A New Place to Stay Chapter 37 - Harry Potter

Morning runs with Harry leave Neville aching but proud, and breakfast turns into a front-row seat to chaos when Dumbledore suddenly breaks out in an uncontrollable poison-ivy rash in front of the whole school. While McGonagall punishes everyone for laughing, Neville quietly calls Hermione out for always choosing the Headmaster over her friends. In Potions, Harry and Severus slip back into their usual “Professor vs. Potter” act, right up until Harry earns himself a detention. Behind the scenes, Snape examines Dumbledore’s condition in the Hospital Wing, collects samples, and returns to his quarters where Harry is waiting with questions. Over orange juice and research notes, guardian and ward talk about poison ivy, Horcrux extraction, Dumbledore’s plans for Harry’s summer placement, and the unsettling discovery that Ron has been following Harry on the Marauder’s Map. Change is coming, and Severus is determined to make sure Harry is ready to fight back.

Transcript

**Chapter 37: Dumbledore's Turn**

Neville's face was slick with sweat, and he was breathing heavily as he slumped over. He couldn't fathom how Harry had managed to keep this up for so long; he felt utterly exhausted.

All he wanted was to go to bed and sleep, to let the entire day slip away. His arms and legs trembled, unaccustomed to the strain.

He had only managed to run one lap, while Harry had gone around three times—without even breaking a sweat! Neville was genuinely impressed by Harry's endurance.

He hadn’t eaten anything yet; his breathing was still erratic. “Breathe through your nose.

Big, even, deep breaths,” Harry calmly instructed, demonstrating for his exhausted friend. He was enjoying his breakfast as usual, not a hair out of place.

Luna had taken a seat on the benches while they were running, offering support to Neville. She was a good friend—honest, sometimes too honest and blunt.

It didn’t matter to her that he could only manage one lap; she congratulated him as if he had just completed a marathon. He would have loved to have someone like that by his side—a girlfriend.

Unfortunately, having a relationship felt far too dangerous; anyone he cared about could be targeted by wannabe Death Eaters or, worse, Voldemort himself. A few minutes later, Neville was surprised to find that Harry's advice had worked.

Suddenly feeling parched, he practically drained the entire goblet of pumpkin juice in seconds. “Thanks, Harry,” Neville murmured, finally reaching for some food.

“No problem,” Harry replied. “Did you manage to read any of the book last night?”

Neville had mentioned his intention to read it, and he was curious about why he hadn’t picked it up while at home.

After all, his birthday was nearly the same as Harry’s, and he had managed to read quite a few books at Prince Manor. “Yes, I got through five chapters!

It gets more fascinating as it goes on. I had no idea,” Neville admitted enthusiastically.

“Yeah, it’s a good book,” Harry said. Harry said, "What about Luna?

Does she have a copy?"

Neville replied, "She took a copy from the Hogwarts library. I think she’s already halfway through it."

Neville grinned in amusement.

It was clear to Harry why Luna was in Ravenclaw; she loved her books but didn’t live inside them like some of the other Ravenclaws. Some of them were rarely seen without a book in hand.

Yes, it was a school, but there was no need to carry a book everywhere. Harry had always felt that way.

Maybe it was because at Hogwarts, he finally felt free—able to live and breathe without the fear of being beaten or ridiculed by the Dursleys. Unfortunately, that freedom hadn’t lasted long.

He realized that people were fickle, and it wasn’t just the Dursleys. They were fickle as hell; they all seemed to love to hate and scorn others, regardless of whether someone had actually done anything wrong.

Perhaps it was because he had survived so much as a child that made him crave approval—either to be accepted or rejected. Hermione had been the only one who never disapproved of him.

His gaze drifted toward her, and a sigh escaped his lips. Why had she chosen Dumbledore over him?

He could only imagine what life would have been like if he had been cooped up inside Privet Drive, trying to catch snippets of Muggle news for information, wondering why his friends weren’t writing, and speculating about what Voldemort was up to. To them, he had been in a place ten times worse, with a man who had hated every breath he took.

The sting of his friends’ abandonment still hurt; he had to admit that. He didn’t want to feel that hurt again.

He was tired of being judged, laughed at, and being liked only to be hated again. It was relentless.

With new friends, perhaps he could find some solace and peace yet. He couldn’t deny that he missed his old friends, but he was also extremely angry.

He doubted they would ever be friends again—not in the way they used to be. It just didn’t seem possible.

"Someday, Hermione will realize that she needs to stop choosing adults over her friends," Harry thought. Ron, on the other hand, had proven himself unworthy time and time again.

"Harry?" Neville's concerned voice broke through Harry's thoughts. "Hm?" Harry replied, looking around in confusion.

"Are you okay?" Neville asked, his dark eyes filled with concern. It warmed Harry's heart.

