A New Place to Stay Chapter 15 - Harry Potter

 A quiet afternoon at Prince Manor turns into real answers. Snape treats Harry’s bruises, asks for the truth, and hears the full story of the diary in the Chamber of Secrets: Tom Riddle’s memory, the basilisk, Fawkes’s tears, and why a goblin made sword could pierce basilisk hide. Dobby is called to locate the diary, and hard questions follow about Lockhart, Hagrid, and Dumbledore’s choices. The talk ends with prophecies, Pettigrew, and a sharp look at how close Harry came to losing everything. This is close, character driven guardianship that rewards headphone listening. 

Transcript

**Chapter 15: Information on Harry's Second Year and the Diary**

Severus had brought the bruise balm to Harry, only to find the teenager fast asleep. He didn’t want to wake him.

If you saw Harry sleeping, you wouldn’t think he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, or that he had just witnessed someone die. He looked at peace, like an angel resting peacefully, completely unaware of his fate.

Even though Severus didn’t know the full contents of that blasted prophecy, he grasped the general idea, and it wasn’t exactly reassuring. He had sworn to protect her son, yet he felt he kept failing.

Somewhere, somehow, he knew he was missing the bigger picture—or rather, Dumbledore's grand design—and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was. After placing a pain reliever on the nightstand for when Harry woke up, he left the room.

A little later, he checked on Harry again, but the boy was still asleep. The pain reliever was empty, though, indicating that Harry had been awake at some point.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter.

How do you feel?” Severus asked smoothly when Harry finally stirred. “I’m sorry for sleeping in,” Harry murmured warily, bracing himself for a lecture.

“I did not ask for an apology; I asked how you were,” Severus interrupted, cutting off Harry’s stumbling excuses. He wasn’t angry at the boy for sleeping in; he simply didn’t want to listen to mindless babble.

That was one of the main reasons he had freed the house-elves and told them to leave—he had grown tired of their constant bowing and scraping at his feet. Nothing he said or did had ever gotten through to them until he handed them clothes and asked them to leave.

Slowly, he began to make progress with them. He certainly didn’t want to hear Harry Potter pleading that he hadn’t meant to sleep in.

“I’m fine, thank you, Professor Snape,” Harry replied. Harry stared blankly, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise at someone inquiring about his well-being.

It twisted Severus's stomach; after all this time thinking Harry was spoiled, he realized the boy didn’t even know how to respond to such a question. "Are you in pain?" Severus asked, his gaze fixed intensely on Harry's green eyes.

Harry looked torn. His instinct was to assure Snape he was fine, but he knew his teacher could always tell when he was lying.

Should he say he was fine and move on with his day, or should he be honest? He had been taught from a young age not to complain or moan.

"The truth, Mr. Potter," Severus said softly.

He could read Harry like an open book, sensing the conflict swirling in those green eyes. Having experienced abuse himself, Severus understood the dilemma Harry faced: to speak the truth or to hide it.

Snape's gentle prompt seemed to tip the scales for Harry, and he decided to be honest. "It's just the bruising that's sore," Harry admitted quietly, contemplating what it might be like to have a parent.

This thought had lingered in his mind lately, more often than he cared to admit. His teacher had given him balm for his blisters, taken him shopping for clothes, helped him with his accounts, and now asked how he was doing.

It felt like he had a concerned parent for the first time. As he reflected on this, he felt a pang of longing for his own parents, but he also realized that caring for someone could take many forms.

Severus had looked after him, albeit reluctantly, since he entered the Wizarding world. It was strange to acknowledge that he felt a deep certainty that Snape hated him, yet still, he was there, helping him.

Maybe one day, he would muster the courage to ask why Snape continued to assist him and save his life. It was a good thing he had, or Harry might not have survived his first year.

Or perhaps he would have—who could say? He certainly didn't know.

"Come on," Severus said. “Here, sit sideways on the chair,” Severus instructed, pulling out the jar of salve he had specially brewed for Harry.

Flushing bright red, Harry removed his shirt and lowered his trousers slightly, positioning himself sideways in front of Severus. The cool cream made him shiver, but it quickly warmed up as it was rubbed in.

It was painful to have the black bruises treated this way, but he had endured worse. All things considered, it could have been much worse; Severus could have been a lot harsher if he wanted to be.

Soon, Harry felt a tingling sensation—the salve was doing its job; he could literally feel the bruises receding. “Tell me, Potter, more about that diary you mentioned,” Severus said, unable to shake off the restless thoughts that had plagued him.

