Dementors didn’t kiss him," Remus tried to reassure him. "You say that as if it’s an everyday occurrence.

It’s not!" Sirius retorted. Sirius snapped angrily, unable to believe how casually Remus had spoken.

"Of course it's not, but it happened, and there's nothing we can do about it," Remus replied, his amber eyes glowing softly. Sirius grimaced; he hated being cooped up in Grimmauld Place.

He was worried about Harry and wished he could have done what he intended last year: take Harry in himself. It wouldn't have mattered what Dumbledore said; he would have taken Harry in regardless.

Now, he had to rely on the old fool to keep him from being found out. It would be much harder to look after Harry from Azkaban.

He knew that, and it frustrated him immensely. For now, he just had to be a good little animagus and follow orders.

"What's wrong with you, anyway?" Remus asked, watching his friend, aware that something was troubling him. "Harry sent me a letter," Sirius eventually sighed, ignoring Kreacher's insane rambling as he slept in his boiler cupboard.

"And?" Remus replied, confused. "He's not very happy with me," Sirius confessed, a hint of shame creeping into his voice.

"Why not?" Remus frowned, wondering what Sirius had done to make his godson furious. "I kind of sent him a letter complaining about the fact that Snivellus had him," Sirius admitted sourly.

"Sirius, you aren't fifteen anymore; stop it!" Remus snapped, shaking his head in exasperation at his best friend's antics. "I know," Sirius replied bitterly.

"What did he say?" Remus asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Sirius handed over the letter, a red flush painting his cheeks.

"Padfoot, I'm fine after seeing Cedric Diggory die; don't worry. Hell, I'm fine and dandy after seeing Voldemort brought back.

Don't worry, I'm not blaming myself; I feel fantastic, so really, don't worry."

"What…." Remus trailed off, confused. "I never asked him anything; I ranted about Snape for the entire time."

"He's being… sarcastic," Sirius grimaced.

"For your information, I kind of like it here. I've got a big room, a library to study in, and I get to fly on my broom.

Not that Snape is all honey and peaches; he's still… well, Snape, I suppose."

"Well, at least he's happy. You better write to him and apologize.

If he's anything like James, he'll have forgotten about it already," Remus said with a kind laugh. He remembered how many times James and Sirius had fallen out over the years—arguing for a matter of hours before making up again.

They just couldn't stay mad at each other. Unfortunately, Snape always bore the brunt of their "making up" pranks.

"He's not like James… not much, anyway," Sirius sighed morosely. He had tried to convince Harry to meet up with him in Hogsmeade, but Harry kept saying no, that it wasn't safe.

He shuddered, recalling the look on Harry's face. It was a confusing mix of anger and happiness, or maybe frustration and anger.

He just wasn't sure. "He wasn't raised with Lily and James, what more can you expect?" Remus exclaimed in shocked exasperation.

"Just forget it, Remus," Sirius sighed, wishing he hadn't opened his mouth. James had never known sarcasm if it hit him on the head—until Snape had begun using it.

Even then, James had never been sarcastic. But Harry had been in his letter, and Sirius didn’t like it.

Harry was becoming too much like the man he was staying with for comfort. He couldn't help but look for his best friend in Harry; it was just natural.

James had been like a brother to him. "You better buck up your ideas before you lose him forever!" Remus snapped, walking out of the room.

He knew what was going through his best friend's mind, and he didn't like it one bit. He knew Sirius loved his godson, but he wished Harry was more like his father.

He just didn't understand why Sirius thought Harry... Harry felt the tears welling up, but he fought to hold them back.

He was no stranger to pain; it had been a constant companion throughout his life. Yet, despite his efforts, he couldn't stop the tears from falling.

He was simply so tired of everything. It seemed that no matter how good he tried to be or how hard he worked to stay out of trouble, terrible things just kept happening to him.

Loneliness had been his only friend for most of his life, with no one to genuinely care for him. Dumbledore and Remus had vanished as soon as they learned he had survived, showing little concern for anything else.

They hadn't even said goodbye, not even asking Snape to pass along their farewells when he "woke up." As for Hermione, he wanted to believe she cared, but deep down, he knew that her grades and books would always take precedence. She certainly wouldn't fit into Hufflepuff; he still found it odd she hadn't been sorted into Ravenclaw.

