A New Place to Stay Chapter 44 - Harry Potter

While Harry trains at Prince Manor, the war closes in elsewhere. Severus attends an Order of the Phoenix meeting at Grimmauld Place, quietly proud that Harry has destroyed an Auror-grade training dummy while Sirius seethes with jealousy. Around the table they mourn Emmeline Vance and Amelia Bones, debate a failing Fudge and a possible new Minister, and hear how Dementors are massacring Muggle families while Voldemort tightens his grip. Back at Spinner’s End, Severus endures Pettigrew, tends two difficult blood-red brews meant for the coming fight, and finally returns home to find Harry asleep over a book. In a rare, gentle moment, he carries the boy to bed, then the next morning watches Harry read a Daily Prophet that brands him “The Chosen One” and announces Scrimgeour, Aurors at Hogwarts, and open war – right as Dumbledore arrives to take Harry out for their first Horcrux-related trip.

Transcript

**Chapter 44: Order Meetings**

Severus found himself just down the road from Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. As always, he kept a watchful eye on the street.

Regulus Black had been a Death Eater; whether he was repentant or not, the Dark Lord could still be aware of his existence. Severus also scanned the ground, mindful of Pettigrew's Animagus form.

It was clear to him that Pettigrew had been sent to Spinner's End to keep tabs on him. He knew that as soon as Pettigrew was called, he'd have to conjure up excuses, but at that moment, he truly couldn't care less.

Staring at the surrounding buildings, he sighed and recited the words to the safe house in his mind: “The Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.” Almost instantly, the building materialized before him, like shimmering water parting to reveal the hidden townhouse. With his masks in place—conveying a facade of boredom—he stepped inside.

The meeting hadn't started yet, but a few members were already there, engaged in quiet conversation. The atmosphere was somber and tense, which suited Severus' mood perfectly.

He took his usual seat, the one farthest from Black’s and next to Dumbledore's. He sat quietly, deliberately ignoring Sirius Black as more Order members filtered in.

Shacklebolt arrived next, taking his place beside Severus, as he typically did unless Moody got there first. “How is it going?” Shacklebolt asked in a low voice, ensuring that none of the others could overhear.

Severus arched an eyebrow, curious about the implication behind the question, though he had some inkling. “Has the dummy proved useful?” the Auror clarified, his brown eyes sparkling with curiosity and satisfaction.

While he respected Dumbledore and fulfilled his duties for the Order, he didn't necessarily agree with all of Dumbledore's decisions. In particular, he was frustrated with Dumbledore's refusal to train Harry Potter.

Dumbledore had insisted they all take... Unbreakable Vows to protect Harry, to never reveal the location of Grimmauld Place, and, last but not least, to safeguard the identities and secrets discussed within the Order.

Dumbledore clearly wanted to avoid another Pettigrew situation, and given the state of the war, that didn’t surprise Severus. Shacklebolt wasn’t a foolish wizard; there had to be a reason Dumbledore insisted they protect Harry.

It certainly didn’t mean it was solely because of Harry’s power. Then, of course, there was the whole Prophecy that had come into play.

Severus might not know its exact contents, but he had a strong feeling about what it might entail. That was why he had decided to help Snape with what needed to be done; he was the only one capable of training Harry, after all.

He would have loved to train Harry himself if he was even half as powerful as everyone claimed. The kid could become an incredible Auror one day, perhaps even one of the best if that was the path he chose.

But Severus wasn’t sure it was what Harry would want—if he survived the war, that is. By the time it was all over, Harry would be thoroughly sick of being hunted and nearly killed.

Severus would bet his badge on it, yet when it came to Harry Potter, he was constantly surprised. The fact that Harry had successfully cast a fully fledged Patronus at just thirteen was mind-blowing.

Severus could only manage one now after weeks of trying, much to his delight. “Very,” Severus said, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“He destroyed it.” He spoke softly, his lips barely moving, not wanting anyone else to overhear, especially not Black. “You have to be joking,” Shacklebolt gasped, his eyes wide with surprise.

