A New Place To Stay

Chapter 3

Exhaustion and nightmares―will they become too much?

Harry made it down in time for breakfast, and, as usual, his Potions professor was already there. He didn't like the close scrutiny his teacher was paying him; he sat down, ignoring it, murmuring a quiet "good morning." As yesterday, Snape only nodded his head curtly. Either he wasn't a morning person, or the sight of Harry was making his morning hell. His uncle, too, was always like that: happy until he caught sight of him, then a scowl would live permanently on his features. Harry waited patiently for food, still in awe that he was actually getting fed three times a day here. Perhaps he wouldn't have to build up his appetite when he got back to Hogwarts; at least he could avoid Hermione's nagging to eat more, or feel sick with the amount of food Ron would fist into his gaping, needy maw. If Ron hadn't been so tall and active, Harry knew he would be like Dudley Dursley, a fat pig who only thought about food all the time.

Severus watched the teenager cautiously. Where were the sore muscles? The aches that should be present in a boy who hadn't done a hard day's work before? Where were the moans that he was sore and didn't want to do anything today? Instead of making sense, everything seemed to be getting more puzzling. Severus didn't like puzzles; he worked hard to keep the frown off his face; he didn't want Harry to know he was bothering him. He wasn't about to let the boy win this absurd game he was playing... if he was even playing a game.

The only indication Severus got that Harry was sore from yesterday was the blisters he had on his hands. He noticed how delicately he picked up the fork as he ate, finding a better position; other than that, he seemed unbothered by them. He was half tempted to make the boy keep them, let them heal naturally, but he wasn't a bastard, unfortunately. He summoned a potion for Harry to spread on the blisters.

"Put that on," Severus said curtly, throwing the tub at Harry, which, with well-honed Quidditch reflexes, he caught. Seeing the shocked look from the teenager, he once again clamped down on the anger; the boy really did think he was a monster who would allow him to suffer, didn't he? Honestly, the boy was exactly like his father: he didn't appreciate anything. After all those times he had saved the boy's life, you'd think he'd trust him just a little. Did he ever hear a thank you? No, the boy just continued his arrogance.

The teenager did what he was told, and Severus saw how bad they were for the first time. He had to withhold a wince; there were about twelve blisters on his hands, some rather big-looking. He spread the potion on them gently, and watched them disappearing; Severus was sure he caught a glint of something in the once-again-emotionless face. It couldn't possibly have been awe? Could it? He was very taken aback.

"Thank you very much, Professor Snape," Harry said kindly; it was probably the longest sentence he had uttered since he'd gotten there. To say he had been shocked when he was handed a potion to help his hands would have been an understatement. No one had ever helped him before, not with something so small, anyway. Sure, Madam Pomfrey had healed him when he'd had very bad injuries that the school was required to treat. These had just been blisters though, and hardly painful, yet Snape was giving him help. It touched him in ways he didn't even want to think about; unwillingly he began thinking about how it was that family treated one another, like a father treating his son or daughter for even the smallest hurt—like the time Ron had gotten a finger bitten by a garden gnome, and his mother had healed it right away. Harry shook away the horrifying thoughts of Snape as a father figure; he barely withheld a snort― his teacher hated him with a vengeance. Harry knew by now it was something to do with his father; after all, he'd told him often enough.

Harry ate breakfast, able to eat more than he had yesterday, but still not enough for a growing boy his age. Severus wanted to demand that the boy eat it all, but it would make him look concerned, so he resisted. He didn't even think about the fact that he had just given Potter a potion to help his blisters; he just chalked that up to not wanting the brat to think he actually was a monster. Not that he, Severus Snape, would ever see a child in any type of pain.

Once breakfast was finished, Severus handed over a piece of paper again, so off Harry went to another part of the garden today. He was basically weeding, planting, and watering all the already-existing plant beds. He didn't mind doing any of it; he just wished he could find a wheelbarrow. Just as he had filled the two watering cans, a house-elf popped into view with a hose.

Harry's jaw dropped; that was surprising. He knew most of the blisters were due to the watering cans.

