A New Place to Stay Chapter 48 - Harry Potter

Back at Hogwarts, Harry slips away from Gryffindor Tower to Severus’s quarters, where coffee, Dobby, and basilisk familiar Zar make the dungeons feel more like home than any dorm ever has. He lets Zar out of his tattoo form to roam Hogwarts’s hidden tunnels, accepts his mother’s old annotated Potions book from Severus with strict warnings about forbidden spells, and heads into a full first day of sixth year classes. McGonagall tries to steer Neville away from his grandmother’s expectations, Harry quietly backs his friend’s choices, and then everyone walks into Defence to find Snape in full terrifying professor mode. A brutal non verbal spell lesson ends with Harry deliberately goading Severus into giving him detention, and Slughorn’s first Potions class crowns Harry the winner of Felix Felicis, leaving Hermione rattled when his Draught of Living Death outperforms hers.

Transcript

**Chapter 48: Zar and the First Day of Classes**

As the first-year Gryffindors were led up the stairs to their common room by the prefects and Gryffindor Head Boy, Harry quietly slipped away. Over the past year, he had become quite familiar with the dungeons.

In fact, he had discovered secret spots that even his father hadn't found. He didn't know how to modify the map to include those locations, so he decided against trying.

He considered asking Sirius for help, but hesitated. He worried that it might make Sirius see him more as James than as Harry.

Was it so wrong to want his godfather to recognize him as his own person? His father had eventually done so, although he likely had Malfoy to thank for that.

If Malfoy hadn't cast that spell on him, he wouldn't have passed out twice and been discovered. Slipping into his father's quarters, Harry felt a genuine smile spread across his face for the first time since leaving Prince Manor.

The difference was remarkable. He had relaxed completely, and his usual façades faded away.

It was like an actor transforming back into themselves as soon as the camera turned off. "Dobby?" Harry called out, rummaging around the small kitchen.

"Yes, sir?" Dobby appeared, having returned to Hogwarts with them. With so many house-elves around, the teachers wouldn't notice one in particular missing unless they specifically called for Dobby.

Even if that happened, Dobby would have heard and come back. "Is there coffee in the kitchens, Dobby?

I can't seem to find any here," Harry asked. He still wasn't certain whether his dad bought the coffee himself or if the Hogwarts house-elves kept the canister filled, and he had never thought to ask.

"Dobby will get some, Harry, sir!" Dobby responded eagerly, always thrilled to help his Harry Potter or Master Severus. Harry chuckled to himself as he set the kettle on the stove.

The Aguamenti spell only produced cold water, and he had yet to hear of a spell that could heat it up. He didn’t believe it was possible, otherwise, they wouldn’t have to wait for the kettle to boil.

There might be a spell out there, though, and it might... the worn T-shirt underneath.

He knew it wouldn’t be as nice as actual, normal boiled water. Shaking off his thoughts, he remembered that Neville had gone to the Gryffindor common room to finish his homework.

Normally, Harry would have been doing the same—or at least trying to—only to end up distracted by everyone’s holiday stories and catching up. But things were different now, especially with a meticulous, demanding teacher for a dad.

One of the first things he did when he got home was tackle his homework. He had it all done within the first week, and he had even gone above and beyond what the teachers had asked for.

He was truly putting Hermione Granger to shame. When Dobby returned, he had an entire box filled with supplies.

With a wave of his hand, he began putting things away, opening cupboards and placing items where they usually belonged. Harry watched in amazement; he couldn’t understand why house-elves weren’t used for more important tasks.

They could perform wandless magic, controlling their magic without a wand, which Harry found incredibly impressive. “Dobby, could you go and get some treats for Zar?” Harry asked, reaching into his bag to pull out some money.

Once again, Severus had covered the costs for his books and everything he needed for Hogwarts. It felt odd; Severus had been paying for his supplies for years, except for last year.

He had kept his key safe since being reprimanded by his dad. Apparently, you weren’t supposed to let anyone else handle it.

Severus was probably right, but Harry had trusted Molly completely. He figured the rat population was likely down, especially around Hogwarts.

It took a lot of food to satisfy Zar; the creature was so big that it was no surprise. “Yes, sir!” Dobby said, accepting the money before disappearing.

Harry wasn’t sure if Dobby could find anything in Diagon Alley; it was all boarded up, and he hoped the elf would be safe. The Death Eaters had destroyed what was once a beautiful place—at least, it had been beautiful to him.