"Sorry about that," Harry murmured. "I'm kind of distracted." He didn’t elaborate, not wanting to share what was on his mind.

"I can see that." Neville grinned and opened his mouth to say something else, but he stopped short. His gaze fell down the Gryffindor table, and he suddenly burst out laughing.

Harry followed Neville's gaze, curious about what had caught his attention. His jaw dropped at the sight—Dumbledore was scratching himself like a monkey, a rabid monkey at that.

The headmaster's face was bright red from where he was itching. Harry had never seen a more ludicrous sight in his life.

Dumbledore, always so composed, now looked almost demented, scratching himself as if he were possessed. Harry tried to stifle his laughter, but it didn’t matter; everyone else around them was already laughing at Dumbledore's predicament.

"Come on, Albus, up you get," Poppy ordered, her voice as no-nonsense as ever. When Minerva moved to help, Poppy gestured for her to stay back.

"It might be contagious. Until we know what’s causing it, nobody should come near," Poppy insisted.

"Very well, Poppy," Minerva replied, stopping her attempt to assist Dumbledore. She stepped away, since her seat was right next to his.

Poppy bound Dumbledore to a stretcher, preventing him from scratching any further. She wisely chose to leave through the teacher's entrance, avoiding the throng of laughing students.

Minerva turned to the students, her lips pursed in anger. With a few sharp bangs of her wand, Hermione commanded the students’ attention, her displeasure evident.

She wasn’t pleased with their behavior. She knew she was being a bit biased; if it had been Umbridge up there, she wouldn't have said a word.

But since it was Dumbledore, the situation was different. Thankfully, the laughter subsided.

"I think it’s best if we get on with our breakfast, don’t you?" she said sternly. "Twenty points from each house for such a blatant lack of respect." Even the Slytherins fell silent, staring at her in disbelief.

Twenty points for laughing? They had laughed at Umbridge without consequence, yet now they faced penalties just for chuckling at Dumbledore?

"That’s not fair," Neville said, incredulous. "Since when was life fair?" Harry replied, raising an eyebrow at Neville.

Neville blinked, suddenly struck by how much Harry resembled Professor Snape at that moment—it was intimidating. He shook his head, deciding not to dwell on it.

Finally, he processed Harry’s statement and nodded in agreement. It was true; life wasn’t fair, but losing twenty points for a laugh seemed excessive.

They had mocked Umbridge all year without repercussions, yet now, it was suddenly a matter of respect just because Dumbledore was involved. He wanted to scoff but held it in; that wouldn’t be very Gryffindor of him.

He noticed, as usual, that Hermione hadn’t laughed, while Ron had, and he was currently being lectured by Hermione for his “blatant lack of respect for the Headmaster.” 

Neville couldn’t help but scoff this time. "What is it?" Harry asked, turning to Neville.

"Looks like Granger hasn’t learned her lesson; if she keeps it up, she’ll lose the only friend she has left." Neville was loud about it, and Hermione flushed bright red before bolting from the Great Hall. Harry couldn’t help but grin in surprise and amusement.

Harry really liked Neville. That comment made him realize there was more to Neville than met the eye—much more, in fact.

He had sensed there was something special about Neville ever since their first year. Dumbledore's words rang true: it took bravery to stand up to an enemy, but it took even more courage to stand up to one’s friends.

It was a very Slytherin thing to do. He recalled how Malfoy had targeted him with snide remarks about having no family to go home to.

At that time, he felt so happy—relieved even—that he didn't have to go back. He couldn't care less about what Malfoy said; it had felt like a dream come true.

Harry thought better of mentioning those feelings to Neville, especially with the others around. They might take it to heart and start ignoring or bullying him because of it.

"What do you think was really wrong with Dumbledore?" Neville asked, curiosity evident in his voice. "I don’t have the faintest idea," Harry replied, and honestly, he didn’t want to think about it.

Anger toward the headmaster simmered within him; just thinking about the prophecy made his insides boil with fury. "I guess we should get to class," Neville suggested.

They found themselves in Potions, a class both Neville and Harry dreaded, though for different reasons. Neville struggled with clumsiness—partly due to his fear of their teacher and partly because he just didn’t have a steady hand.

Harry had offered to pair up with him, and since Neville didn’t have a reason to decline, he agreed. Harry hadn’t really wanted to, not out of malice, but because his own potions always ended up in a mess.

The Slytherins had their favorite targets, and he and Neville were at the top of that list, which often turned their potions into disastrous concoctions. "Potter, what do you call this?" Severus asked, glaring down at Harry with his hooked nose.

"A ruined potion?" Harry responded, deliberately cheeky. "It would appear you aren’t as stupid as you look," Severus sneered.

“Five points from Gryffindor for this disgrace, and your cheek.” 

