A New Place to Stay Chapter 50 - Harry Potter

Harry wakes from yet another nightmare of Voldemort killing Severus, shaken but grateful that his Occlumency shields keep the visions from being real. Too restless to sleep, he grabs an early shower, talks with Neville about the Ministry arresting innocent people like Stan Shunpike, and admits he would rather spend Sunday morning in the Room of Requirement than anywhere near Dumbledore. Training brings real progress as Harry coaches Neville through nonverbal spells, shield charms, and confidence, all while hiding the truth about the basilisk tattoo that is really his familiar Zar. Over breakfast under the watchful eyes of the staff, Harry reflects that the Headmaster gave him misery while Severus accidentally gave him what he wanted most: a family. Down in the castle, Severus tracks Draco to the library and discovers his godson researching the Dark Lord and Tom Riddle, proof that Harry’s revelation about Voldemort being a half blood has landed. Draco is fraying under the weight of the Mark and impossible orders, and Severus can only promise that if Draco comes to him, he will do anything in his power to help. Nightmares, lessons, and shifting loyalties collide in a chapter that sits right at the heart of A New Place To Stay.

Transcript

**Chapter 50: Nightmares and Lessons**

"You betrayed me, Severus," hissed Voldemort. The image of Severus stood proud and tall, never once wavering, showing no fear to the monster before him.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort snarled, his wand releasing the green light that would end Severus' life. "NO!" Harry screamed, his body lifting from the bed as he unconsciously reached for the wizard he loved like a father.

Trembling and breathing heavily, he shivered with cold, drenched in sweat. He swallowed thickly and lay back down, trying to calm his racing heart.

This wasn’t the first nightmare he’d experienced; in fact, they were becoming increasingly frequent. At least they were just ordinary nightmares, since his Occlumency shields were holding strong.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he grabbed his wand and cast a spell to check the time. It was six a.m., still far too early for anyone to be awake.

He couldn't remain in this bed, soaked with sweat. Swinging his legs over the side, he slipped his feet into his red slippers.

Quietly, he made his way to his trunk and retrieved his clothes and toiletries. Since he wasn’t going to get back to sleep, he might as well take a shower.

It would save him the wait until everyone else was done—a challenge of sharing a tower with so many classmates. Closing the dorm door behind him, he headed for the shower stalls, placing his clothes on the bench in the middle.

There were no classes today; it was Sunday, and he was extremely grateful for that. Stepping inside, he closed the curtain and turned on the shower.

The water was already warm, unlike the Muggle showers that were cold for a few moments before heating up. He placed his toiletry bag on the shelf, ready for use when he needed it.

His nonverbal spell-casting was progressing well. The only real downside to his week was that Stan Shunpike had been arrested.

Harry grabbed his... Harry lathered shampoo into his long black hair, lost in thought.

There was no way Stan could be a Death Eater. Was this really how they planned to operate—arresting innocent people?

Sometimes, he questioned why he wanted to be part of the magical world at all. It felt like there was no redeeming some people, yet he loved magic too much to walk away from it.

Today were the Quidditch tryouts, and he found himself tempted to participate. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, but he was eager to show off his new broom.

Harry realized he was more like his mother than he liked to admit, often cutting off his nose to spite his face. Still, there was only so much a person could endure before snapping.

With someone who cared about him in his life, Harry felt less afraid of what others thought. Having that support was a godsend, and he was grateful to Dumbledore for one thing.

In his attempt to make Harry miserable, Dumbledore had inadvertently given him what he wanted most—a family. Today, he had "detention" with Severus.

Nobody seemed to suspect anything was amiss; they still believed that he and Severus hated each other. He supposed that was part of the plan.

He would never do anything to jeopardize Severus' position as a spy. In a few days, he had another "lesson" with Dumbledore, and he wasn't looking forward to it at all.

He despised spending time with him now. A few years ago, he would have forgiven anything just for a bit of attention from Dumbledore.

Back then, it seemed like he really cared, but Harry had been a fool to think that. Dumbledore expected him to die; he knew Harry was a Horcrux and was doing nothing about it.

Meanwhile, Severus was tirelessly working on a potion to remove it. In Harry's opinion, Dumbledore couldn't be further from caring.

"Harry?" Neville called as he entered the shower room. "Yes?" Harry replied.

"I thought it was you. No run today?" Neville commented, turning on his own shower and getting ready for the day.

"Nope." Harry didn't really feel like explaining. Harry needed to run every day, and he was about as fit as he was ever going to be.

He still kept up his routine during the week, with Neville joining him more often than not—if he was awake. "Are we going to the Room of Requirement today?" Neville asked.

"Only for a while; I have detention with Snape," Harry replied, sighing in exasperation. He couldn’t muster the energy to pretend he hated Snape.

