A New Place to Stay Chapter 39 - Harry Potter

Dobby breaks ranks and tells Severus the truth: Harry and his friends are at the Ministry, in the Department of Mysteries, and the Death Eaters are already in play. While Snape calls in Shacklebolt and the Order, Harry faces Voldemort himself in the Hall of Prophecies, shielding his friends from fire, fighting back with every spell he knows, and hanging on as Voldemort tries to rip through his mind in front of terrified Ministry witnesses. When the Death Eaters are rounded up and the students are sent home by Portkey, a furious Severus strips house points, Dumbledore finally confirms to the press that Voldemort is back, and Harry is summoned to the Headmaster’s office. There he hears the full prophecy, learns that either he must kill Voldemort or die himself, and discovers he is being sent back to Snape’s house for the summer, while Severus quietly decides that the only answer now is harder, more brutal training that will keep Harry alive.

Transcript

**Chapter 39: In Deep Trouble**

Dobby popped back to Hogwarts without telling the teenagers. He was extremely worried something was going to go wrong.

He also didn’t want to be given clothes, so he decided to do the only thing that could help the situation: tell Master Severus the truth and hope for the best. He had dropped the Death Eaters' wands in the swamp, ensuring they were at least safe from those dark wizards.

Sensing that Severus was alone—though that wasn’t surprising since the exams were over—Dobby popped straight to the Potions Master. Severus didn’t look startled by his appearance, but he did regard the elf with curiosity.

However, seeing the worry etched on Dobby's face made Severus’ heart sink. What had Harry done now?

It was the only reason he could think of for Dobby’s sudden visit. "Where is he?" Severus demanded, not one to be easily fooled.

"At the Ministry of Magic, Master Severus," Dobby replied, cringing at the fury he saw on Severus’ face. Harry was definitely in deep trouble when he returned, and hopefully, he wouldn’t be handed clothes, too.

"Watch over them," Severus commanded, swooping toward his Floo network, his entire body radiating wild magic. He didn’t wait for Dobby to respond; he contacted Shacklebolt immediately.

"Severus?" the bald man queried, surprised to see him in the fireplace. "Potter is at the Ministry of Magic.

Get as many of them over there as you can, now!" Severus hissed, using Harry’s last name with an intensity of fury he hadn’t felt in a year. "He’s no doubt in the Department of Prophecies.

Do not tell Black."

Shacklebolt's eyes widened before he nodded, quickly gathering as many people as he could. Meanwhile, Severus was already gone, rummaging through the potions in his pocket before downing one without so much as a grimace.

Just wait until he got his hands on that boy—he was going to kill him. The calming potion wasn’t even taking the edge off.

---

Harry felt his

Harry's heart raced wildly in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him. Voldemort flicked his wand, and flames shot out, aimed directly at Harry and his friends.

Without a moment's hesitation, Harry pushed them behind him, summoning water to shield them from the consuming fire. “Give it to me, Potter,” Voldemort hissed, his red eyes flashing with a familiar hatred.

“I shall spare one of your friends.”

“Don’t, Harry,” Neville warned, his wand held firm. “I don’t have what you want, Voldemort,” Harry replied honestly, feeling a surge of pride as he stood alongside his friends.

Despite his attempts to protect them, they stood tall and resolute, even Fred and George, much to Harry's surprise. They were united against a common enemy, one who wanted them all dead for different reasons.

“Then you will all die,” Voldemort spat, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He aimed his wand and shouted, “Avada Kedavra!”

The others froze, but Harry was ready; after all, it was Voldemort's second favorite spell.

He cast a spell that sent birds flying from his wand, and the spell struck true, causing the birds to vanish. “Don’t just stand there!

Fight him!” Neville Longbottom shouted, but his words were directed at a group of terrified Ministry workers who had rushed in to investigate the chaos. Among them was the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who cowered like Peter Pettigrew.

Voldemort laughed, clearly amused. They were nothing but cowards!

They would never stand against him. As he fixed his gaze on Harry, he began to invade his mind.

Harry fell to the ground, screaming in agony, desperately trying to block Voldemort from his memories. His life and Severus's depended on it, so with every ounce of strength he had left…

With an ounce of strength and magic, he began to fight back.

“Expelliarmus!” Neville shouted, but Voldemort merely flicked his wand, effortlessly stopping the spell. If he hadn’t been so worried about Harry, Neville might have admired the display.

Luna was on the floor beside him, doing her best to keep him from hurting himself. “Bat-bogey hex!” Fred yelled, while George shouted, “Incarcerus!” and Neville called out, “Confringo!” But only Fred's spell found its mark.

