A New Place to Stay Chapter 45 - Harry Potter

Dumbledore arrives at Prince Manor to “borrow” Harry for the evening, and Severus hates every second of not knowing the Headmaster’s true plan. After hiding Harry’s second wand and locking the training room, he watches his ward walk out the door with the man who once ordered him to make Harry miserable. Side-along Apparition drops them in Budleigh Babberton, where Harry is used as bait to lure Horace Slughorn out of retirement. In a house staged to look ransacked, Harry meets Slughorn, sees through the act, and endures being stared at like a prize specimen while the old Slytherin reminisces about Lily and former favourites. By the time Slughorn inevitably agrees to return to Hogwarts, Harry is furious at being manipulated yet again. Back at Prince Manor, Dumbledore casually announces “private lessons” and insists Harry keep his Invisibility Cloak on him at all times, leaving Harry seething – and Severus ready to hear exactly how badly the Headmaster used his son this time.

Transcript

Chapter 45: Visiting Slughorn

"Go shower; Professor Dumbledore will be here soon," Severus said to Harry as he paused in the doorway. Today, they were just using the training dummy inside Prince Manor.

Severus didn't want to risk Dumbledore arriving early and catching them in the middle of their practice. He was well aware of Dumbledore's curiosity about how he was treating Harry; he'd been questioned about it often enough.

As always, Severus merely scrunched up his nose and snapped about the old wizard. That was enough to satisfy Dumbledore, but it infuriated Severus to know that he had been assigned to make Harry miserable.

To think that just a few years ago, he would have reveled in having complete control over Harry. He would have treated him despicably—he was ashamed to admit it—but unfortunately, Severus was not perfect.

He could lie and say he acted as he did solely because of his duties as a spy, but that would be a falsehood. His actions were largely influenced by the behavior of Harry's father during their childhood, and, to a small extent, by his own responsibilities.

"All right. Are you sure you don’t know what he’s planning?" Harry asked warily.

Was he being sent to Grimmauld Place? Or worse, to the Weasleys?

He still cared for them, but Ron was just… annoying. He was no longer the boy who desperately sought friends; he had grown tired of being around someone who was constantly jealous of him.

No, Harry had found good friends who didn’t just follow Dumbledore's orders. Neville had stayed in touch, and so had Luna.

He knew Dumbledore had instructed Neville not to contact him, as he had made clear in his first letter. Learning that had made Harry extremely angry.

"I have no idea," Severus replied, his tone impassive. He was just as worried as Harry, if not more so.

Dumbledore was up to something—first the Horcrux, and now he wanted to “borrow” Harry? There was definitely something going on.

As a spy, Severus hated not knowing everything. Severus knew this could be the difference between survival and death.

"Go," he said sharply, urgency in his voice; he was going to be late otherwise. Harry nodded and quickly left the training room.

"Leave your second wand in your room," Severus called after him as Harry hurried up the stairs. His tone made it clear he was frustrated to have to remind him.

They couldn't risk Dumbledore discovering it; if he did, there would be no doubt he would figure out what they had been up to. Better for Dumbledore to find out about the training than to learn they had been chasing after Horcruxes and had already destroyed a few.

It was obvious that Dumbledore had no intention of informing them about their existence. Severus understood why the Order wasn't in the loop, but deep down, he felt a few of them should be aware.

Severus closed and magically locked the training room door before descending the stairs, preparing for Dumbledore's arrival. Harry had successfully mastered the Fiendfyre spell; hopefully, that would ease his concerns about the Inferi.

He shook his head, reflecting on how much had transpired over the past year. He often wondered how Harry felt about it all.

Right on time, Dumbledore came through the Floo, his multicolored robes clashing dreadfully with the rest of the room. Severus noticed that Dumbledore looked exhausted—perhaps that was the price for keeping secrets.

He often speculated on how Dumbledore would react if he learned about the Horcruxes they had already destroyed. "Albus," Severus said smoothly, maintaining an emotionless expression as he regarded the man who had, in a way, given him a second chance.

If one could call it that; he did far more for the old fool than he received in return. "Severus, how is Harry doing?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling brightly as if genuinely pleased to see him.

"Ask him yourself," Severus replied, his face contorting in distaste. He truly was a remarkable spy; he never let anything get past him.

Severus always managed to maintain a suitable expression for any occasion. “Has he called?” Dumbledore asked, his concern evident.

“No. As far as he’s concerned, I’m brewing potions for him,” Severus replied bitterly.

Not to mention that he had a rat spying on him while the other sat comfortably in Malfoy Manor with his godson. That situation troubled him deeply.