His voice was louder than intended, drawing more attention to them. Given that Severus rarely spoke during meetings, their conversation was already under scrutiny.

Black, in particular, was glaring fiercely at Severus’ back. His jealousy was eating him alive; he hated...

The fact that Harry looked up to Severus instead of him made him feel angry, especially that he was even jealous of a man like Severus Snape. It was a vicious cycle, and unfortunately, Harry was caught right in the middle of it.

Severus shook his head, a wicked smirk creeping onto his face. He was proud of the progress Harry had made, even prouder that Harry admired him and wanted to please him.

Who would have thought that? He certainly wouldn’t have imagined it two years ago.

He wasn't entirely sure how much Harry liked him, but it was clear that Harry saw him as a parental figure. Given that he had never had one himself, it was no surprise.

What surprised him even less was that Harry might not fully understand what he was feeling. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as he caught sight of Shacklebolt's astonished expression.

"Well, I'll be damned," Shacklebolt said after a few moments of stunned silence, as more members of the Order began to filter in. Harry had destroyed the training dummy; some of the best Aurors had tried and failed to do that.

Aurors regularly trained with these dummies—not just the newbies trying to pass their graduation tests. Not all of them could withstand the pressures of the job, and they typically weeded out the weak ones while nurturing the promising candidates.

With the impending war, maintaining high standards was more crucial than ever, yet Shacklebolt was witnessing even the weaker ones making it through. Their standards were slipping, and he felt powerless to change it—thanks to the incompetent Minister Fudge.

He wanted to share his excitement with the others; most people believed the dummies were indestructible. Unfortunately, he knew that speaking up would be foolish—perhaps after the war, but not during it.

Just as he was about to ask another question, the fire flared emerald green, and a man in colorful clothes stepped out. The leader and founder of the Order had arrived.

Shacklebolt closed his mouth and sealed his thoughts more tightly. He was well aware of Dumbledore's habit of reading their surface thoughts.

He had been furious and shocked the first time he had felt it, but thankfully... Albus hadn't tried again once he realized Shacklebolt had caught him in the act.

Dumbledore looked furious, even angrier than when he had discovered the prophecy was missing. Speaking of which, he noticed that Dung hadn't attended the meetings since then.

Who could blame him? Dumbledore was intimidating when he wanted to be, and it was no wonder he was the only one Voldemort truly feared.

"I’m sure you’ve all heard by now what happened to Emmeline Vance, and of course, Amelia Bones," Dumbledore said, his voice grave and tinged with defeat, as if each death weighed heavily upon him. Perhaps they did, but Severus felt no sympathy; after all, it was what he had been trying to do to Harry.

"Poor dears!" Molly sighed, sadness lingering in her eyes. The reality of the war had truly sunk in for her, and she feared for her children's lives, as her Boggart had shown.

She lived and breathed for them and would do anything to ensure their happiness and safety. "Yes, Susan Bones is now an orphan," Shacklebolt added.

Amelia had kept all sorts of pictures of Susan on her desk. While Amelia was just her aunt, she had raised Susan since she was a baby.

Severus felt a deep pang for the girl; she had lost her parents during the first war, much like Harry Potter had. Now, she was truly alone in every sense of the word.

"Indeed," Severus said, reflecting on Susan's talent. She was good at potions, better than most he could name.

While she didn’t have the potential to be a Master, she was certainly skilled enough to earn his approval. "The booklets the Ministry distributed are useless; Death Eaters can tear through them in seconds!" Sirius complained.

"Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do about that," Albus replied tiredly, his half-moon glasses resting on his prominent nose. "Severus, have you been called?"

"No," Severus said, his lip curling in disdain.

He hated discussing his duties in front of all these people. He wasn’t...