Harry met Severus Snape's glare head-on. He had never backed down before, so he certainly wasn’t going to start now.

The Slytherins snickered, clearly enjoying the spectacle of his reprimand. Harry couldn’t understand how they still found it amusing after all this time.

For five years, the same insults had been thrown at him; it had grown tiresome long ago. He had accepted that Snape despised him a long time ago.

Or so he thought. It seemed that the very thing he tried to hide was what made Severus like him—the real Harry Potter, not just the Boy Who Lived that the world expected.

The room held its breath, waiting for more humiliation or points to be deducted, but then a loud, hesitant knock echoed on the door, catching everyone off guard. No one in their right mind would willingly knock on Professor Snape's classroom door.

Most students did their best to avoid him unless absolutely necessary—especially those from houses that didn’t start with an “S.”

“Enter,” Snape snapped, his glare burning into the door as if it might spontaneously combust. On one hand, he welcomed the interruption; on the other, he loathed being interrupted during class.

Potions was a volatile subject, and one wrong ingredient could spell disaster—turning the classroom into a chaotic mess. Slowly, the ashen face of Dennis Creevey appeared around the door, visibly shaking.

At fourteen, one would think he’d have grown a bit tougher after three years at Hogwarts. Even Neville managed to hold his own better than this.

Harry wondered if Snape picked on Dennis more than the others. Judging by the sickly expression on the boy’s face, he wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“Madam Pomfrey wanted me to give you this, sir,” Dennis squeaked, nearly tripping over his own feet as he hurried to hand over a closed letter. Severus grabbed the letter and stepped back five feet.

"Leave," he snapped, not sparing the trembling boy a second glance. Showing no emotion, he read the missive, clearly from Poppy Pomfrey.

They could all guess its content; after all, it was only that morning that Dumbledore had been taken to the Hospital Wing. Dennis didn’t need to be told twice; he bolted from the room.

"It looks like you’re safe for now, Potter. The rest of you, bottle your potions and leave them on my desk.

You have ten minutes to clear out of my classroom before I start docking points," Severus announced briskly. Everyone hurriedly began bottling their potions, leaving one on the desk and banishing the rest as they cleaned up and made for the door.

"Oh, and Potter, detention tonight," the teacher added, his voice dripping with vindictiveness. "Yes, sir," Harry replied angrily, stepping out of the classroom and away from the snickering.

---

"What is the matter, Poppy?" Severus asked dramatically as he entered the Hospital Wing. His robes swirled around him, as if shielding him from anything that might come his way.

He looked angry, even with Poppy. "It better be important."

"Albus has had a severe allergic reaction to Toxicodendron radicans," Poppy explained, her voice flustered and exasperated.

"None of the usual remedies are working." Twice someone had come into her hospital wing with what seemed to be a simple issue, and when she tried to help, it had failed. She was starting to feel quite useless.

"Poison ivy? How did he come into contact with that?

Has he been in the greenhouses?" Severus asked, secretly amused. Of course it wasn't working; he was a Potions Master.

He had altered the remedy to be unresponsive to normal treatments. He wasn’t even sure if Sprout had any poison ivy in her greenhouse; clearly, Poppy had no idea either.

"I have no idea," Poppy replied, extremely agitated. "I'm at a loss; can you try to figure out why this is happening?"

“Different?” Poppy murmured, her heart sinking as she looked at Albus.

He was covered from head to toe in large, oozing blisters. She had been forced to tie him to the bed to prevent him from spreading the rash any further, not that there was anywhere else for it to go.

Despite her best efforts with calamine lotion, baking soda, and jewelweed, nothing seemed to work. It had been six long hours since she had brought him here.

“Give me a sample of his blood and the oil residue; I'll see what I can do,” Severus said irritably. “Thank you, Severus,” Poppy replied, relief washing over her.

She moved to her patient and used a spell to draw a small amount of blood into a vial. Then, she carefully scraped his skin to collect a bit of urushiol, the substance responsible for the painful boils and sores that had taken over Dumbledore's body.

She wasn’t entirely sure what Severus could do, but she knew he was a genius when it came to potions. If anyone could come up with a solution, it was him.

Handing over the samples, she sighed wearily. “I don’t understand it, Severus.

In all my years, I’ve never had to ask anyone for help. Never in my career.

Contacting St. Mungo’s was bad enough… what am I supposed to do about this?” 

“No matter how good we are at what we do, Poppy, there’s always something new to learn,” Severus replied simply before leaving.

Poppy stared after him, realizing he hadn’t sneered or snarled at her for her “sentimentality.” He had been surprisingly kind, in his own peculiar way, which was something she wasn’t used to from him. She continued to watch him until her shock faded, only to be brought back to reality by Dumbledore's moans of agony.

The itching was driving him mad; if he couldn’t scratch it, he felt like he might lose his mind. “What happened to Dumbledore?” Harry asked the moment Severus stepped through his front door.