His entire right side throbbed with pain, making him feel as if he had endured two rounds of beatings from Uncle Vernon. Usually, he could allow himself to cry once he was locked in his room, but with Snape around, he felt he couldn't show any weakness.

He knew that if he did, it would only lead to endless teasing. Everyone would find out, and he was certain of that.

As nice as Snape was being at that moment, he understood that once they returned to school, they would both have to wear their masks again. He had seen a different side of Snape; the man wasn't nearly as harsh when they were alone.

He treated Harry decently, something no one else had ever done. Despite the pain coursing through him, a small warmth flickered in his heart.

Someone had cared enough to help him get clothes and sort out his money. That flicker grew brighter when he remembered the small comfort Snape had offered him.

“How are you feeling?” Severus asked, surprisingly soft as he entered Harry's room. He noticed the remnants of tear tracks on the boy’s face and realized he was likely in severe pain.

Choosing to ignore the tears and the embarrassed flush spreading across Harry's cheeks, he focused on the boy instead. Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

He didn't need to read anyone's mind to understand why he was embarrassed. "Like I've plummeted fifty feet," he said bluntly, unable to hold back.

Immediately, he regretted his words; he needed to learn to curb his tongue before it got him into trouble. If he wasn't already in trouble, he was certainly close.

His wary green eyes met Snape's, wondering if he had pushed too far. Severus smirked, disregarding Harry's cautious look.

Instead of stalking forward, he took a slow walk toward the boy. It had been a long time since he had simply walked anywhere, but he didn't want Harry flinching away from him.

He already felt guilty enough without seeing just how damaged Harry Potter truly was. He uncorked a pain reliever potion and instructed Harry to open his mouth.

Harry complied, knowing it was a pain reliever; he had taken many throughout his years at Hogwarts. They had even brewed the exact same potion for the hospital wing, and everything had already been boxed up.

As the potion took effect, Harry's entire body slumped onto the bed. Before, he had felt taut like a bowstring, but now, with the pain easing, he could finally relax.

No wonder he had been so tense; with that level of pain, nobody could stay at ease. He sighed gratefully.

Potions were truly remarkable. They had helped him immensely over the past four years, though it was a shame he never had the chance to brew them himself.

That wasn't expected of James Potter's son, unlike his classes in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense, since he had defeated Voldemort. "Do you think you could eat something?" Severus asked, watching the teenager intently, yet discreetly.

It was a skill he had honed over the years—after all, he was a spy. He couldn't let anyone see him observing Harry Potter, or he would have been dead the night of the Triwizard Tournament, along with Cedric Diggory, a boy who had nearly graduated from Hogwarts.

Severus had protested the tournament's very existence, not wanting it to take place at all. Harry found it difficult to concentrate, not just because of the chaos created by the seventh-year students who were too distracted to study.

He had been right; that year's grades were the worst yet. While many would argue it was due to the events that unfolded, Severus knew better.

“Uh, no, sir,” Harry finally replied, feeling a bit queasy from the potion. It might have been because he had taken it on an empty stomach.

After all, he had been sick when he fell, and the pain had caused him to throw up everything he'd eaten. “At least have some soup.

You can't take potions on an empty stomach,” Severus insisted smoothly. “Yes, sir,” Harry said automatically, not wanting to upset his professor.

It felt nice to have someone looking after him—someone who didn’t have to, unlike Madame Pomfrey, who was obligated to care for him in the hospital wing. “Rose?” Severus called, his authority clear.

“Yes, sir?” Rose responded, appearing silently as if she had materialized from thin air, unlike the usual sound of wizards or witches when they apparated. “I'd like some soup brought up, along with fresh bread if there's any available, and a small dessert,” Severus instructed.

“We’ve made some carrot and coriander soup, Master Severus. Will that be okay?” Rose asked gently.

Severus grimaced at the thought of that peculiar soup. It was likely meant for the house-elves.

“No, please just open a tin of vegetable soup for him,” he requested. He knew Harry would eat just about anything, but he doubted carrot and herb soup would be on that list.

Just because Harry liked carrots didn’t mean he would enjoy that particular concoction. “Yes, sir,” Rose replied before disappearing.

Severus helped Harry sit up. Knowing that the boy wasn’t in pain at the moment, he felt he could treat him a little more normally, without worrying about breaking him like fine china.

Although, he realized, his reputation might have already taken a hit when…

Severus had taken Harry shopping and now, propped up on pillows, he ran another diagnostic spell, wincing in sympathy. A bruise stretched the length of Harry's shoulder, back, bottom, and thigh.