How bat-like bogeys could emerge from that flat nose was anyone's guess. Then members of the Order began Apparating in, and Voldemort realized he had no chance of winning.

With a furious glare, he disappeared. “Cowards!” Neville hissed, glaring at the Ministry workers with hatred and scorn.

“Are you all okay?” Shacklebolt asked, kneeling beside Luna and Harry on the floor, concern etched on his face. After checking Harry for injuries and finding none, he nodded in satisfaction.

“There are Death Eaters stuck in the room down the hall,” Neville announced smugly. Shacklebolt looked at him, impressed.

That confident smile reminded him of Neville’s father. “Your father would be very proud; you look just like him,” Shacklebolt said, nodding respectfully.

“He’s a good man.” 

“I know,” Neville replied, surprised to hear someone speak so kindly about his dad. Nobody ever talked about his parents, except for his Gran, who always reminded him that he would be disappointed.

He’d heard that constantly, especially as a child when he struggled with accidental magic. But hearing someone speak about his father in such a positive light made him feel grown-up—like a man.

Instead of the usual pain that came with mentions of his parents, Neville felt a swell of pride. It was even better that Shacklebolt referred to his father as “still there” and not “dead.” His dad was still there, even if he was permanently lost.

A part of Neville knew they would be better off moving on. “Take this; it will get—”

"You’re heading back to Hogwarts," Shacklebolt instructed, handing over a Portkey.

"I'll take care of everything here." The students each touched it, with Harry being the last, and he hesitated. He had a serious aversion to Portkeys.

Who could blame him? One had taken him straight to Voldemort, and in that moment, someone had lost their life.

They landed with a thump, all still standing in the entrance hall. Their Potions teacher stood there, watching them.

The sight of him made them all blanch, too afraid to look at him or even at each other. He appeared ready to breathe fire at any moment.

If looks could kill, they would be six feet under. "One hundred points from Gryffindor, and twenty from Ravenclaw… for your blatant disregard of school rules.

Return to your common rooms at once; I don’t want to see you out again tonight. Otherwise, the loss of house points will be the least of your worries," Severus hissed, his black eyes flashing with rage.

There was no point in assigning detention now, since they were leaving in two days. But when they returned, they would find him unreasonable when it came to handing out detentions.

The fact that Harry had come back unscathed only fueled his anger. He was furious with him.

Harry insisted he didn’t want the fame and the burdens that came with it, yet the first chance he got, he went out to play the hero. "Yes, sir," the defeated students chorused as they followed his orders.

They didn’t want to risk the wrath of Severus Snape any longer than necessary. It looked like dinner was out of the question, too.

Severus had to restrain himself from shaking Harry furiously, or worse, hurting him. His anger had always been his weak point.

It was fortunate there were still a few days left in the school year; otherwise, he might have taken the boy over his knee and given him a good walloping. Once the students were gone, he returned to the Great Hall and began to eat his dinner.

"I trust the students are still in one piece?" Dumbledore asked. Dumbledore had been made aware of the situation, but he felt too weak to take any decisive action.

If he had been stronger, he would have summoned Harry to his office immediately. He needed to understand what had happened, but for now, he would have to rely on Shacklebolt.

He didn’t want Harry or any of the students to see him in such a frail state. After all, he was Albus Dumbledore; he wasn't supposed to be vulnerable.

"What do you think?" Severus snarled, still seething with resentment toward Dumbledore for what he had discovered. He doubted he would ever forgive him.

Severus despised those who harmed children, and in his eyes, those who were aware and did nothing were the true monsters. "Minerva, please let Harry know I wish to speak with him tomorrow afternoon.

I need to understand why he left the school grounds," Dumbledore instructed, turning to his deputy Headmistress. He felt the urgency to address this matter tonight; every instinct urged him to act.

Unfortunately, he had taken his last pain reliever just to make it through dinner, putting on a brave face for the students. He had only learned about the situation once the Order had been dispatched.

He loathed having to depend on anyone; he longed to leap into action and be the hero, but he was simply not in a fit state. "Of course, Albus," Minerva replied agreeably.

"One hundred points, Severus?" she added, clearly frustrated. Severus sneered, not in the mood to engage with anyone at that moment.

Once he finished his meal, he left the table, his thoughts boiling over with anger. While he would never harm Harry, he struggled with how to discipline someone who had endured so much suffering throughout his life.

Grounding him was not an option. Sending him to bed without supper wouldn’t work, and he certainly couldn’t lay a hand on him.

So how could he express his frustration? That thought lingered in his mind.