Neville chuckled weakly. "You shouldn't have spoken back to him!" He still thought Harry was crazy for doing that.

"It was still funny, though," Harry said with a smug grin. Neville didn’t respond.

Truth be told, he was still terrified of Professor Snape. The man had intimidated him ever since he first set foot in Hogwarts.

After growing up with his Gran, you’d think he’d be used to it, but he wasn’t. In fact, he felt that Snape was even scarier than his grandmother.

It didn’t help that he couldn't brew potions to save himself. He knew his herbs, but potion ingredients had never been his strong suit.

Snape didn't teach Potions anymore, but unfortunately, Neville found that he was no better at casting spells with Snape around than he was at brewing. However, with Harry’s help, he seemed to be improving.

He had even managed to come in second at casting the Patronus Charm. Harry smiled and shook his head, reaching for the towel that hung on a hook just outside the shower stall.

The house-elves always kept them stocked, yet they were never seen doing so. Turning off the shower with one hand, he dried himself before stepping out and getting dressed.

"Whoa!" Neville exclaimed, staring at Harry with wide eyes, completely gaping. Harry spun around, hastily putting on his t-shirt and jumper, once again covering the basilisk tattoo.

Nobody else had seen it so far, so he arched an eyebrow, waiting for Neville to regain his composure. "Finished?" he asked sarcastically.

"B-but where did you get a tattoo? You need to be seventeen!" Neville protested, still clearly astonished.

You had to be of age to get magical tattoos; there was no option for parental consent. It was similar to getting your ears pierced—anything involving blood required you to be of age.

"There's a spell that lets you do it," Harry said, hoping Neville wouldn't dig deeper and discover that his tattoo was actually his familiar... and a basilisk, at that.

"Really? I've never seen one," Neville replied, eyeing Harry with curiosity.

"Yup." Harry wasn't sure if Neville believed him, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. He felt a twinge of guilt for lying; unfortunately, deception had become all too familiar for him.

It was necessary, not just to protect Severus, but to safeguard himself as well. Very few people knew how he was treated at home.

"Come on then; I'm starving," he added after a yawn. "I wonder who they arrested today," Neville muttered bitterly.

He and Harry had gotten into a heated discussion about it recently. Both were disgusted by how the Ministry was handling the situation.

Arresting innocent people wouldn’t make everything go away. What could they do, though?

They were just sixteen years old; nobody would listen to them. Neville desperately wanted to be involved, to prove himself.

That was why he was training with Harry. He knew spells above sixth-year—something he shouldn’t have known—but he didn’t care.

He trusted Harry more than anyone else. He would have Harry’s back, and Harry would have his.

There was no one else he would follow to the depths of hell. At least Harry didn’t laugh at him or ridicule him when he made mistakes.

"Maybe they'll have the sense to keep quiet about it," Harry snorted derisively. "I doubt it," Neville replied, sharing Harry's disdain for the Ministry.

They were at war, and innocent people were being arrested—how much worse could it get? The Great Hall was mostly empty, as nobody wanted to get out of bed too early.

A few older students, primarily Ravenclaws, were eating breakfast with books propped open in front of them. They settled into their usual spot, ignoring the curious glances from the teachers.

It seemed like everyone was watching him these days. Whether it was because of his work or the fact that he wasn’t hanging out with Hermione and Ron, or simply because he was up so early, they all assumed he was up to something.

Dumbledore’s gaze was the most intense—proud and grandfatherly, as if he could see right through him. “Nothing in the newspaper today,” Neville said, thoughtfully chewing on a piece of bacon.

“I don’t know why we even bother reading it. It’s just a bunch of nonsense, designed to manipulate us,” Harry replied, shaking his head as he took a bite of toast, scooping up some scrambled eggs.

He still felt quite hungry. “Mmm,” Neville murmured, his eyes still glued to The Prophet.

Harry just smirked and shook his head. “Want to read it?” Neville offered, extending the paper.

“Nah, let’s go,” Harry said, noticing Hermione walking in. On a whim, he grabbed an orange from the table.

She had been more insufferable lately. Harry blinked at his own thoughts.

Had he really just called her insufferable? Oh Merlin, he was becoming more and more like Severus every day.

“You can’t avoid her forever, you know,” Neville chuckled as they headed out. “Want to bet?” Harry replied wryly.

“She tried to steal my potions book!” His voice rose indignantly at the end. “Yeah, that was pretty stupid,” Neville agreed as they raced up the stairs toward the Room of Requirement.

Neville knew about the revised instructions hidden inside; it was a shame he hadn’t continued with Potions. He had followed the instructions and actually managed to brew the potion correctly—maybe a bit off-color, but it was still what it was supposed to be.

Whoever wrote it was better than Snape ever was! Unfortunately, he couldn’t switch classes now.