The Skele-Grow potion had done its job, and Harry's bones were well on their way to being completely healed. “I’ll give you a potion to help with the bruising in a few hours.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any right now. Poppy has run out of her stock, and I had to give her my own personal supply at the end of the year,” Severus said.

“It’s fine,” Harry shrugged. He was used to bruises and pain, although he wouldn’t say no to a pain reliever.

Considering he had been in agony just five minutes ago, Severus didn’t want to dwell on that. Just then, Rose returned, serving him a bowl of soup, fresh bread, and a slice of sponge cake topped with custard, along with a nutritious milkshake.

The delicious aroma made Harry’s stomach rumble loudly, and he found himself eager to eat. He managed to finish most of his dessert but left a small piece with some custard behind.

The milkshake left him feeling pleasantly full, despite not having eaten as much as usual. “I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.

I have a potion to brew,” Severus said abruptly. He stood up and placed a few books within Harry’s reach, wanting to keep him occupied rather than staring at the four walls.

That kind of boredom could drive anyone mad, and he couldn’t stand the Hospital Wing for even five minutes. He had often wondered how Harry, even back then, had managed to survive it.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. He would have preferred to brew the potion with Severus; he enjoyed the process.

He had actually liked making those healing potions with him. Without Severus hovering over the cauldrons or making sarcastic remarks, and without the Slytherins sabotaging his efforts, he found it strangely satisfying.

"Do you feel any pain?" Severus asked as he entered Harry's room a while later. Harry nodded, grimacing.

The pain reliever had only lasted an hour and a half—the same amount of time Severus had been away brewing a potion. Another dose was thrust under his nose, and he gratefully accepted it, swallowing quickly.

He barely managed to suppress a flinch when Severus produced his wand. Severus noticed and sighed sadly; the boy truly didn't trust him.

"The bones are fully healed; it's just the bruising that remains. The potion will take a few hours to cool.

Are you hungry?" Severus asked. "Maybe a little," Harry admitted softly.

He couldn't believe how… nice, for lack of a better word, Snape was being. Earlier, Snape had said he would be back, but Harry hadn’t really believed him.

He realized he needed to stop doubting Snape because deep down, he knew that when Snape spoke, it was always the truth. Here he was, actually caring for him; no one had ever done that before.

Harry recalled how his Aunt Petunia had cared for his cousin when he was ill, bringing him food and making sure he was comfortable. He vowed never to take this day for granted, no matter how long he lived.

"Orchid," Severus called. "Yes, sir?" replied Orchid, another female house-elf.

Like all his other female elves, she was named after a flower, while the male house-elves had random names. "Bring us some coffee, juice, and biscuits," Severus requested.

"Yes, sir," Orchid acknowledged before popping away. "Are they free house-elves?" Harry asked curiously.

"Indeed," Severus replied, creating a chair for Harry to sit in and a table for the coffee. After a few seconds of watching Harry open and close his mouth as if he wanted to ask something, Severus encouraged him, "Go ahead and ask your question."

“Why did you free them?

Why did they stay?” Harry asked, his green eyes sparkling with curiosity. Severus felt his breath hitch in his throat; those eyes were going to be his downfall.

The look in Harry's eyes reminded him of Lily, who had worn that same expression of unending curiosity throughout her life—especially before she went to Hogwarts, when she begged to hear more about the world she would one day become a part of. “They are free because I did not want anyone or anything enslaved to me.

They stayed because they are loyal to the Prince line. Despite what some may say, I am not a nasty bastard all the time, especially not to the elves,” Severus replied bluntly.

“So not all house-elves are abused then?” Harry asked, his interest piqued. Just then, Orchid returned with the food, placing the plates on the table before leaving once more.

She glanced at Harry with curiosity, as if she had overheard their conversation or perhaps because there were hardly any guests at Snape's other than Draco Malfoy. “Not all of them, no.

It just depends on which family they serve,” Severus said, his mouth twisting as if recalling something distasteful. “Even bound, they can do what they like, or at least find ways around the orders their master gives them,” Harry remarked, nibbling on a chocolate digestive he had taken from the plate.

It was something he wouldn't have dared to do at the Dursleys'. Severus felt a sense of satisfaction when he saw Harry take something without waiting for permission.