Unfortunately, there was little he could do about it; he rarely had his godson over, and changing that now would be far too dangerous. Having Draco in the same manor as Harry was simply out of the question.

He shuddered inwardly at the memory of their last encounter when his godson had unleashed the light equivalent of the Cruciatus curse. His own actions were equally regrettable.

His anger had clouded his judgment, preventing him from seeing the truth. If he had only looked at Harry instead of seeing what he wanted to see, he might have noticed something was wrong.

Yet, if he had, he might never have discovered the abuse. “Still have no idea of his plans?” Dumbledore asked, scrutinizing Severus with keen interest.

“Other than to kill Potter?” Severus replied, stiffening under Dumbledore's gaze. It was clear the headmaster suspected he knew more than he was letting on, or perhaps he simply wished that Severus did.

“You will let me know if that changes?” Dumbledore asked. Normally, Severus received calls more frequently, especially during the summer.

Whatever Voldemort was planning, he was keeping it close to his chest. Severus hoped he was not under suspicion; he needed all the information he could gather.

“Of course,” Severus said, a hint of indignation in his tone. “Thank you,” Dumbledore said, relaxing slightly, as if he now believed Severus.

“Where is Harry?” he asked, his twinkle returning as he glanced around the room. “Potter!” Severus called sharply, hoping Harry was out of the shower and dried off.

“Yes, sir?” Harry responded, rushing into the room, looking apprehensive. Harry stood there, breathless as he looked at Severus.

“Professor Dumbledore is here,” Severus said with a sneer before turning away, his disdain clearly aimed at Dumbledore. “Hello, sir,” Harry replied, a light flush creeping onto his cheeks as he recalled their last conversation.

It didn’t matter whether he meant it or not; he couldn’t let Dumbledore see his true feelings. So, he focused on the floor, pretending to feel guilty about what he’d done.

In truth, he would do it all over again without hesitation. He silently wondered if he had ever truly trusted Dumbledore or if he had merely convinced himself that the old man cared.

If Dumbledore had genuinely cared, he would have trained him. After all, he had known about the prophecy his entire life!

At the very least, he could have ensured Harry had decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers or trained him in secret, without revealing everything. Heaven forbid Dumbledore should actually prepare him for the fight against Voldemort with any real knowledge.

The thought of it made Harry want to punch the man for suggesting he could defeat Voldemort while knowing next to nothing. But now, with the revelation of the Horcrux within him, he began to understand Dumbledore's plan.

He wasn’t supposed to survive. That realization stung, but he refused to give up hope.

Severus was brilliant—no, beyond brilliant—when it came to potions. If anyone could extract the Horcrux from him, it would be Severus.

“Well, Harry, it’s time for us to be off,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “I shall see you later, Severus.” 

Severus merely nodded, his foot tapping impatiently, clearly wanting them to leave his manor.

“Bye,” Harry said quickly, stepping in line with Dumbledore as they exited through the front door instead of using the Floo network, as Harry had expected. It was a lovely day; if Dumbledore hadn’t been visiting, he would have trained outside.

He glanced at the clear skies and sighed, reminiscing about how much he missed flying. Quidditch was a game he could never get enough of.

Flying had always been Harry's escape. It made him feel free, allowing him to forget all the bad things that had happened as he concentrated on soaring as high into the clouds as possible.

“And now, Harry, let us go and pursue the flighty temptress, Adventure,” Dumbledore said mysteriously, momentarily piquing Harry's curiosity. As they walked through the sprawling garden of Prince Manor, Harry remained silent.

He had never seen Dumbledore like this, away from official settings. A sense of apprehension washed over him, replacing the curiosity he once would have felt.

Dumbledore, however, seemed relaxed, as if he were merely heading out for a pack of lemon drops. Yet, Harry knew appearances could be deceiving.

Dumbledore’s next words sent chills down Harry’s spine and made his heart race. “Keep your wand at the ready, Harry,” he said, though his tone remained cheerful.

“But I’m not allowed to use magic outside of school, sir,” Harry pointed out, aware of the expected response. “If there’s an attack,” Dumbledore replied, “I give you permission to use any counter-jinx or curse that might come to mind.

However, I don’t think you need to worry about being attacked today.”

“Why not, sir?” Harry asked, struggling to keep the sarcasm in check. First, Dumbledore told him to be prepared, and now he was saying there wouldn’t be an attack?

It was confusing. “You’re with me,” Dumbledore said simply.

He then paused and added, “This will do, Harry.” 

Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. The old man certainly had a high opinion of himself; then again, he had reason to.