He wasn’t ready to tell Dumbledore about Draco just yet—not until he had confirmation that he was marked. If Draco was indeed marked, he would have no choice but to inform Dumbledore and try to help his trapped godson.

The thought of Hogwarts starting back up filled him with dread for that very reason. “He has been very quiet.

Do you have any suspicions about what he’s up to?” Dumbledore probed. He couldn’t shake the fear that Voldemort was planning something significant, something involving Harry.

The Dark Lord was aware of the prophecy, and it was clear he would stop at nothing to kill Harry. With Lucius Malfoy out of the picture, it was likely that Draco would bear the brunt of Voldemort’s anger.

It was probably only a matter of time before he was assigned a task to prove his worth. Every new Death Eater was given a task.

“Unfortunately not,” Severus replied, his voice emotionless. This was a lie, but Dumbledore couldn’t detect it.

Severus had a fair idea of what was happening, and if he was correct, he didn’t want everyone here judging his fifteen-year-old godson. No, if his suspicions were right, he would be duty-bound to inform Dumbledore.

Until he knew for sure, he planned to stay silent and hope for the best. “Fudge has been to see the Muggle Prime Minister.

I’m not sure what good that will do. I don’t think Fudge is going to last much longer either; he’s cracking under the strain of the war already,” Shacklebolt announced.

Moody barked out a laugh. “I don’t doubt that.” 

War had a way of breaking even the toughest of men in just a few months, and Fudge was by no means a strong man.

Moody was no longer an Auror; he had retired and remained retired. He’d only agreed to come out of retirement as a favor to Albus, which had turned out to be a mistake, and he was still furious with Dumbledore for not realizing it hadn’t been him at Hogwarts.

But in times of war, there had to be a spirit of forgiveness. “If we lose Fudge, who knows who will be picked as Minister?” Arthur commented.

There was a palpable concern among them; it would be the opportunity Voldemort was waiting for to seize control. If the Ministry fell, it wouldn’t be long before Hogwarts and the entire Wizarding world followed suit.

Everyone understood this, which was why they were tolerating Fudge. “Only an idiot would want to be elected Minister now,” Severus sneered.

They would immediately become targets for Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, especially if they weren’t someone who could be controlled or had powerful allies. Money opened many doors, and the purebloods had plenty of it, giving them a significant advantage.

Not that Albus Dumbledore would acknowledge such realities. He believed that everyone had goodness deep down and was a staunch advocate for second chances—a belief Severus found utterly foolish.

Technically, Dumbledore had given him a second chance, but he had proven himself repeatedly. It had taken an Unbreakable Vow before Dumbledore would even begin to trust him.

Severus didn’t believe in second chances, but perhaps he should be grateful that Albus did. He wasn’t alone in this sentiment; evidently, Harry also believed in second chances.

Severus would have assumed it was a Gryffindor trait, if it weren’t for the fact that Harry was actually a Slytherin. The others nodded in agreement with him.

Despite his sneering, sarcastic demeanor, Severus always spoke the truth—even when it was a truth most didn’t want to hear. “Has anyone seen or heard anything lately?” Dumbledore asked, his gaze thoughtful as he surveyed them all.

He regretted being so curt with Mundungus; he often brought back some decent information. Though a drunkard, he knew many unsavory characters, mostly through his dealings in illegal goods.

Most people dismissed him as completely inebriated and continued their conversations. “They’re becoming bolder in their attacks; with the Dementors on their side, they think they’re invincible,” Tonks said, her hair short and black, reflecting her mood.

She was solemn, a stark contrast to her usual bright pink or red hair. "Seventy Muggle families have been tortured and Kissed in the past week alone." Normally, any issues involving Muggles would fall under Arthur's jurisdiction at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department.

Unfortunately, with so many attacks, his office was stretched thin. The Aurors were doing their best to contain the situation.

Muggles couldn't discover the existence of the magical world; it would only make things ten times worse. She had nothing against Muggles; her own father was one, and he was the most honorable man she’d ever known.