Slughorn hadn’t bothered him since the train ride, but Harry wasn’t so lucky. Slughorn kept trying to be overly friendly.

Harry wasn't having any of it, though. He kept things strictly teacher and student.

It felt just like Lockhart all over again, and he shuddered at the thought. "Too bad you can’t Obliviate Slughorn, too," Neville remarked.

"I swear I could have cursed her for that," Harry replied, thinking about the spells he knew. But, considering the consequences, that wouldn't be a good idea.

"Yeah, I saw," Neville said, recalling how Harry had actually picked up his wand, ready to cast a spell. Oddly enough, his arm had gone straight to his calf instead of his wrist.

Neville suspected that Harry had a second wand. It saddened him that Harry didn’t trust him completely, especially after revealing his tattoo—a huge snake on his arm!

It looked so real and impressive. He doubted the others would understand; they’d probably just complain because it was a snake.

But Harry was a Parselmouth, so it made sense that he would appreciate them. Harry began to pace, wanting, no, needing the training room.

One, two, three, and then the door materialized in front of them. Neville had figured out how to work the room; he was pretty much an expert at it.

Walking in, they found it as they usually did: training dummies lined up in a row, with a platform set aside for one-on-one dueling. The dummies were good, but not perfect—after all, people moved, and dummies did not.

Luna sometimes joined them. "All right, we should start with nonverbal spells; you seem to have some trouble with that," Harry said as he took his wand from its holster.

"It's hard!" Neville protested. "Yeah, it is at first, but once you know a few spells, they become really easy," Harry encouraged him.

He focused on the room and willed it to add a feather, deciding to start with a first-year spell. "All right, Nev, face the table and levitate it."

"That's a first-year spell," Neville groaned, suddenly remembering his first Charms class—although thankfully…

The attention hadn’t been on Neville that day.

He hadn’t managed to make his feather explode, and then Hermione had effortlessly levitated hers. It had taken him weeks to get it right; he was probably the third to last person to master the spell.

The last two were Slytherin boys, Crabbe and Goyle, who, from what he’d heard, were only taking two classes this year. Harry smirked, unable to help himself.

“Told you, it gets easier once you’ve tried a few spells.”

“Oh, all right,” Neville grumbled. He narrowed his eyes at the feather, wand raised, and inwardly chanted the spell he wanted: “Wingardium Leviosa.” He knew he could do it; after all, he had produced a fully-fledged Patronus, for Merlin’s sake.

His confidence grew with each thought, and the feather began to float smugly through the air. “See?

Now try another one,” Harry said, watching Neville with pride. This was his doing, and it felt good to teach someone something.

Much better than being an Auror, but not as fulfilling as being a healer. He shook off those thoughts; there was no point in dwelling on them until the war was over.

“Hmm, which one?” Neville murmured, contemplating the disarming spell. He focused, and a beam of light shot from his wand, hitting the table and blasting it to pieces.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” Harry nodded in approval. “Why didn’t Snape do that?” Neville asked, feeling aggrieved.

“It’s not his job to teach you spells you already know,” Harry said without thinking it through. “True,” Neville acknowledged.

“Can we try the shield charm now?”

“Go on then,” Harry replied, removing his wand. He would be testing the effectiveness of Neville’s spell.

---

Severus Snape stalked down the corridor, his mind set on a single aim: to discover what Draco Malfoy had planned. He could barely believe the Dark Lord had marked him—only sixteen years old and still not out of Hogwarts.

Snape had been watching him very closely, and when Draco thought nobody was looking…

A look of weariness spread across Severus's face. Whatever the Dark Lord wanted him to do was clearly taking its toll.

He had to be cautious with his words; his godson lacked proper mental shields. Anything he said could be exposed if the Dark Lord invaded his mind.

Draco had been spending a lot of time in the library, and Severus feared it was to search for spells related to whatever plan he was concocting. So it didn’t surprise him when Draco returned there once again.

As usual, Draco seemed oblivious, completely unaware of his godfather's presence. He wouldn’t make a good Death Eater; he lacked the instincts to be discreet and was far too loud and obvious.

Harry had discovered Draco's mark on the train—who else knew? Severus watched his godson with curiosity, noting that he wasn’t in the Dark Arts section.

No, he was actually doing research. Arching an eyebrow, Severus crept closer, shock washing over him as he realized Draco was researching the Dark Lord.

He even knew the true name! What had prompted him to do that?

Severus groaned quietly; he had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer—Harry. What had his son been up to?

He might have just saved this generation of students from repeating their parents’ mistakes. If only it were that simple; most Slytherins felt they had no choice.

They did what they had to survive, which often included aligning with the Dark Lord. “He was right,” Draco muttered in disbelief, staring at the information before him.