Voldemort was terrified of Dumbledore, which likely inflated his ego even more. “You haven’t, of course, passed your Apparition test?” Dumbledore inquired.

“No, sir. You need to be seventeen,” Harry replied, biting his lip as he struggled to keep his natural frustration in check.

Harry had never really had a problem until he came to live here. This place allowed him to be his true self, and last year, he had struggled to revert back to the golden boy image.

Now, it seemed impossible to keep his tongue in check. "You do," Dumbledore cheerfully agreed.

"So you'll have to hold on to my arm very tightly."

Side-along Apparition it was then. He grasped Dumbledore's arm firmly.

He heard Dumbledore speaking again, but he wasn't really paying attention. Suddenly, everything went black.

It felt as though he was being pressed from every direction; he could barely breathe. Then, just like that, he was able to breathe again.

He had experienced Apparition once before with Severus and was familiar with the sensation. Unfortunately, it didn't get any better; it still felt like being sucked through a very thin rubber tube.

Harry looked around with curiosity. Prince Manor had vanished, and they now stood in what appeared to be a deserted village square.

In the center, an old war memorial stood surrounded by a few benches. "Are you all right?" Dumbledore asked.

"The sensations do take some getting used to."

He sounded genuinely concerned, which only made Harry dislike him even more. "I'm fine," Harry replied flatly.

Truth be told, he hated Flooing and Apparating. He would much prefer riding a broom.

Unfortunately, that made one a big target—or rather, a bigger target in his case. Dumbledore simply smiled and drew his traveling cloak around him more tightly.

"This way," he said, and they set off at a brisk pace. Harry had no trouble keeping up; Severus was faster!

And he had been running for a few years now. "So tell me, Harry," Dumbledore began, "has your scar been hurting at all?"

"No," Harry replied automatically—though he certainly wouldn't tell Dumbledore if it did bother him.

Dumbledore nodded as if he had suspected as much. "It appears that Lord Voldemort is now employing Occlumency against you," he stated, his tone contemplative.

Harry hadn’t had a vision in quite some time. If he had, he would have certainly told Sirius, who in turn would have informed Dumbledore.

The thought of Voldemort being scared of him was amusing, and Harry had to stifle a laugh. “Where exactly are we, sir?” Harry asked as they passed a bus stop and a telephone box.

“This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton,” Dumbledore replied cheerfully. “What exactly are we doing here?” Harry pressed.

Were they even going after Horcruxes, or was Dumbledore up to something else? He wasn’t sure which scenario he preferred.

“Ah, yes, of course; I haven’t told you,” Dumbledore said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve mentioned this in recent years.

But we are, once again, one staff member short. We’re here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts.”

“How can I help with that, sir?” Harry asked impulsively, but his stomach sank as he realized the implication.

He was going to be dangled around like bait to lure some old teacher back to Hogwarts. They must be going to see Slughorn, the man Severus had mentioned.

Oh no, he was about to encounter another Lockhart situation, and he wanted to scream at Dumbledore for using him yet again. “Oh, I think we’ll find a use for you,” Dumbledore said, turning left.

Harry seethed silently for the rest of the walk to Slughorn’s house, wherever that might be. Suddenly, Dumbledore’s tone shifted.

“Oh dear, oh dear, dear, dear,” he said gravely. Harry’s head snapped up, and that’s when he saw it—the door had been torn off its hinges.

He instinctively grabbed his wand. He didn’t care what Dumbledore thought about his quick reaction; he would be damned if he let himself get hurt playing the role of “Harry Potter.” 

They walked the rest of the way up the garden path, Dumbledore pulling out his wand and casting a Lumos.

As he pushed the broken door open wider, Dumbledore said, “Follow me, Harry,” his illuminated wand guiding the way. Harry stayed right behind him, keeping a watchful eye on his back.

What greeted them was a scene of utter devastation; the entire place had been wrecked, as if someone had been searching for something—or someone. Harry thought grimly that this new teacher was setting a record for the worst introduction; he wouldn’t even make it to Hogwarts before something went wrong.

Then Dumbledore moved his wand, and Harry caught his breath. Blood was oozing down the wallpaper.

No one deserved that, not even someone like Lockhart. “Not pretty, is it?” Dumbledore commented, his voice heavy with concern.

It was clear he was upset by what he had discovered. Harry couldn't help but wonder, with a hint of bitterness, whether Dumbledore cared more about his plans or the person involved.