He knew it was important; it had to be. He understood the Dark Lord dabbled in the Dark Arts, but this kind of thing… he had heard rumors about it before.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, frowning in confusion. “Tell me everything you know about it: what happened, how you felt, how it was destroyed… everything.” Despite his best intentions, a hint of sarcasm slipped into Harry’s voice with the last word.

Severus handed Harry the rest of the jar, allowing him to apply the salve himself. He hadn't expected his student to start taking off his clothes and do it right there while he began talking!

Severus's mind focused intently on what Harry was saying as he averted his eyes from the sorry state the boy was in. Most of Harry's leg was black; he must have landed on it pretty hard.

Worse still, the boy didn’t seem bothered by it at all. He applied the potion as if it were a normal part of his routine; then again, Severus knew it probably was.

“Lucius Malfoy gave it to Ginny Weasley that day we all went to Diagon Alley for our books,” Harry explained. With his trousers off, he began using the salve to treat the remaining bruises.

“I never noticed it until after the Chamber had been opened…”

“Ginny tried to flush it down the toilet in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom,” Harry said casually. “I took the diary and started writing in it.

The weird thing was, the ink sank into the pages, and it replied as if it had a brain—like someone else was writing in a copy or something.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you not to touch things that seemed to have a mind of their own?” Severus asked, unable to hide his scorn. “No, who was going to tell me?

Quirrell? Lockhart?” Harry shot back, matching his sarcasm.

Severus grudgingly conceded the point, impressed by the boy's sharp wit. It was becoming clear how Harry could have easily ended up in Slytherin.

“All I learned those years was never to judge a person by their looks and never to believe everything written in books,” Harry scoffed. Severus nodded curtly, recognizing the truth in Harry's words without needing to read his mind.

“Anyway, it showed me a memory of this boy, Tom Riddle, blaming Hagrid for Moaning Myrtle's death. Or rather, his spider.

I mean, the headmaster at the time must have been foolish to believe that,” Harry said, sneering lightly as he forgot where he was and whom he was speaking to. Severus did a double take at the look on Harry's face, astonished by what he had just heard.

“I never spoke to the diary again after that. I couldn’t believe Hagrid was capable of it—he was my friend.

My first friend, one of the best I’ve ever had,” Harry said, his voice taking on a wistful tone. “He got me Hedwig—my owl—as my first birthday present, and he gave me pictures of my parents at the end of my first year.

No one had ever done anything like that for me before, and I was so grateful to him for it.”

Severus's eyes held a sad look as he observed Harry's face, guilt twisting inside him once more for his preconceived notions. Harry Potter said, "Eventually, it was stolen from Gryffindor Tower, and I didn’t see it again until I was down in the Chamber of Secrets." He sighed, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"When it said that her body had been taken down to the Chamber, I went down to help her. But I also went down because I was afraid Hogwarts would shut down and I’d be sent back to the Dursleys.

I didn’t realize how important I was to Dumbledore at that time."

Severus was taken aback by the mention of Dumbledore. So, the boy wasn’t oblivious to Dumbledore's manipulations; that was unexpected.

It was a good thing, really. At least he wouldn’t place blind trust in the old fool.

Severus had often felt like he was the only one questioning Dumbledore's motives. The others followed him without hesitation, even Alastor Moody, which was saying something.

After hearing everything, it didn’t surprise him that Harry had gone down to the Chamber primarily to prevent Hogwarts from being shut down. The more he listened to Harry, the more he recognized how much of a Slytherin the boy truly was.

"What exactly happened down there?" Severus asked. "Albus just told us you had destroyed Voldemort and saved the school once again." There had to be more to the story than he knew.

"Well, I tried to get help," Harry explained. "But I knew if anyone else found out what I was planning, they wouldn’t help.

So, I did the stupid thing and went for Lockhart. It was only when I saw him packing his belongings that I realized for sure he was a fake.

Ron and I pulled our wands on him and took him with us, pushing him into the Chamber first to make sure it was safe." 

Severus fought the insane urge to laugh. Laugh in front of Harry Potter of all people?

His reputation would be completely ruined. Again, Harry had shown himself to be very clever.

Harry reflected on the situation. It was a classic Slytherin move—never going anywhere dangerous first.

There was another term for it: self-preservation. Despite the urge to laugh, he listened intently to everything he had learned, especially about the book, the diary, or whatever it was.

Dumbledore had convinced everyone that Voldemort, as a spirit—the same spirit that had fled Hogwarts during Harry's first year after possessing Quirrell—had taken over Ginny Weasley. "When it was clear he had survived, Ron and I went next.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he grabbed Ron's wand and attempted to Obliviate us. He was going to claim he tried to save us all and the school, only to fail, for his next book.

But Ron had broken his wand earlier that year, and the spell backfired. Not only did it Obliviate Lockhart, but it also caused part of the chamber to collapse.