When he had first seen it, he wished he had eight eyes just to take in everything that the charming cobblestoned alley had to offer. Harry removed his cloak, revealing the worn T-shirt underneath.

Zar rested comfortably on his arm. It wasn’t small; in fact, the tattoo was enormous, taking up most of the space on his forearm.

The tail wrapped around his wrist, while the body slithered up to his upper arm. Zar’s striking amber eyes were prominently displayed, along with a fierce set of teeth.

The scales mirrored Zar's own, multicolored and vibrant. Harry found himself really liking it.

He almost entertained the idea of getting a tattoo for real. It would be another way for him to express who he wanted to be, rather than conforming to what the world expected.

He thought about how he hadn’t spotted any tattoo parlors in the magical world. Perhaps it was just a matter of using a spell to create a permanent design.

Zar usually preferred to stay in the lower levels of Hogwarts or outside until late at night before returning. Harry had made sure Zar understood that people might be afraid of him and could try to hurt him if they saw him.

He didn’t want that for his friend. “Zar, come off now,” Harry commanded, hissing in Parseltongue.

A soft hiss echoed before the tattoo vanished, and Zar returned to his normal, massive form. He filled the entire living area.

Harry wished he could make him smaller, like before, so he could carry him around. “Go on then, have fun.” Zar let out a long hiss, which sounded like agreement or amusement, before slithering off through the secret tunnels that Hogwarts had created for him a year ago.

There were two paths he could take: deeper into Hogwarts or outside altogether. It was a part of the castle that students rarely visited.

Most preferred the lake, the pitch, or the edge of the forest; Harry couldn’t recall ever exploring that side of the castle during his years as a student. Once the room fell silent and he could no longer hear Zar, Harry headed back to the kitchen to make coffee for himself and his dad.

He had never paid much attention to coffee before, but recently, he found himself enjoying it more and more. The early mornings and long evenings were taking their toll.

They had hit a standstill with the Horcruxes, unsure of where the others might be hidden. They had a rough idea of who might possess them, but the locations remained a mystery.

Harry noticed that his dad seemed preoccupied with perfecting the potion for him. It felt strange to have someone so invested in his well-being, especially without any hidden agenda.

Just as Harry poured the coffee into their cups and settled down, Severus joined him. He gratefully accepted his own cup and sat, a sigh escaping his lips.

It was clear he was lost in thought, likely concerning his godson, Draco Malfoy. Harry felt a surprising pang of jealousy at the thought.

Jealousy was something he knew well. Growing up with Dudley Dursley, who had everything handed to him on a silver platter, had made anyone envious.

He’d been jealous of Ron’s wonderful family before, but he had never felt this way about Draco Malfoy, nor with such intensity. “Here, this used to belong to my mother before I started using it during my sixth year at Hogwarts,” Severus said, handing Harry a book.

Curiously, Harry took it and began flipping through the pages, noticing that every one of them was filled with markings in the margins. Tilting his head, he read the notes and realized they made the potions more effective than the original recipes.

Even more intriguing were the Latin phrases he found, discussing potions but lacking the actual ingredients. His knowledge of Latin was sufficient for him to recognize that one spell, in particular, should not be attempted.

“The spells are not to be used. If you try, Harry, you will find the consequences severe,” Severus warned, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sixteen or not, he would take the boy over his knee and deliver a spanking he would never forget. Severus had never raised a hand to a child, but he believed in the necessity of discipline.

"I understand," Harry said seriously. He knew that Severus would keep his word; the mere thought of trying those spells was enough to deter him.

"Good," Severus replied. "You should head up to your dorm.

It's nearly curfew. Remember to meditate before bed."

"I will," Harry assured him as he stood up.

"Goodnight, Severus." He slipped on his invisibility cloak and made his way out. Harry was cleared to continue all his classes: Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration, and the Healing course.

He had even taken on Ancient Runes. The one class he no longer wanted to attend was Divination; he had received two prophecies about himself from that woman, and he didn’t want any more.

He waited for Neville, even though most of their classmates usually left right after getting their timetables. "Herbology is all set," Professor McGonagall announced.

"Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an outstanding O.W.L. You also qualify for Defence Against the Dark Arts with an Outstanding.

As for Transfiguration... I'm afraid, Longbottom, that an Acceptable isn't enough for you to continue to N.E.W.T.

level. You won’t be able to handle the workload.

Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I thought you didn’t enjoy it."

"My grandmother wants me to," Neville replied, his face turning red.