“Yes, something terrible happened here,” Dumbledore said, stepping further into the room. Harry stared at him, silently conveying, “No kidding.” The entire house lay in ruins, and it looked as if someone had died—though he wasn’t accustomed to the idea of Death Eaters or the Dark Lord cleaning up after themselves.

Suddenly, a man’s voice yelled, “Ouch!” Harry jumped and spun around, astonished to see that the sound had come from an armchair. To his disbelief, the armchair transformed into a man who was rubbing his belly, where Dumbledore had evidently poked him.

“There was no need to stick the wand in that hard,” the man grumbled, getting to his feet. “It hurt.” Harry snorted; he didn’t seem very tough, did he?

And this was going to be his new Potions teacher? Well, he certainly wondered what Potions class would be like this year.

Still, he was rather impressed. He couldn't wait to ask Severus how to pull off that trick—transfiguring yourself into an armchair!

You could hide in plain sight. He was genuinely amazed.

“What gave it away?” the man asked, looking a bit put out. “My dear…”

“Horace,” Dumbledore replied with a hint of amusement, “if the Death Eaters had truly come to call, the Dark Mark would have been hovering over the house.” 

Harry realized that the man had done this to himself; he had destroyed his own home in an attempt to make Dumbledore leave him alone.

“The Dark Mark,” he muttered. “I knew there was something… ah, well.

I wouldn’t have had time to do anything about it anyway. I had just put the finishing touches on the upholstery when you walked in.” 

“Would you like my assistance in cleaning up?” Dumbledore asked.

“Please,” Slughorn replied. Harry watched as both of them stood together, waving their wands in identical sweeping motions.

The entire room magically reassembled itself, looking as good as new. Harry would have been impressed, if he hadn’t seen Severus use that same spell to clean an entire house in even less time.

Still, he forced himself to look around in awe as he listened to their conversation about the blood on the wall. “Oho,” Slughorn said loudly.

Harry stared at him, but Slughorn's attention wasn’t on him; it was fixed on Harry's forehead. The scar he had carried since he was a baby marked him in this world long before he could speak.

Too bad the Dark Lord hadn’t aimed for his backside instead! Now that would be something—someone staring at his rear to determine if he really was Harry Potter.

He bit his lip to keep from asking Slughorn if he wanted a closer look as the man continued to repeat himself. “This,” Dumbledore said, moving closer to Harry, “is Harry Potter.

Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn.” 

“So, that’s how you thought you’d persuade me, is it? Well, the answer is no, Albus,” Slughorn said.

Harry felt a surge of respect for the man; he clearly wasn’t as foolish as he appeared. Slughorn looked away as if resisting temptation, and Harry just knew that by the end of the day, the man would agree to come.

“I suppose we can have a drink at…”

“Least?” Dumbledore asked. “For old times' sake?”

“Alright then, one drink,” Horace replied ungraciously, aware that Dumbledore was still going to press him.

Harry bit his lip, resisting the urge to shrug off Dumbledore's guiding hand, which had led him to the brightest spot in the room. Dumbledore clearly wanted to make Harry as visible as possible, and when Slughorn turned around, he seemed to realize this too.

It was as if they were both on the same wavelength regarding Dumbledore's intentions. “Humph,” Slughorn huffed, averting his gaze from Harry as if he were a tempting beer and Slughorn was an alcoholic.

“Here,” he said, handing the drink to Dumbledore and thrusting a tray toward Harry before sinking into a chair. This was ridiculous; he felt like he was being treated like a leper, and he didn’t appreciate it one bit.

“How have you been keeping, Horace?” Dumbledore asked, his tone filled with concern. “Not so well,” Slughorn responded immediately.

“Weak chest. Wheezy.

Rheumatism too. I can't move like I used to.

Well, that’s to be expected—old age. Fatigue.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us on such short notice. You can’t have had more than three minutes’ warning?”

“Two,” Slughorn replied.

“Didn’t hear my intruder Charm go off; I was taking a bath.” He added, “The fact remains, I’m an old man, Albus. A tired old man who’s earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts,” he said with a mixture of pride and irritation.

“You’re not as old as I am, Horace,” Dumbledore said, standing up abruptly. Slughorn stared at him with hope.

“Are you leaving?”

“No; I was wondering whether I might use the bathroom?” Dumbledore replied. “Oh,” Slughorn said, sounding disappointed.

“Second on the left down the hall.” He cast a furtive glance at Harry. “Don’t think I don’t know why he’s brought you,” he said grudgingly.

“Yes, because everyone…”

“I love being dangled around like bait,” Harry retorted, cursing himself inwardly. Great, he shouldn’t have said that.

“How long are you going to pretend you haven’t already decided to come?” 