Ron and I got separated; I went on and left Ron with a bewildered Lockhart, and I found Ginny lying there, seemingly dead," Harry recounted, a shudder running through him. He slipped back into his t-shirt and trousers and settled comfortably into the chair.

Talking candidly with Snape no longer bothered him. Severus's eyebrows shot up in shock.

"Out of nowhere, Tom Riddle came walking out and started telling me Ginny would be dead soon. He then revealed who he really was, claiming he was a wizard everyone would one day fear to speak about and that he would become the greatest sorcerer in the world," Harry continued, smirking with amusement.

"Of course, he had revealed his name to me by then: Tom Marvolo Riddle. He’s better known now by an anagram of his name: 'I am Lord Voldemort.'"

Severus nodded, already aware of that much.

He knew the Dark Lord was a half-blood; that was something Dumbledore had emphasized shortly after he had sought the old man's counsel, just weeks after telling him he was utterly alone. He felt disgusted by the old fool for not wanting James Potter saved.

But what did he expect? James had made his life a living hell at Hogwarts and then took away the one good thing he had.

Everything he did was for Lily, the one person he loved more than anything in the world. “When I say it was Tom Riddle, I mean it was Tom Riddle.

He was only a couple of years older than me, this specter. It was tied to the diary; it could speak Parseltongue and held all his memories up until that point.

He called the basilisk, and I spent the next ten minutes running away from it. Fawkes had blinded it and also brought me the Sorting Hat,” Harry explained.

With every word, he felt like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. He really should have talked about this sooner; having someone to share it with felt liberating, to say the least.

“Basilisk?” Severus croaked, wide-eyed, unable to contain his reaction. How had Harry Potter survived that?

He vowed never to listen to Albus Dumbledore again, and that was a promise. “Yeah, I asked the Hat for help and a sword fell out—the sword of Godric Gryffindor, of all things.

I ran for a while longer, freezing cold, and ended up on the head of Salazar Slytherin. I managed to drive the sword through the basilisk's mouth and into its brain,” Harry replied, his tone lacking any hint of boasting.

Severus blinked and frowned in confusion. “Impossible.

Nothing can penetrate basilisk hide,” he stated flatly. “Nothing?” Harry asked, tilting his head to the side, curious.

“Supposedly,” Severus grunted, still puzzled. “The only thing I know that could possibly do the trick are weapons made by the goblins…” Or rather, goblin-made weapons; he supposed it was the same thing in the end.

“What difference does that make?” Harry pressed. Severus frowned in confusion.

"Goblin-made artifacts are imbued with powerful magic," he said. All old pureblood families knew that.

He picked up a dagger housed in a case, its hilt encrusted with sapphires—a beautiful piece bearing the Prince name. Rising from his seat, he gestured for Harry to follow.

As they approached the dagger, Harry gasped in awe. "It's beautiful," he whispered.

"Indeed. Nothing can break Goblin-made weaponry; it’s crafted to last.

I had no idea it could penetrate basilisk hide as well," Severus replied, smirking slightly. It was just another piece of knowledge he could add to his vast collection.

"I guess they always include jewels in their work. The sword of Gryffindor has rubies in the hilt," Harry mused, his green eyes still shining with admiration as he admired the exquisite dagger.

"The Goblins only know how to make expensive pieces," Severus remarked smoothly. "Oh," Harry nodded, following Severus back into the kitchen, where lunch was being served by Orchid and Daisy.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "when I stabbed the basilisk, one of its fangs caught me on my upper arm. I crawled over to Ginny, and Riddle started telling me I’d be with my 'filthy Mudblood' mother soon." 

Harry's lip curled in disdain, causing Severus to flinch.

Perhaps it was the horrible word that had sparked that reaction—the word that had destroyed everything in a moment of embarrassment and anger when Potter had humiliated him in front of the entire school. Or maybe it was because he couldn't believe Harry had been bitten by a basilisk and survived.

Who knew? Perhaps it was all three.

Severus was at a loss for words as he waited for Harry to finish his story, silently wondering what could have possibly saved him from basilisk venom, the deadliest poison known to wizard-kind. It had no antidote, and surely…

“I was dying within three minutes.

Voldemort had really pushed my buttons by calling my mother that name. For the first eleven years of my life, I thought my parents were just drunks who got themselves—and nearly me—killed in a car crash.

Then I learned they had died for me. I felt undeniably ashamed for ever thinking badly of them.

I never once considered that the Dursleys had lied about it. In that moment, I just wanted to take him down with me.

If I was going to die, he would too. I removed the fang from my arm and plunged it into the diary.