"There is a tap just down there. The hose will extend indefinitely," Rose the house-elf curtly said before popping away. All the house-elves had been named after flowers, of course, apart from Lily. Severus would never name any house-elf after Lily; she was too pure and good to be thought of in line with a house-elf.

Harry laughed before he could stop himself, not just a small laugh, but a full-blown belly-laugh. Tears were running down his face; he was choking, and he wheezed trying to get his breath back. That house-elf had sounded like Snape... his house-elves sounded like him. He didn't understand why he found it so funny, but it was the funniest thing he had heard in ages. It was the first time in almost a year that he'd laughed, and he had never laughed with such carefree abandon in his life. Gladly putting the water in the watering can back into the well, he lugged the hose over to the tap, and attached it. To Harry's astonishment, he found the house-elf was right; the hose did extend as far as he needed it to. Leaving the hose at the side, he went back to the watering can; the garden was huge. It was all around this big place; he had only been tending to the front. It said PM on the gates; he wasn't sure what it meant, but he was sure it wasn't "Potions Master." He would find out, in a few days' time, that it was actually "Prince Manor,"

He quickly began weeding the garden; some of the weeds were quite big, so it mustn't be a big thing for the house-elves ― doing the garden, that was. Inside was astonishing and very beautiful, and also very well-kept. He never saw his Potions professor, and wondered silently where he was and what he did all day. If he was honest, he would rather know if Snape was always watching or not so he could bloody well relax for at least an hour.

Once he was done, he left the pulled weeds in the big bin he saw; the grass, too, had been put there yesterday, as well. After that he watered the area, using the hose, putting it on the shower setting. The flowers were beautiful; he hadn't seen many used in potions, but had ground them up once during detention—the one with the blue petals, if he remembered right, which he was sure he did. He hadn't known Snape loved his potions that much; he actually planted everything that could be used. He saw a load of poison ivy: leaves of three, leave them be. He hadn't known you could get them in the UK, so either he had it wrong, or they had been imported. That wouldn't surprise Harry personally; just how rich was his Potions Master? Not that it mattered to him, he supposed, as he began planting. He preferred to use seeds; the plants seemed to hate coming out of their little containers. He was petrified that if the plant died, he would be blamed. His aunt loved looking for anything to give him a row for; he knew Snape was the same, especially when it came to his potions, which weren't his fault! The Slytherins continued to put ingredients into his potions by flicking them over, thus ruining them.

Harry noticed that his arms were turning brown, which was odd, as he didn't go brown. He usually went red, he usually burned ― he was, after all, very fair― but not today, it seemed. Maybe it was because he didn't spend all day in the same place, or maybe it was the magic around the area. He would never understand it; he had rolled up his t-shirt's short sleeves, so that as much of his arms as possible could be cool.

As soon as he moved away from the dining area, Severus floo'ed out of the Manor. He spent the day collecting what potion ingredients he could. There was no way he was paying for ingredients from that blasted apothecary when he could collect them for nothing. He didn't even go home for lunch, but ate at the Leaky Cauldron, apparating to wherever he needed to go. He even used nettles and dandelions for his potions; all-natural ingredients were used. The juice of the stem was very handy in potions, but difficult to extract in any decent amount. His mind kept wandering to the boy working hard at his manor; he felt small flashes of guilt for making the boy work all summer, when no doubt most children were doing whatever they wanted. But Potter had gotten away with that for too long. No doubt he was missing being pampered at his family's home; this would be good character-building for him.

Severus wasn't one to let people laze about; he was firm with his Slytherins, and he was firm with whomever stayed in his home. He would let the boy do what he liked over the weekend, after a week's worth of work. It would be a well-deserved rest, but a rest nonetheless; he might even give the boy his broom for the day. If he continued the way he was doing, completing his work without complaint and being― well, only one word for it― quiet.

Severus liked his silence during the summer, even if this silence was daunting and worrying. He liked this quiet Potter, the one that did what he was told and didn't backchat or disobey him. Just because he liked the boy's current behavior, though, didn't make everything all right. The boy was being very strange, and Severus swore, if it was the last thing he did, he would find out what that boy was up to. It went against everything that Potter was: loudmouthed, overbearing, a rule-breaker, cheeky, cocky, and defiant.