“You look like your father, you know,” Slughorn said, changing the subject. “So I’ve been told,” Harry replied bluntly.

“Except for your eyes, you have…” 

“I know, I have my mother’s eyes,” Harry interjected, exasperated. He was tired of being compared to his parents every time he met someone new.

Even Remus Lupin had mentioned it when they first met. “Humph, yes, well… you shouldn’t have favorites when you’re a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine.

Your mother,” Slughorn added, as if he thought Harry didn’t understand. “Lily Evans was one of the brightest I ever taught.

Vivacious, you know, a charming girl. I used to tell her she should have been in my House; I got very cheeky answers back, too.” 

“I wouldn’t know; she died before I could remember her,” Harry snapped.

Perhaps he was more like his mother than he had ever realized. “Which house?” Harry asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“I was Head of Slytherin House,” Slughorn replied, then launched into a story about Sirius and Regulus. Harry began to see that Slughorn was something of a collector.

He prattled on for a while longer, but Harry listened with only half an ear, responding with barely any enthusiasm as Slughorn showed him old pictures of former students. “Oh, there you are, Albus,” Slughorn said.

“You’ve been in there a very long time. Upset stomach?” 

“No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazine,” Dumbledore answered, his eyes twinkling brightly as he observed both of them.

“I do love knitting patterns. Well, Harry, we have overstayed our welcome in Horace’s hospitality; I think it’s time for us to leave.” 

You have, Harry thought bitterly; it wasn’t as if he had asked to come here.

“You’re leaving?” Slughorn asked. Dumbledore looked taken aback.

"Yes indeed, I think I know a lost cause when I see one," he said, fastening his traveling cloak around him. Harry was doing the same, but his was a Muggle jacket, which he zipped up.

He rolled his eyes when none of them were looking; honestly, they all knew Slughorn would be at Hogwarts for the new year. "Lost?" Slughorn asked, and Harry realized he wasn't as clever as he had initially thought.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," Dumbledore replied. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again.

Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes… well… very gracious, as I say…" 

"Goodbye then," Dumbledore said, confident that Horace would agree before they left. "Bye," Harry said simply, wondering when the push would come and Slughorn would suddenly change his mind.

As they stepped out of the house, Harry started to think Slughorn wouldn’t say anything, but a shout from within confirmed his suspicions. "All right, all right, I'll do it!" Slughorn exclaimed, exasperated—and perhaps a bit desperate?

"You will come out of retirement?" Dumbledore asked, sounding genuinely shocked, as if he thought Slughorn was just teasing. "Yes, yes," Slughorn muttered.

"I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore cried happily. "Then we shall see you on the first of September!"

"Yes, I dare say you will," Slughorn replied dryly.

Harry smirked at him from behind Dumbledore's back. Slughorn realized that Harry was more like his mother than his father; the conversation they'd had, the dry wit...

no doubt Lily had inherited that from Severus, but he wondered where Harry had gotten it from. "I want a pay raise, Dumbledore!" Slughorn called out as they left, causing Dumbledore to chuckle.

They Apparated to Prince Manor once again; it was getting dark now. Harry pondered just how long he had been away.

“Harry, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year,” Dumbledore said before Harry could walk back to the manor. “Private, with you?” Harry asked, surprised.

What on earth was Dumbledore planning? Had he changed his mind and decided to train him?

No, that couldn’t be right; Dumbledore didn’t change his mind. He was as stubborn as a bull.

“Yes. I think it’s time I took a greater hand in your education,” Dumbledore explained.

“What will you be teaching me, sir?” Harry asked, eager for more information. “Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Dumbledore replied airily.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, realizing he wouldn’t find out until the time came. “I must also ask you, Harry, to keep your invisibility cloak with you at all times, especially at Hogwarts.

Just in case, do you understand?” Dumbledore asked, looking at him intently. “Yes, sir,” Harry acknowledged.

Now he was curious… why did Dumbledore want him to keep his cloak with him at all times? Did he think schoolchildren were going to kidnap him and send him to the Dark Lord?

“Very well. Go on then; tell Severus I shall see him soon,” Dumbledore said.

Harry grimaced at the thought of talking to Severus. “Yes, sir,” he grumbled before walking away.

Once he heard the familiar pop of Apparition, anger surged through him, his hands balled up. He just wanted to curse everything and anything.

He hated being manipulated, and even more, he hated his fame being used against him. “How did it go?” Severus asked as Harry entered the manor.

Severus was waiting for him by the stairs, and judging by the look on Harry's face, things hadn’t gone very well at all.