What troubled her the most was that these people were dying for something beyond their control. They were losing their lives for a cause that wasn’t theirs, never understanding why it was happening.

She shuddered at the memory of the family she had seen. The Dementor's Kiss was the most horrific fate one could imagine.

They had to dispose of the bodies of the Muggles; their minds were already gone—the Kiss had taken that from them—which offered no consolation at all. Severus winced.

"Seventy? In a week?" It was clear that the Prophet was downplaying the severity of the situation, only reporting the more noticeable attacks, like the one on the bridge.

"We should be grateful that he doesn’t know the locations of Muggle-born students," Albus Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with sorrow for the senseless deaths caused by a deranged madman. Albus kept the book of records securely locked away, a precaution he had taken since the first war, a tactic Tom had employed back then.

Of course, there were ways around it; all accidental magic was documented. But accessing that information would take much longer than simply checking the book for addresses.

Not that it seemed to matter to Tom this time around; his focus was solely on Hogwarts, the Order, and, of course, Harry—not necessarily in that order. This intensified Albus's determination to see the war ended by any means necessary, even if it meant the sacrifice Harry would have to make.

"It won’t be long before he gets his hands on..."

"Not if I can help it," Albus replied bleakly. He knew he had to find those Horcruxes; he had gathered all the information possible, but so far, he had been unsuccessful, which was incredibly frustrating.

Coming to terms with the fact that Tom had managed to achieve such dark magic was difficult. That was why he had banned all books related to such topics as soon as he became Headmaster.

Students shouldn’t have access to that kind of material. The book in question remained in his office; he hadn't destroyed it, and perhaps that was a blessing.

No other book in Hogwarts' library discussed Horcruxes beyond a single mention, and they were never named. He still puzzled over how Tom had discovered them and how many he had created—if he had created more than one.

At this point, it was all just speculation. The diary was his only lead, and it held only faint traces of magic.

"When are you letting my godson come here?" Sirius asked bitterly, shifting the topic. He missed Harry greatly; writing to him occasionally just wasn’t enough.

He longed to see his godson and ensure he was all right. Staying with Snape couldn’t be good for him.

Snape had a clear disdain for Harry, and Sirius was deeply worried about how he was being treated. Wards or not, spy or not, he did not trust Severus Snape.

"Not a good idea; too many people already know about this place," Severus pointed out, curling his lip in disgust as he sneered at Black, who was clearly showing his hatred. "Including Lestrange—not someone I would wish on Potter."

Harry hadn't been happy about leaving Prince Manor last year, and Severus doubted that had changed.

Harry was very attached to that place. Knowing what he did about Harry's past—having drawn the child's story from him—he understood that Prince Manor had been the first place where Harry could truly flourish.

He had his own room, privacy, and, dare he say, happiness. It was no wonder Harry preferred being there.

Grimmauld Place felt dark and dreary, a place with no escape. Outside, there was a small garden—emphasis on "small." Compared to his own expansive grounds, Black's garden seemed almost miniature.

It made him feel smug that Harry preferred him over Black, which was quite unusual. Who, in their right mind, would choose him over Black?

It was unfortunate he couldn't rub it in Black's face—not yet, anyway. "As much as it pains me, Sirius, I’m afraid Severus has a point.

It’s far too dangerous to take that risk," Albus said quietly, siding with his spy. He knew he couldn’t allow Harry to get too attached to Sirius again.

The war was escalating much faster than the last one, and Harry would need to be ready to sacrifice himself to end Tom's reign of terror. With a piece of Tom inside him, that part also had to be destroyed for the dark wizard to truly be defeated.

Harry had been living on borrowed time ever since that fateful night. "It’s not fair," Sirius scowled, his eyes darkening as he glared at Dumbledore with a fierce intensity.

If it weren’t for Dumbledore’s protection, he would have told the old fool exactly what he thought of him. "Hasn’t life taught you yet that it isn’t fair, Black?" Severus sneered.