Instead of blood spurting out, ink did. As the ink flowed, Tom Riddle began to die too; his very essence was tied to that diary,” Harry explained casually.

“How did you survive?” Severus rasped, his voice sounding hoarse and strained. The thought of Harry dying made him feel physically ill.

Before, he had only been exasperated by the danger Harry attracted, fulfilling his vow. But everything he had learned shifted his feelings, much to his dismay.

A spy couldn’t afford to feel this way. “Fawkes came and healed me with his tears,” Harry said, grabbing his fork and digging into his food—it was still warm.

The house-elves must have had some kind of stay-warm charm on it. He was curious about house-elf magic.

“What happened to the diary?” Severus demanded, deep in thought. “Um… Dobby has it, I think,” Harry replied honestly.

“Can you call him?” Severus asked, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know… he’s at Hogwarts now.

I think he’s still free, though,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Shout for him,” Severus instructed.

“Dobby?” Harry shouted, feeling a bit foolish. “Master Harry Potter needs Dobby?” the little house-elf squeaked, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Um… Dobby, what happened to the diary I gave you in second year?” Harry asked. "Headmaster Dumbledore demanded it back, Master Harry Potter, sir," Dobby squeaked.

"Could you find it?" Harry asked, glancing at Snape to see if it was okay to continue. Severus nodded.

"Of course! Anything Master Harry Potter needs!" Dobby beamed, clearly thrilled to help his beloved hero.

"Go on then," Harry said softly. He was getting better at dealing with house-elves, essentially following Snape's example: being firm but not abusive, ensuring they didn't cry over a kind word.

Dobby popped away, nodding eagerly. Severus shook his head ruefully.

Harry certainly had an unusual circle of friends: Hagrid, a half-giant; an owl; a house-elf; and Lupin, of course, was another one. Then there was his reckless godfather...

Yes, quite the collection of friends, if he could even call Black a friend. Black was only around when it suited him; he certainly didn't fit the mold of a godfather.

Severus could write a thousand reasons why that was the case, the first being that he was an immature fool. He couldn't understand why Lily had allowed James to choose Black as the godfather.

"I've got a question for you, Mr. Potter: why did you stun me that night in the Shrieking Shack?" Severus asked, recalling the anger he had felt that night.

It had nagged at him for weeks, trying to figure out why Potter had acted that way. Harry blinked, clearly taken aback by the question.

He looked awkward and embarrassed. "Well?" Severus demanded, narrowing his eyes as the boy remained silent.

"I thought he was innocent," Harry said quietly. "You would have seen him kissed before listening to us." He had paid dearly for stunning his professor in House points and detentions; he had been furious—worse than furious, if there was a word for it.

"You do understand why, don't you, Potter?" Severus pressed. Harry curled his lip in disdain.

"Uh… no, not really," he replied, blinking in surprise. "Just because you thought Black was innocent doesn’t mean everyone else did.

I believed he was responsible for my best friend's death, and I would have killed the bastard," Severus snarled, unable to contain his anger at the thought. "I wanted to as well, but it turns out I was weak," Harry confessed, his voice filled with honesty.

His green eyes dimmed as he spoke. Inside, his stomach felt a strange mix of emotions; the idea that someone loved his mother enough to become a murderer in pursuit of revenge made him feel something he had never experienced before.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he realized that Severus couldn’t kill Pettigrew without revealing himself as a spy, which was a frustrating dilemma. "What do you mean by that?" Severus frowned.

"I told them not to kill Pettigrew... it's my fault he got away.

I let the prophecy come true," Harry admitted, shame washing over him. Severus dropped his fork with a clang, his eyes widening in shock.

"You know the prophecy?" he gasped, astonished. Harry glanced at Severus warily, sensing that Snape might not fully grasp the situation.

"At my divination exam, Trelawney made a prophecy. She said that the chained servant would break free and bring his master back to be greater and more terrible than ever before," he explained bitterly.

If only he could turn back time—well, without driving himself mad—he would do it in a heartbeat. He could see the relief in Snape’s eyes, but he also knew there was another prediction, likely connected to him.

It was just one more question on the long list of things he wanted to know. "I see," Severus said, finally managing to steady his heartbeat.

That revelation had scared him more than he cared to admit, but he was relieved it had been a misunderstanding. If the boy was as Slytherin as he claimed, he was undoubtedly curious about what lay ahead.

Harry's reaction stirred a surge of frustration within him, and he felt like cursing. At least her second prediction hadn’t taken years to come to fruition, unlike the first one, which still seemed unresolved—or at least, that was what he believed.

Just then, Dobby suddenly appeared, breaking their reverie and drawing their attention away from the weight of prophecies.