It was the only door, actually; he didn’t have a back door since it was a school, after all. Severus stared at Harry, the weight of the situation heavy in the air.

Harry looked at Severus with curiosity, relieved to see that the boy wasn't worried or upset. "Apparently, he came into contact with some poison ivy," Severus replied, his tone devoid of emotion.

Harry frowned, his thoughts drifting to Prince Manor. He remembered seeing poison ivy there: “Leaves of three, leave them be.” He dismissed the notion that Severus would engage in something so childish and immature.

No, Severus despised pranks of any kind. He was drawing the wrong conclusion, just like he had in his first year.

"Will he be okay?" Harry asked, attempting to mask his concern. It wasn’t truly a mask; he did care, but only because he knew Voldemort hadn’t attacked Hogwarts while the old fool was there.

"He'll survive," Severus stated, suppressing any hint of amusement in his voice. "Good.

I'd hate to have to fight so soon," Harry remarked, his honesty shining through. He wasn’t ready for that; he knew it.

"Indeed," Severus smirked wryly. "Do you know where Dumbledore's going to put me this year?" Harry asked nervously.

"I don't," Severus replied after a pause. "Do not dwell on it, Harry; there's no point.

It accomplishes nothing."

"I know," Harry said. "But it changes nothing," Severus replied dryly.

He understood that Harry would worry regardless of what anyone said, even him. Severus made himself a cup of coffee and poured Harry some orange juice; he had finally gotten around to buying it.

Perhaps he should have left Dumbledore alone; he shouldn’t be wasting his time on trivial matters. He needed to find a way to extract the Horcrux from Harry's magic and body without causing harm.

So far, his research had focused on the Horcruxes themselves and the effects they could have. He realized he could probably learn more from Harry than from any book regarding those effects.

Right now, he was considering looking up ways to transfer it from Harry into an inanimate object, to destroy it that way. He had a journal filled with details about Horcruxes, which he kept locked away.

Heavily charmed, the book was unreadable to anyone but him. He had considered casting a spell that would incinerate it upon his death, but he hesitated.

What if he died prematurely and Harry still needed the information? As a spy, each call could potentially be his last day on earth.

By nature, he was a pessimist; he had never been a dreamer or one to entertain delusions. “Thanks,” Harry said, taking his goblet of orange juice and offering a slight grin.

He wasn’t bothered by Severus’ emotionless demeanor; it was simply who Severus was, and nothing would change that. Still, he hoped that beneath it all, Severus was happy.

“Have you found anything about Zar yet?” Severus asked as he sat down, aiming to distract Harry from the buzzing question in his mind. A sense of smug satisfaction washed over him; Harry was happy, and all it took was some orange juice.

The teenager was easy to please, and Severus couldn’t understand why he hadn’t recognized that before. His son had been equally delighted with his Christmas presents; Harry’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree.

“I’m going to go back down to the chamber… see what else I can find,” Harry sighed, clearly frustrated. Severus frowned at that.

“Then I shall accompany you.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Harry nodded, grateful for the company.

“I’ve told Dumbledore you’re finally getting the hang of Occlumency,” Severus added, his tone warning. “So if he asks how it’s going, you need to tell him you finally understand.”

“Okay,” Harry replied.

“Ron's been following me. I didn’t notice it at first, but he’s always unusually close on the map.”

“Well, you need to be extra careful from now on,” Severus said, his alarm evident.

Nobody could find out about them; it would be catastrophic. “I am,” Harry retorted indignantly.

Severus wasn’t blaming him for this. "Was he really following me?" Harry thought, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion.

It seemed so unfair if Ron was doing that. After all, Ron should be grateful that his father was finally out of that coma and on the mend.

Instead of spending time with his family and Hermione, here he was, shadowing Harry. What could Ron possibly hope to achieve by trailing him?

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that it would lead to trouble if Ron found out what he was up to. "Good," Severus said, showing trust in Harry's judgment—a trust he wouldn't have extended a year ago.

So much had changed since then, with both good and bad moments shaping their paths. As Harry settled down, his anger began to fade.

He realized he had overreacted, still on edge from Potions class. He finished his orange juice in silence, engrossed in his books.

Meanwhile, Severus scribbled in one of his own books, a collection of ideas and research for potions. With a quiet goodbye, Severus left ten minutes before curfew.

By the time he reached the Gryffindor common room, he looked as worn out as the other students who had just finished detention with their Potions teacher. Severus never let anyone leave early and never showed pity.

Soon enough, Harry would learn just how relentless he could be, especially when Severus began the real duels. It was time to teach Harry not just how to survive but how to fight back.

They were on the brink of a significant change, and Severus’ decisions would shape their world. Whether those changes would be for better or worse remained to be seen.