"It's fine, Neville; I'll help you," Harry said, shooting a glare at his teacher's back. Head of House or not, they should be encouraging their students, not bringing them down.

"Why not try Charms? You received an Exceeded Expectations in that," Minerva suggested.

Harry bit his lip, choosing not to comment. Neville had achieved that because he had helped him master the Patronus Charm.

"My grandmother thinks it's a soft option," Neville said. "Take Charms," Minerva insisted.

"And I’ll drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., it doesn’t mean the subject is worthless."

With that, she handed him his timetable and moved on to the next student. Neville stood there, gaping at her in shock.

"She's right, you know, Nev. It's you who has to live with your career choice, not your Gran.

Before it's too late, choose what you want to do. I'd like to think our parents would be proud of whatever we decide, don't you?" Harry said seriously.

Severus had shared the same sentiment with him; it was why he no longer felt desperate to become an Auror, seeking everyone's approval. "True," Neville replied thoughtfully.

"I have Ancient Runes, Nev. I'll see you in the next lesson—Defence," Harry said, trying to suppress his amusement at the look of dread on Neville's face.

Poor Neville really seemed like he was about to have a nervous breakdown. Maybe now, without Potions, Severus wouldn’t be so harsh on him.

Neville truly struggled in Potions; his nerves always got the better of him. Two hours later, Neville and Harry leaned against the wall, waiting for Snape.

Everyone else was gossiping around them. Hermione was complaining to Ron about the mountain of homework they had just received for Runes.

Instead of putting her books in her bag, she was carrying them around, which Harry found puzzling. "What do you think it’s going to be like?" Neville asked, looking as though he might be sick.

Harry's first thought was, “Hell,” but he didn’t want to scare Neville any more than he already was. He found it hard to stifle his laughter; he knew his dad was all bark and no bite—unless someone really got on his nerves.

His dad had invented spells when he was sixteen; Harry couldn’t imagine doing that. He was so smart, he could have pursued anything, yet here he was, teaching students.

He had definitely been excited about teaching Defence, and he had been so smug when he told Harry about it. Harry was curious to see what he would teach.

"Inside!" Severus barked, magically opening the door and watching the students as they filed in. The students trudged into the room, placing their books on the tables while taking in their surroundings with wide eyes.

Harry noticed that Severus had transformed the space to resemble his office. If they truly knew him, they would understand that this was all a facade.

His manor and the rooms at Hogwarts were nothing like this; he was doing it to instill fear. Even Harry found it difficult to look at the gruesome pictures adorning the walls.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," Snape said, closing the door and scrutinizing each student, his gaze lingering on Harry longer than the others. "You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe."

Harry bit his tongue to suppress a grin; the pain helped him focus.

As if his father didn’t already know how many teachers they’d had—each one irritating Severus to no end. "Naturally, these teachers have had their own methods and priorities.

Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you managed to scrape an O.W.L. in this subject.

I will be even more surprised if all of you can keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced."

"The Dark Arts," Snape lectured, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal.

Fighting them is like battling a many-headed monster, which sprouts an even fiercer and cleverer head each time one is severed. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, and indestructible."

Harry's mind flashed back to his first potions lesson.

Snape had a passion for both subjects, evident in his voice. He spoke with a poetic intensity that could send shivers down your spine.

His grandmother had even written that in the book she gave Severus, which he later passed on to Harry, who cherished it deeply. "Your defenses," Snape continued, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the Arts you seek to undo.

These pictures provide a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer the Cruciatus curse or experience the Dementor's Kiss, or—"

"Provoke the aggression of the Inferius," Snape instructed. "Has an Inferius been seen, then?" Patil asked, her voice trembling with fear.

"Is it definite? Is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," Snape replied.

"That means you would be wise to assume he might use them again. Now, I believe you are novices in the use of non-verbal spells.

What is the advantage of a non-verbal spell?"

Harry blinked and looked around the room. He had just mentioned the term "Dark Lord," yet no one seemed to grasp its significance.

Only those aligned with him used that name; everyone else referred to him as "You-Know-Who." 

Hermione's hand shot up, and Severus scanned the room, his irritation evident as he noted she was the only one eager to participate. Finally, Harry decided to raise his hand as well.

He wondered whom Severus would choose—Hermione or him. He knew it might not be him; after all, they both had roles to play.

"Mr. Potter," Severus acknowledged, his voice dripping with disdain, as it always was when his name was mentioned publicly.