It meant the boy was beginning to trust him, or at least feel a bit more comfortable in his presence, whether he realized it or not. “How is that?” Severus asked in surprise as he sipped his coffee.

He was astonished that Harry was speaking to him willingly, without any prompting or anger. He was equally surprised that Harry was talking about house-elves; he hadn't known the boy even knew one.

“Dobby disobeyed the Malfoys. He was the one who levitated the cake and…”

"Shut off the entrance to King's Cross.

He was adamant about me not staying at Hogwarts because he believed bad things were going to happen. Eventually, he resorted to sending cursed bludgers after me," Harry said, a fond smile twitching at his lips.

Severus felt his heart lurch at the sight of that smile; he had never seen anything like it on the boy before—not even when he was with his best friends, Granger and Weasley. Just how much of the boy was hidden behind the “Boy Who Lived” mask?

He felt a genuine sympathy for Harry. He understood what it was like to wear masks all the time.

At least he could retreat to his quarters and de-mask, so to speak, but Harry couldn't. "So the platform really had closed?" Severus asked.

Back in Harry's second year, Potter hadn’t looked him in the eye. He had been unable to tell if they were lying or not; he had assumed they were, especially since Dumbledore had reported that there was nothing wrong with the platform.

So many things that had happened truly hadn’t been Harry’s fault, and Severus wasn’t sure how to process that. He hated being wrong, and it hadn’t helped his preconceived notions about Harry.

He had believed the boy had acted out for attention all along. "Yeah; I didn't know house-elf magic was so strong.

He kept warning me, but each time he did, he would punish himself horribly," Harry shuddered at the memory. "He even ironed his hands for charming the bludger to go after me."

Severus winced in sympathetic pain for what that house-elf must have endured.

"If I know Lucius, then that house-elf will be dead," Severus stated matter-of-factly. He didn't lie to people and refused to start now, but instead of looking horrified, Harry appeared very pleased with himself.

He sensed that before Harry continued with his story, he was about to hear something unimaginable. Yet, he should have suspected something was off.

"Oh no; I found out at the end of the year who he belonged to..."

"I took off my sock outside Dumbledore's office and stuffed it into the book that almost brought Voldemort back. I handed it to Mr.

Malfoy—he was the one who had done it—and he passed it on to Dobby. I told him to open it, and he did.

Just like that, he was freed. Mr.

Malfoy was furious; he tried to kill me, but Dobby intervened and used his magic to fling him all the way down the corridor. He fell with an undignified squawk and then proceeded to threaten me, saying I’d meet the same sticky end as my parents."

Harry smirked, satisfaction glimmering in his eyes.

Severus had to stop himself from choking in shock; the image that came to mind was undeniably hilarious. Here was the man who had killed hundreds of Muggles, as well as a fair number of wizards and witches, being taken down by a house-elf.

If only he could share this newfound information with Lucius; Voldemort would probably kill him on the spot. Unbeknownst to Severus, his onyx eyes sparkled more brightly than Dumbledore's on a good day.

Harry could see the amusement lurking behind Severus’s emotionless facade. "Well, Potter, you seem to find a way out of sticky situations more than most," Severus said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well, you know me: sheer dumb luck, sir," Harry replied, suppressing a smirk of his own, not wanting anyone to catch him enjoying the moment. He never smirked; he was the goody-two-shoes Harry Potter, son of James Potter.

But he was not the carefree boy he pretended to be. He was damaged, and he knew it.

It took time to slip back into the mold when he returned to Privet Drive, or even afterward, as he transformed back into the arrogant, spoiled brat at Hogwarts. All he wanted was a family—someone to love him, to tell him so, to make him proud.

None of his Hogwarts results were ever read aloud, unlike Ron's and Hermione's, who had their parents gushing over them. Their results were in, and even Dudley, who had received truly pathetic grades, had his parents gushing about how “smart” their “sweetums” was.

It was the things people took for granted that Harry longed for. He had shared his third-year results with Sirius, but he had never received so much as a “well done” or “great work.” Of course, Hedwig had been exhausted for days after flying to the tropics, so he hadn’t sent too many letters.

He truly loved his owl; she was his companion, someone with whom he could share his secrets. She had no expectations and couldn’t betray him.

Hedwig, and Hedwig alone, understood what he had to endure. Well, maybe Snape had an inkling.

Harry didn’t know that things were about to change; for once in his fourteen, nearly fifteen years, it was going to be a good thing.