It was mind-boggling how immature Sirius was, like a five-year-old crying "it's not fair" to his parents when he didn't get his way. Black had spent twelve years in Azkaban without a trial, lost his best friends due to a friend's betrayal, and all he could say was that life wasn’t fair?

The irony was that Harry was more mature than Black; he didn’t complain about the hardships he had faced. Harry's life had been anything but fair, while Black had, in Snape’s opinion, gotten off easy.

At least he had enjoyed a decent childhood and had been grown up when life dealt him a harsh hand. One could argue that Black hadn’t really grown up at all; he seemed forever stuck in an adolescent stage.

It didn’t help... Sirius Black was seething, ready to leap across the table and strangle Severus.

The only thing holding him back was Remus's firm grip and, of course, Dumbledore's commanding voice. "Enough!" Dumbledore snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"If there's nothing new to learn, I suggest we call it a day." 

No one disagreed; it was clear this meeting wasn’t going to yield any fresh information. They were just wasting time that could be spent working.

Most of them had important jobs in the Ministry or elsewhere, contributing to the Order and the war effort. One by one, they filtered out of the sanctuary that Grimmauld Place provided.

Only Sirius remained behind, unable to leave. Even Remus was busy recruiting the werewolves, and Hagrid was away on an assignment, trying to win over the giants.

Being a half-giant himself, Hagrid had a better chance of getting their attention than any wizard Dumbledore could send. But it wasn’t likely he’d return; the giants would probably eat any wizard before letting him go.

"What’s the matter with you, boy?" Moody growled, struggling as Shacklebolt escorted him out of Grimmauld Place. "Potter managed to destroy it," Shacklebolt said, his voice dripping with gloating amazement.

He glanced around to ensure no one was listening; he didn’t want anyone overhearing him, especially not Severus. It wouldn’t be good for Harry’s training to be interrupted by Dumbledore’s misguided belief that Harry was “just a child.” If half the things he’d endured were true, there was no way Harry was still just a child.

Basilisks? Tournaments?

Facing Voldemort? No, Harry needed to prepare for what lay ahead.

And who better to help him than Snape? Despite his past as a Death Eater, Kingsley believed Severus was truly on their side.

He would continue to hold onto that belief. He wouldn't believe it, unless he had a reason to think otherwise.

As an Auror and a sharp thinker, he was certain Dumbledore had extracted the same vows from Severus as he had from the rest of the Order. "What?" Moody barked, his normal eye widening in shock.

But inside, a sense of pride began to swell within him. He wished he had taught the boy, given him extra lessons during his fourth year.

Unfortunately, Dumbledore had been deceived, and that still irritated him to this day. "I know," Shacklebolt said, a wide grin spreading across his face as he placed his hat on his bald head.

"Unbelievable," Moody muttered, shaking his head as he Disapparated away. Since he wasn’t on duty, he headed back home.

He was part of the Order out of a sense of duty, wanting to help in any way he could. Shacklebolt felt the same way as he headed straight to bed; he had work to prepare for in the morning.

---

Severus Apparated to Spinner's End, knowing it was time to check on the potions. As soon as he entered, he wrinkled his nose in disgust; the place reeked.

He knew he would never return here after the war. He would rather set the house ablaze than sit in it, knowing Pettigrew had been there.

Pettigrew was slumped in his favorite armchair, asleep, drool trickling down his chin. Severus grimaced in utter revulsion.

If only he could rid the world of the stinking rat right then and there. But there would come a time for his revenge—hopefully soon—but this wasn’t it.

He sensed his house-elf nearby, invisibly keeping watch as he had requested. "PETTIGREW!" Severus snarled, fury lacing his voice.

Wormtail jumped as if his backside were on fire, sniveling until he realized who had shouted. He glared at Snape through watery eyes, distrust evident in his expression.