"Your opponent has no idea what spell you're casting at them," Harry explained. "They need to figure it out before they can defend against it.

That gives you the upper hand."

"Indeed," Severus intoned dryly. "Not all wizards can do this, of course.

It's a matter of concentration and mental strength, which some lack."

Harry shot a glare at Severus, fully aware that this was directed at him. In reality, he was quite skilled at non-verbal spells.

"Divide into pairs and try it for yourselves. I want complete silence, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," the class muttered in unison.

Harry paired up with Neville, who was practically shaking under Severus's watchful gaze. "Pathetic, Longbottom," Snape sneered.

"Here—let me show you—" He quickly turned his wand toward Harry. In response, Harry raised a shield non-verbally, faster than any novice student should be able to.

"Do you remember me telling you we were practicing non-verbal spells, Potter?" Professor Snape sneered, his tone suggesting that Harry had somehow cheated and spoken the words aloud, even though they both knew he hadn't. The other students, however, began to wonder if maybe he had.

It was all too easy to trick people into believing whatever you wanted them to. "Yes," Harry replied, meeting Snape's glare with one of his own.

"Yes, sir," Snape snapped, clearly annoyed by Harry's disrespect. "There's no need to call me 'sir,' professor," Harry said, deliberately provoking him.

After all, it would be strange not to receive detention in his first class; it had become something of a tradition for him. "Detention, Potter.

Saturday night, my office." Snape's glare could have ignited a fire if it were possible. "Harry, what were you thinking, goading him like that?" Neville asked as they made their way toward the dungeons.

Harry had guts in spades; Neville wished he could be more like his friend. But he felt terrified every time he faced Professor Snape.

"Harry! Hey, Harry!" shouted Jack Sloper, a familiar face from last year's Quidditch team.

If Ron had any sense, he wouldn't let Jack back on the team. "What?" Harry replied sharply.

"Here," Jack said, handing him a note before racing off toward Ronald Weasley, who was already talking about the upcoming Quidditch trials. "That should have been you," Neville commented.

Harry had always been the best and most daring player on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. "I've got too much to do without being hounded about Quidditch," Harry said, shaking his head as he opened the letter.

His heart sank when he saw the contents. Saturday?

Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about getting double detention for not being able to attend. Dear Harry, 

I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday.

Kindly come to my office at eight p.m. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore wrote, "P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops." Harry would never understand why he phrased his postscript that way; it was obvious to everyone at the school what it would be.

"What do you have, Nev?" Harry asked. "Another free class, but Luna has one too, so we’re going to meet up.

Want to come?" Neville replied. "I have Potions next," Harry said regretfully.

"I'll meet up with you in the Great Hall at lunchtime?" he suggested. "All right!

See you then!" Neville said as they parted ways—Harry heading to the Dungeons while Neville went to find Luna. Before long, Harry found himself waiting outside the Potions classroom.

The atmosphere felt different; everyone wasn't as tense, and the Slytherins didn’t seem as smug—though that might have had something to do with what Harry had told them. The only one who seemed unchanged was Blaise Zabini, but Harry doubted he had Death Eater parents.

He had never heard the name Zabini come up, anyway. They were all let in, and Slughorn paid particular attention to Harry and Zabini.

The four Slytherins settled together, while four Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff, Ernie, filled the remaining seats. He and Hermione were the only Gryffindors.

She sat next to him quietly and hesitantly, while Ernie chose them as the safest option. "Now, I've picked a few potions for you all to look at!" Slughorn announced.

"You should already know them. Can anyone tell me what this one is?" 

Harry and Hermione's hands shot up eagerly.

"Yes, Harry!" Slughorn said, beaming at the sixth-year. "It's Veritaserum, the truth potion," Harry answered simply.

"Excellent! Five points to Gryffindor!

Now, what about this one?" Slughorn asked, standing in front of another potion. "Yes, Harry?" 

Slughorn was over the moon that Harry was so skilled at Potions, completely overlooking the frantic hand waving next to him.

"Polyjuice Potion," Harry replied. "Excellent!

Do you—"

"Do you know the next one?" Slughorn asked, bemused by the way Hermione kept her hand raised before turning his attention back to Harry. "Amortentia," Harry replied with a wry smile, amused by the situation.

He couldn't remember a time when Hermione had been ignored like this. "It's the most powerful love potion in our world."

While Slughorn rambled on about the potion, Harry pulled out his Potions book—the one Severus had given him.