He knew he didn't have much else for Harry to do; the gardening was something he thought Potter would do, and he was out in the sunshine at least, not locked away in a manor. Now he was finished with everything; perhaps he should get the boy to build something else, a pond perhaps? Or something similar? It would certainly take time; he hadn't had a long time to plan this. Dumbledore had asked him up to his office after the leaving feast and all but told him Potter was moving in with him until Death Eater activity around Privet Drive stopped, using the one trigger-word that would work: Lily Evan's name. He wasn't going to be able to spend all his time at the Manor; much of the time he was going to be at Order meetings or Death-Eater meetings, brewing potions for Poppy and then brewing what potions he actually wanted to make, plus making sure he had the time to do the tasks the Dark Lord set out for him. Yes, life had just gotten so much busier in the space of the fortnight since Cedric Diggory had died.

Thankfully, the Dark Lord wasn't strong enough to call his Death Eaters often, or demand they go out on raids or anything like that yet. The Order meetings consisted of listening to the members blabbing like idiots, wondering how to stop the second uprising of Voldemort.

Polishing off the lunch he had just eaten, he went to the apothecary and got himself the ingredients he wanted, a new cauldron, and five new glass stirrers, as the ones he had were a little worse for wear, and that wasn't good for potions. Knives of gold, bronze, and silver were soon added and paid for.

Once he had shrunk everything down, he apparated away to a side street. It was odd, that street, or most muggles thought so. The number 12 wasn't visible on any house; they didn't realize it was there, but just under the Fidelius, or Secret-Keeper spell. Severus entered the home of Sirius Black and grimaced in disgust; his last name hadn't been truer before.

"Severus, any news?" Dumbledore asked, sitting at the head of the table and looking more self-important than ever. People were sitting talking softly, drinking coffee and eating biscuits, no doubt baked and produced by Molly. Even Severus had to admit she was a brilliant cook. He was surprised Potter was as skinny as he was, with her around to baby him and feed him up.

"Nothing; you know as well as I that he will be recuperating for months. Just because he used Potter's blood doesn't make him suddenly strong. He's spent thirteen years as a spirit; trying to use an Unforgivable on the boy only hindered him," Severus explained, his lip curling in distaste at the few Order members still talking away—Fletcher and Diggle, if he was correct.

"Unforgivables, Snape!" Sirius snarled, his blue eyes flashing. "Do not downplay what my godson went through!"

Severus' onyx eyes glittered in silent fury. How dare Black pretend to be the concerned godfather he'd never been! He had pissed away Potter's third year and had only gotten back from the tropics in time for the final task. It was a good job that the Dursley family had given him the family he needed, even if they spoiled him, or Black's abandonment for the past two years could have done goodness-knew-what to the boy.

"Excuse me?" Severus hissed very softly; the room went abnormally quiet. Everyone knew those two hated each other and always would. Even Dumbledore couldn't get them to behave themselves; there was just too much hate for even an adult to handle.

"Your Master," drawled Sirius, "used all three curses on him. Two failed: the Imperius curse when he tried to get Harry to bow to him, then, of course, the killing curse when he Portkeyed away. Unfortunately, Harry ended up feeling the effects of the Cruciatus curse twice." The voice that had been sarcastic seconds before sounded choked up.

"Yet you thought I'd better bounce off after Lupin and forget about your godson," Severus sneered in disgust. He would never do that to Draco; Light or Dark, he had a responsibility to that boy until he was seventeen years old. Black had failed at every opportunity to get to know Potter. He didn't care about Potter and Black's relationship, but it was the principle of the thing. Potter needed someone who could understand; the Muggles, as much as they tried, couldn't. Not many people could truly understand what Potter was going through, and of course he wasn't going to be one of them, he thought adamantly as he watched Sirius Black, satisfied at having riled him up.