If the boy believed he was ready to face Voldemort, perhaps it was time to intensify his training. He would show Harry just how unprepared he truly was; perhaps a duel would serve as a wake-up call.

"That would be the best way to handle it. Oh, the boy wouldn’t know what hit him.

But then again, he was assuming he’d have the boy, when there was no guarantee. Just because he wanted the brat doesn’t mean Dumbledore would allow him to stay at Prince Manor.

His anger had finally started to subside, somewhat. “Potter!” Minerva McGonagall called, striding toward the teenager.

He was pushing his food around on his plate rather than actually eating it. Severus hadn’t looked at him once since he’d returned.

Harry didn’t know why, but it hurt more than when Dumbledore had ignored him earlier that year. Guilt churned in his stomach, mingling with apprehension.

He’d be leaving tomorrow, and he still had no idea where he was going. He wasn’t even sure if Severus wanted him back now.

He absentmindedly rubbed the basilisk fang hidden beneath his clothes, wishing he could explain everything to Severus and help him understand why he had done what he did. “Yes, ma’am?” Harry asked, turning toward her.

His green eyes were dull, not just from the silence of his fellow Gryffindors. Losing points had dropped them to third place instead of first.

With only one day left, there was no chance of regaining those points. Ravenclaw was in the lead and looked set to win the House Cup.

He pushed his plate away, having not eaten any of his lunch, just like he hadn’t eaten breakfast. “Professor Dumbledore wants to speak with you; go up after lunch.

The password is cockroach clusters,” Minerva said, her lips pursed in frustration as she glared at Harry. Ironically, it wasn’t about him leaving the school.

It was about him costing her the chance to have the House Cup displayed in her office again this year. You’d think a grown woman would handle it with more maturity.

“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied glumly. She walked away without another word.

“At least something good came out of it,” Neville said, trying to cheer him up."

"How's that?" Harry asked, his voice lacking enthusiasm. "The world knows he's back," Neville replied.

They both glanced at the newspaper folded beside them. Neither had bothered to read it; the headline was enough.

*The Second War Begins: He Who Must Not Be Named Returns*

In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned to this country and is once again active. "It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord—well, you know who I mean—is alive and among us again," Fudge said, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters.

"It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the Dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry's employ. We believe the Dementors are currently taking direction from Lord—well, you know who.

We urge the magical community to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense, which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the month."

The Minister's statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday had received assurances from the Ministry that there was "no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more." Details surrounding the Ministry's sudden shift are still unclear, though it is believed that He Who Must Not Be Named and a select band of followers, known as Death Eaters, gained entry into the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening.

"Yeah, instead they find another reason to hate me," Harry said, glaring at the other Gryffindors with frustration. Neville playfully "baahed" at them, causing Harry to laugh for the first time in what felt like weeks.

Grinning back at Neville, he finally managed to take a few bites of his lunch before sighing. He might as well get this over with; no doubt Dumbledore would want to know why he had gone there.

Well, for the most part, he could tell him the truth. Harry knew he had to be careful with the truth, but some things would require him to lie.

Dumbledore couldn’t find out that he had removed the prophecy; it would put him at a disadvantage—and Severus too. “Cockroach clusters,” Harry murmured unhappily.

His good mood had evaporated the moment he left the Great Hall, and now his stomach fluttered with nervousness. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, impatiently waiting for Dumbledore to respond.

He despised Dumbledore and always would. The headmaster pretended to care, but his actions spoke differently.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore called in his gentle, benign voice. How deceptive he was, not just in his tone but in his very appearance.

Did the students ever wonder why Voldemort was so afraid of him? It certainly wasn’t because he offered Voldemort lemon drops to submit.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Harry asked as he opened the door, standing there while avoiding Dumbledore’s gaze. He knew he could protect his mind; Voldemort had given it his best shot and had failed spectacularly.

The Dark Lord hadn’t managed to catch even a glimpse of a single memory, which filled Harry with smug satisfaction. He doubted Dumbledore would take the same risks Voldemort had.

After all, Voldemort had nothing to lose, but Dumbledore did. “I do indeed!

Come, sit,” Dumbledore said, beaming at Harry as if he were genuinely glad to see him. Harry barely suppressed a grimace; Dumbledore was far too cheerful for his taste.

He walked over and sat down, a slight smile creeping onto his face as he spotted Fawkes. He had always had a fondness for the phoenix since their first encounter.

A wry grin crossed his face as he remembered that initial meeting—he had thought he somehow caused the bird to burst into flames. It wouldn't be the first time his accidental magic had led to chaos, though nothing had ever ignited before.