He didn’t even attempt to raise his wand; he knew better. If Snape could best Black…

Severus Snape stood in the dim light of his makeshift lab, reflecting on the past.

If Potter had been in school, there was little doubt he would have easily rid the world of him. Snape was vicious, and Voldemort had praised him often enough for it.

"Where have you been?" Pettigrew sniveled, glaring with his beady eyes. "When did I begin answering to you, Pettigrew?" Severus sneered, his lips curling in disgust as he faced the rat.

"I'll tell him," Pettigrew threatened, but the tremor in his voice and the fear in his eyes diminished the impact of his words. "Go ahead; I'm sure he loves your opinion," Severus replied with a vicious smirk.

"Now, move out of my way."

As Pettigrew scurried aside, Severus cast a spell at the rat's retreating backside, eliciting a squeak of protest and pain. He made his way to his lab, a space he had created after his parents were gone—what had once been their bedroom.

With only one bedroom needed, it was safe to repurpose the other. Two potions simmered on the counter, both a deep blood-red.

Severus knew their color wouldn't remain that way for long. He measured out the necessary ingredients with precision, adding them to the first potion.

His pewter stirring stick moved exactly twenty times before he removed it. He cleaned the stick with a simple spell and repeated the process for the second potion.

Once both were complete, he nodded in grim satisfaction. Though he disliked the purpose these potions would serve, the Potions Master in him relished the challenge of brewing them, especially the complex and lengthy process required.

They would need two days of simmering before he added the last two ingredients, and then they would sit for five days before he could bottle them. As he observed the potions, he noted they had transformed into a soft shimmering blue—almost silver if one looked at them just right.

They had the correct texture and consistency. Leaving the room, he closed the door behind him, ready to face whatever came next.

Severus headed back to the living room. "Narcissa is looking for you," Pettigrew said, his voice even more sour than it had been just ten minutes ago.

"What does she want?" Severus asked, arching an eyebrow in feigned curiosity. "How should I know?" Pettigrew snapped.

She wouldn’t tell him, unfortunately. Nobody could blame her for that.

Pettigrew kept nothing from the Dark Lord—not that he could; he had no mind shields whatsoever. He would never have graduated from Hogwarts if it hadn’t been for Potter or Black's help.

Severus was still surprised he had managed to pass the practical. He shook his head and made his way out of the house he had grown up in.

He was grateful that the Princes had taken pity on him and given him his rightful inheritance. Otherwise, he would have had to put up with that worm the entire time.

He also realized he would never have gotten to keep Harry either, come to think of it. With a wave of his wand, he Apparated back to Prince Manor.

He was exhausted and, quite frankly, ready for bed. The early mornings were wearing him down; he didn't even wake up that early at Hogwarts!

His body just wasn't used to it. As he was about to head upstairs, he noticed a light under the living room door.

The living room wasn’t used very often, despite being the warmest room in the Manor. Was Harry still up?

Curiosity got the better of him, and he went to check. To his surprise, Harry was fast asleep, slumped over a book.

He was only halfway through, which indicated that he had fallen asleep recently. Shaking his head in disbelief at what he was about to do, Severus carefully placed a bookmark in the page Harry was reading.

Then, with a spell, he made Harry light enough to carry and proceeded to lift the large bundle to bed. He removed Harry's cloak and shoes but left everything else on.

Pulling up the duvet, he placed the book on the nightstand. Standing there, he stared at the sleeping figure, amazed at how young and innocent Harry looked while he slept.

Yet... Awake, Harry had an aura about him that suggested he had seen and experienced far too much for his age.

Dumbledore had made a grave mistake; he had messed up Harry's life. Severus felt a slight twinge of regret over training him, yet he understood it was necessary.

He wanted Harry to survive, and for that to happen, he needed to learn everything he could. It was certainly better than the alternative; at least Harry would live to face whatever lay ahead.

Severus was determined to ensure that he would extract the Horcrux from him. He simply had to.