Severus winced sympathetically in his mind. That spell was bloody awful; it shouldn't have been invented, and no fourteen-year-old kid should have experienced it. Voldemort hadn't tortured children before; hell, he hadn't killed one, either, until the Prophecy had come along. Wizards and witches that got in his way—sure, they had paid the price; the Muggles, though, had died needless deaths because Voldemort had been feeling vindictive. The raids had been the worst, really, but thankfully he'd never had to join in or take part in anything.

"I did what I was told to do, Snape! Harry was fine at Hogwarts," Sirius adamantly insisted.

Severus didn't bother correcting Black; anyone could see the brat wasn't all right. He had just seen the man who wanted to kill him brought back, and had managed to escape with his life. If Black truly wanted to delude himself that Harry was all right, then so be it. Old fool that he was, it didn't matter; he shook those thoughts off.

"So what else has happened? How are we going to get ready to defend everyone from You-Know-Who?" Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor House, asked; she was a fair but strict witch with a taste for shortbread and Scottish tea. Right at that moment, she sounded very stupid saying you-know-who as if she was afraid of him; Severus knew she was a formidable witch and could give Voldemort a run for his money.

"Well, Remus and I are going over all his old attacks, trying to distinguish patterns," Shacklebolt told her.

"We did that last time," Sirius protested, frowning. "It was a waste of time."

"We think we might be able to pull out a pattern," Remus countered, his amber eyes rolling up into his head in exasperation; he truly didn't like how daft Sirius could be sometimes.

"Fine," Sirius shrugged, not at all fussy. Severus had to stop himself from snarling at the bastard; he truly did hate Black. He hated Black more than he hated James Bloody Potter, and that was saying something. After all, James Potter had taken away his Lily; she would have been his if Potter had stayed away. She would have forgiven him and married him, and Harry Potter would have been his.

Unfortunately, that hadn't happened; he shrugged off his depressing thoughts and listened to the useless Order prattling on about everything.

"There's only so much we can do without the Ministry… they are adamant about Voldemort's NOT being back… is there any way we can convince them? Get Potter under Veritaserum or something?" Shacklebolt asked hopefully.

"I don't want Harry near the Ministry," Dumbledore said, sounding very adamant.

"It will help us if we do!" Shacklebolt said, exasperated.

"We need to warn people and have all the help we can get! We didn't do much during the last war; we have an opportunity to do it right this time around," Tonks said, backing Shacklebolt up.

"Fudge would cover it up anyway," Moody grunted, his magical eye looking around the house, making sure it was safe. He wasn't looking forward to yet another war, but the battle-hardened part of him was: finally, a chance to take down more Death Eaters. He had tried to catch Malfoy the last time, and hadn't been able to. So this time he was determined to get the slimy blond in Azkaban before long.

"True," Minerva nodded grudgingly, knowing Moody had a good point.

"Who's training Potter?" Moody asked, not even acknowledging the fact that McGonagall had spoken.

"Training?" Dumbledore asked, looking at his old friend as if he had lost his mind.

"He's gonna be after the kid; if he's to have any chance of survival, he needs training," Moody barked, making nearly every single Order member jump in fright, apart from Severus Snape and Dumbledore. "Voldemort won't be happy he got away yet again."

"You can say that again," Severus snorted; despite the snort, his face showed how serious he was. The boy was safe at his manor for the summer. Come time to go back to Hogwarts, he would be in danger ― all around him, not just by the usual Slytherins― not all Death Eaters were Slytherins, after all. Pettigrew was a fine example of that. He grimaced at the thought of the rat. He'd had to physically stop himself from killing the bastard that had betrayed Lily. He rather valued staying alive and ensuring the bastard who actually had killed her was brought down. Life was rather ironic: Voldemort killed Lily, and she was avenged by her one-year-old son.

"He won't be getting trained. Not yet; I want him to have a chance at a childhood," Dumbledore said; his eyes were solemn and sad.

"He won't be anything if he doesn't get trained," Moody bluntly argued.

"He's just a child! He shouldn't be getting trained in anything! Hogwarts will keep him safe!" Molly snapped angrily. "I wouldn't let my Ronnie go through it, so Harry shouldn't have to either!"