The other one was tucked away at the bottom of his trunk to avoid any mix-up. His interest piqued when he realized Slughorn was giving the students a chance to win Felix Felicis.

He doubted Severus would be pleased about that; it could be extremely toxic in large quantities. As for the Draught of Living Death—that was a real challenge.

He hadn't brewed that potion yet, but he found it fascinating how someone could pretend to be dead. He wondered whether the effect wore off on its own or if an antidote had to be administered.

Harry decided to follow Severus' instructions instead of the ones on the paper. He wasn't foolish enough to ignore the Potions Master.

Throughout the brewing process, he focused solely on his own bubbling potion, not glancing at the others, even when Malfoy chimed in about his grandfather, someone named Abraxas. Dragon pox...

he mused, wondering if it was similar to chicken pox. "Time's up!" Slughorn called.

"Stop stirring and step away from your cauldrons."

Harry finally looked around at the other potions. Next to him, Hermione's potion had turned the right color, but his was even paler, indicating that it was more potent than hers.

Once again, he felt a surge of admiration for his dad. He had always known James was brilliant, but this was proof.

He could have been an excellent Potions teacher if he had chosen to do this instead of yelling all the time. "The clear winner!" Slughorn exclaimed after inspecting everyone's cauldrons.

It didn't take long, given there were only eleven students in the class. "Excellent, Harry!

Good Lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was quite skilled at Potions, your mother was!

Here you are, then—one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. Use it wisely!"

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

It was amusing; for five years, he'd been compared to his father in this very classroom. Now, with a twist of fate, he was being compared to his mother.

"How did you do that?" Hermione demanded as Harry left the dungeons. She couldn't believe he had brewed a potion better than hers; Potions had always been her strong suit.

Her concoctions had consistently been perfect, even last year when Harry excelled in all his other classes. She was shocked he'd received an Outstanding; he had never shown much promise in Potions before.

It felt as if she were losing her mind; Professor Slughorn hadn’t even commented on her potion. "The same way you did: I followed the instructions," Harry said, sighing as he quickened his pace, hoping to escape her questioning.

"Not the same way! Otherwise, our potions would have turned out the same!" Hermione insisted.

"Is that what it comes down to? The fact that I managed to brew a potion better than you?" Harry snapped.

He wondered how she would have reacted if they were still friends. No doubt, she would have pressed him for answers and then critiqued his methods.

He felt a wave of relief as the golden doors of the Great Hall came into view. He slipped inside and made his way toward Neville.

Thankfully, Hermione seemed to understand and retreated to her own seat beside Ron, looking dejected. "Hey, Harry, how was your class?" Neville asked, filling his plate as Harry joined him.

"Slughorn's great; I think you would have liked him," Harry said. He was the kind of teacher Neville needed—encouraging, supportive, and quick to celebrate successes.

He hadn’t mentioned anyone’s failed potions; he’d just smiled in sympathy. "No, I’d rather avoid it," Neville replied, shaking his head.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he filled his plate. "What's wrong with Hermione?" Neville whispered, glancing over at her.

She looked as though she had stuck her finger in a socket. Her hair was bushier than Neville had ever seen, and her eyes were wide and desperate.

Without hesitation, she sank behind a potions book, frantically searching for something. "Oh, that?

I brewed a potion better than hers," Harry said, trying to downplay it. He wasn't gloating, exactly.

"You're joking!" Neville exclaimed, nearly bursting into laughter. He couldn't believe it.

No one had ever beaten Hermione for the best grade in Potions, except for Draco Malfoy. They had been in a fierce competition for the top spot for years.

"No," Harry insisted. With the right directions, he was sure even Neville could brew a potion successfully.

He considered helping Neville; there wasn't much more he could teach him in Defense Against the Dark Arts without revealing his true abilities. If he did, he would have to be very sneaky about it.

He trusted Neville a lot, but without any mind shields, Neville was vulnerable to Dumbledore's probing. "Well done, mate," Neville said, genuinely impressed.

"Thanks," Harry replied. But deep down, he knew that if it hadn't been for his dad's instructions, he wouldn't have brewed the potion better than Hermione.

At the very least, they would have ended up with the same result. Speaking of Severus, he wondered what his reaction would be to the letter he had received from Dumbledore.

Harry sensed that he wasn’t pleased about the private lessons, even if he hadn’t voiced it. He himself felt a twinge of apprehension about the upcoming lessons, whatever they might entail.