Shaking off his heavy thoughts, he made his way to his bed, already plotting what to teach Harry next. Wards, enchantments, and counter-spells for all sorts of curses filled his mind.

He might not always be by Harry's side, so he needed to ensure that Harry could defend himself against the spells tied to the Horcruxes. The next morning, Severus and Harry woke up at a more reasonable hour.

They were having breakfast when the newspapers were delivered for the first time that week. Harry immediately began reading, his eyes widening in surprise and a loud gulp echoing in his throat.

His green eyes glanced warily up at Severus before he continued reading the paper properly. “Harry Potter: The Chosen One?” the headline blared.

Rumors were swirling about the mysterious disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during which He Who Must Not Be Named had been sighted once again. “We're not allowed to talk about it, so don’t ask me anything,” said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry the night before.

Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry confirmed that the disturbance centered around the fabled Hall of Prophecy. Though Ministry spokeswizards had previously denied even the existence of such a place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believed that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft had been trying to steal a prophecy.

The nature of that prophecy remained unknown, although speculation was rampant that it concerned Harry Potter. Harry couldn't believe what he was reading.

"The only person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse," he murmured to himself, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. The article continued, suggesting that he had been present at the Ministry on the night in question.

Some people were even calling him "The Chosen One," convinced that a prophecy named him as the only one capable of defeating He Who Must Not Be Named. But what about the prophecy?

Its current whereabouts remained a mystery, if it even existed at all. "Are they insane?" Harry croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

How could they say such things without knowing the truth? It only seemed to fuel Voldemort’s desire to kill him.

He was just fifteen, still a child, and yet the world was proclaiming that he would save them all. They could comfortably sit at home, believing that The Chosen One would handle everything.

Severus, sitting nearby, chose not to comment. He wished Harry wouldn’t read the papers, but he couldn’t stop him.

"Who's Scrimgeour?" Harry asked, curiosity piqued. "As it no doubt states," Severus replied wryly, "he was Head of the Auror Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement." He suspected that Shacklebolt had recently been promoted to Scrimgeour's previous position.

"Whose side is he on, though?" Harry pressed, still trying to piece together the information. The picture accompanying the article was black and white, like all wizarding pictures.

It struck him as strange that they hadn’t figured out color yet. They seemed so backward sometimes, and yet they looked down on Muggles.

That was laughable. Scrimgeour had a mane of thick hair that resembled a lion's, and his face looked equally rugged.

"He’s a Light wizard; it’s just a question of how long he lasts," Severus replied indifferently. They had discussed this just the night before, and he was surprised by how quickly everything had unfolded.

Clearly, the Ministry had kept things under wraps. It was wise to do so, given the circumstances.

The Dark Lord was searching for his first opportunity. “Aurors at Hogwarts?!” Harry exclaimed, blinking in disbelief, unsure of how to process the news.

“A small selection,” Severus replied, digging into his breakfast, which had just arrived. “He seems to care, but that number probably couldn’t stop even a small invasion, let alone the Dark Lord’s inner circle.”

“Is he using Inferi?” Harry’s heart sank at the thought.

“Unconfirmed, Harry; they are warmongering,” Severus said, his demeanor seemingly unbothered. “If you’re worried, I can show you a spell that would be effective against them.

Fire always works. Do you know the Fiendfyre spell?”

“Yes, I know of it,” Harry responded.

“Then I’ll add it to the list,” Severus told him. “Now, eat your breakfast before he comes.”

It was Friday, and Harry was set to go off with Dumbledore.

Severus would have preferred that Harry didn’t go anywhere with the old fool, but he was in no position to object. Refusing would only raise Dumbledore’s suspicions, and that was the last thing they needed—Dumbledore prying into their lives.

No, Harry needed training, and with Dumbledore watching, they wouldn’t be able to do it. They had only two hours to train before Harry would need to change in preparation for Dumbledore’s arrival.