Half of him had suspected Potter was lying, yet here was the truth laid out. Then again, Potter didn’t make a habit of lying; he spoke the truth, whether people wanted to hear it or not.

Draco was marked by a Mudblood—he couldn’t care less that this Mudblood was also the heir of Salazar Slytherin. Merlin, what was he supposed to do now?

Unconsciously, he began to scratch at the Mark hidden beneath his clothes, trying to comprehend and devise a plan. As he looked around, he realized exactly where he was.

He cursed silently as he gathered his things and dashed out of the library. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.

He was a Malfoy, and showing emotions in public was out of the question. That was the first lesson his parents had ingrained in him since childhood.

His mother… he wished he could confide in her, but it was too dangerous. His aunt might still be lurking around, and she was unpredictable enough to harm her and then come after him.

Family meant nothing to Bellatrix, and he was grateful to be back at Hogwarts. Anything to escape Malfoy Manor, which had once been his home and safe haven—until this summer.

“Draco, do watch where you are going,” Severus said, peering down at his godson with a stern gaze, catching a glimpse of the turmoil within him. Draco was clearly conflicted, hurt, and deeply afraid of the new information he had uncovered.

“Sorry, sir,” Draco replied, standing tall and proud, making an effort not to reveal his nervousness. He knew his godfather was a Death Eater, but Severus had always prioritized him.

Yet, he wondered if that loyalty would hold against the Dark Lord. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out anytime soon.

“What are you up to?” Severus asked, his tone suspicious, hoping to uncover a hint of Draco's plans. “Nothing, sir, just some homework,” Draco answered, keeping his expression neutral.

“Indeed?” Severus replied. “Very well, then, off you go.” There was nothing he could do about it; Draco was clearly avoiding the issue.

Still, he was desperate to know what Draco had been ordered to do to prove his worth to the Dark Lord. There were only two viable targets: Harry or Dumbledore, both of whom he feared deeply.

Targeting Harry made sense, but the Dark Lord insisted on being the one to kill him. That left Dumbledore as the only other option.

There was no way Draco could carry out such a task, yet perhaps that was the point. Maybe Draco wasn’t meant to succeed—just another way to punish the son and the mother for the father’s mistakes.

Draco walked away, relief coursing through him. He couldn’t let Severus see the books he had.

He wasn't sure if he was protecting his godfather or shielding himself from the man. Everything felt overwhelming these days.

It was amusing, really, but Draco wished he could return to a simpler time—back to when he was eleven and his only concerns were school, friends, house points, and perhaps a few schoolboy rivalries. Now, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at Potter.

“And, Draco?” Severus called, watching as his godson stopped and stiffened before turning around. “Yes, sir?” Draco replied, curiosity creeping into his voice.

“If you ever need me, all you have to do is come to me. I will do anything and everything in my power to help you,” Severus said sincerely.

The ball was in Draco’s court now; it was his decision to make. Severus had done all he could to assist him, and if he couldn't, then he would just have to live with that reality.

It was a burden he wouldn’t wish on anyone—living with the Mark. He understood its weight all too well.

Draco's lips twitched into a half-smile, half-grimace, as guilt churned uncomfortably in his stomach. “Thanks, Sev,” he whispered quietly before turning to leave.

He didn’t usually call him Sev during the school year. Then again, Severus didn’t typically act all godfatherly during that time either.

He must be softening, or maybe he saw right through Draco’s masks and recognized his depression. That wouldn’t surprise him; Severus was brilliant like that.

If there was anyone he aspired to be like, it would be the man standing before him. Seven years ago, he would have looked up to his father, but back then, he had been an idiot, unaware of the true nature of the man he admired.

Severus watched his godson walk away, tiredly rubbing at his eyes, his desire to save everyone burning fiercely within him. He knew it was wishful thinking.

He couldn’t save everyone; he had learned that lesson all too quickly during his first weeks of spying. Severus learned this lesson the hard way when Lily died, despite all his efforts to keep her safe.

Now, all he could do was teach Harry everything he knew; if he could keep his son alive, he would effectively be saving everyone else as well. Speaking of Harry, they had "detention" scheduled, which meant more training while Zar took the day off.

If he accidentally hurt Harry with Zar nearby, the basilisk would either get injured or rush to defend him. That was not something Severus wanted to deal with, thank you very much.

Next year, Zar would have to stay behind. There was simply no way he could continue this arrangement.

The basilisk was already inches bigger since the start of the term, and if he kept growing at this rate, he would be fully grown very soon. If anything happened to Zar or anyone at the school, it would devastate his son.

So, they really needed to be cautious. With that in mind, Severus turned and headed toward his quarters, knowing his son would be down soon.

He could only hope that Draco would seek him out or figure something out on his own.