There were a few things he wished had! “Care to explain why you left Hogwarts?”

"Yesterday evening, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, peering over his half-moon spectacles.

Disappointment was clearly etched across his blue eyes. Harry felt nothing as Dumbledore regarded him solemnly; his mind was more occupied with concerns about Severus' reaction.

This was a first—regardless of his feelings toward Dumbledore, the man's words and actions had always affected him. "I had a vision," Harry said, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting.

"Voldemort was hurting Sirius... When I got there, it was a trap.

Fred and George set off their fireworks and swamps, and we ran for it. Voldemort tried to kill me; then, when he couldn't, he tried to get into my mind."

Dumbledore sat up straighter at this revelation; for perhaps the first time, he seemed genuinely curious.

"Did he succeed?" he asked, urgency lacing his voice. He needed to know if his spy had been compromised.

"No, sir. Fred, George, and Neville distracted him, then the Order arrived," Harry replied simply.

"Good," Dumbledore said, visibly relieved. "I hope you realize how disappointed I am that you left Hogwarts.

You put not only yourself in danger but everyone else as well!" The Headmaster's admonishment was firm. "I'm sorry, sir," Harry said, still staring at the floor, embodying remorse.

"As you should be!" Dumbledore said gravely. "Do you remember asking me when you were eleven why Voldemort went after you as a baby?"

Harry’s breath hitched.

Dumbledore couldn’t be about to do what he thought he was. "Yes, sir," he said, shaking off his surprise.

"I told you that you were too young to know, that I would tell you someday when you could understand," Albus continued. There was no point in keeping it from him now, especially since Voldemort already knew.

The dark wizard had undoubtedly attempted to kill Harry in the Ministry as a warning. Now that Voldemort understood the full implications, it was crucial to keep Harry safe.

He wanted Harry dead more than ever. "Yes, sir," Harry replied, his face contorting into a confused frown, which he knew was expected.

"I think it's time you were told the truth, Harry," Dumbledore said, placing a Pensieve on his desk. Harry straightened up, focusing intently on Dumbledore as he watched him extract a memory from his mind.

Dumbledore placed it into the Pensieve, and instead of diving in, Harry saw Trelawney's head rise above it, almost like a live hologram. It wasn't her usual voice, but one he had heard twice before: first during the prophecy about the "servant breaking free," and now for the prophecy he was about to hear, the one from Christmas.

“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… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have the power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

With that, Trelawney vanished back into the Pensieve. Harry sat there, gaping at it, perfectly playing his part.

"I… sir… I mean… what does it… what does that mean?" he stammered, his eyes wide with shock. "It means," Dumbledore explained, "that the person with the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago.

This boy was born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

"Me?" Harry gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He shook his head and blinked rapidly, as if he thought this was some kind of absurd nightmare.

"Yes, Harry, you," Dumbledore said, a hint of sadness in his voice. Harry gulped, panic rising within him.

"I can't kill him… he's stronger than me! I couldn't do any of the magic he does!" 

The worst part was, that was exactly how Dumbledore wanted it.

He had never lifted a finger to train Harry, even though he had known about the prophecy all along. Harry hated him for that.

Thank Merlin for Severus; without him, Harry would have been a sitting duck. "You'll find a way," Dumbledore said soothingly.

"So… so I have to kill him, or he’ll kill me?" Harry asked, his voice trembling with disbelief and horror. "Yes," Dumbledore replied.

For a long moment, silence filled the room, and Harry desperately wanted to escape the office. He felt trapped, as if the walls were closing in on him.

He didn't understand why, but he just needed to be away from Dumbledore. "May I leave, sir?" Harry choked out, the only genuine emotion he had shown since entering.

"Of course," Dumbledore sighed sadly, watching as Harry sprang from the seat. "You might be wondering why I didn't name you Prefect, Harry…" Dumbledore continued, once Harry turned back to face him.

"I thought you had enough to deal with."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, still unsure of where he would go. As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore waited until the last moment to reveal the news.

"Harry, I'm afraid you will be returning to Professor Snape's house this year," Dumbledore said. Hate and anger flashed across Harry's face as he opened the door with such force that it banged against the wall, knocking books and artifacts off the shelves.

The door then swung back, closing itself with a rebound. Albus sighed sadly; he didn't want to make an enemy of Harry.

Things were becoming quite intense, to say the least. Now he just had to deal with Severus, and then he could begin his hunt for the Horcruxes when Hogwarts broke for the summer.

He opened his drawer and took out a lemon drop, sucking on it as he reflected on how his plans were progressing, despite the disturbances and the challenges he faced.