"Voldemort doesn't even know who your brat is!" Severus sneered bitterly, "He knows exactly who Potter is, though, and he will do anything to kill him. Do you realize how many times he has managed to foil Voldemort's plans? Four times." Despite everything, Severus had a grudging respect for Potter for those acts alone. Besting Voldemort once took courage, but four times? Well, he'd done it more than anyone else alive, and he was only fourteen years old.

Molly looked ready to explode, but Arthur just put a calming hand on her. Huffing in disgust, she promptly turned away and ignored Severus, and Severus just sneered. That was a very Gryffindor move, turning one's back on an opponent in disgust. He could see where the rest of the Weasleys got their revolting manners from.

"Will Harry even be able to come to us for any time this summer?" Arthur asked ―he had promised his daughter the boy would.

"No," Severus said before even Dumbledore could open his mouth, which surprised almost everyone there. He sneered at all the looks he was getting; honestly, he did want the wizarding world to survive, thank you.

"It's nothing to do with you, Snape!" Sirius sneered furiously.

"You didn't tell them?" Severus asked, his face impassive as he looked at Dumbledore, hiding his anger and incredulity: anger at the old fool for keeping it a secret, and incredulity that Potter hadn't told Black. He hadn't even complained in a letter to the mutt that he was treating him like a slave, or being mean and nasty taking away his things, or even to Weasley? He was sure Weasley would have complained to mummy, and poor mummy would have screamed at Dumbledore like a banshee. Then again, Severus would have paid big money to see that; needless to say, he was in shock. He was, now more than ever, positive that there was something wrong with the boy.

"Tell us what?" Remus asked, his voice going low; no one in the history of the world could make his voice go that low and still sound like the friendliest person on the planet. He stared between Snape and Dumbledore; Severus could see the realization dawning on the wolf's face and wanted to smirk in feral amusement.

"Harry isn't at the Dursleys' this summer," Dumbledore admitted softly, before continuing on with his explanation. "There has been Death Eater activity around the area; Figg has been keeping an eye out. Better safe than sorry; I'm not sure the wards are safe enough." His voice was soothing and grave, commanding nearly everyone's attention.

"Why isn't he here? It's under the Fidelius!" Sirius demanded furiously.

"So were the Potters," Severus sneered; he blamed Black for their deaths: if he hadn't bloody suggested Pettigrew, they would have been fine. Black and his bloody scheming had cost Lily her life; he believed that. It was another reason to hate Black with every iota of his being.

"Shut it, Snivellus!" snarled Sirius, trying to get up, his eyes narrowed in disgust and distaste.

Severus snarled furiously, fingering his wand, dangerously close to losing control. He hated that name with a vengeance; it hadn't gotten easier hearing it since he was eleven years old. He wasn't going to put up with it throughout the entire war. He turned to Dumbledore, a look of rage in his eyes and he told the old fool that.

"I'm leaving; anything you want to say, you can say it to me. I'm not putting up with that bastard during the war. I put up with him throughout my school years; I don't have to do it now," Severus sneered, getting up and walking out of Grimmauld Place and apparating away.

"He does have a point, we cannot keep fighting among ourselves," Shacklebolt said, looking at Sirius in disgust. This was a grown man, the same age as the man that had just left. Hell, Sirius was older than he, and that was saying something. Severus Snape wasn't someone you wanted to alienate; he was the only one who brought back any decent information.

"Until you can curb your tongue, Sirius, I no longer want you attending meetings," Dumbledore declared, barely holding onto his anger. Snape was the one person whose information they relied on. Without Snape, the Order was practically useless, and he knew that.

"Why does he get to have my godson?" Sirius snapped furiously.

"Shut up, Sirius," Remus harshly demanded, trying to tug Sirius back into his seat.

"Would you rather see him dead at the hands of the Death Eaters at his home in Privet Drive?" Dumbledore asked calmly; his face, normally cheerful, was very blank.

"No, but he could come here! Bring him here!" Sirius angrily protested.

"He stays where he's protected; the manor is very old and the wards have accumulated over the years. Nowhere could be safer; the Manor is more protected than here or even Malfoy Manor... not that I'd place him there," Dumbledore's voice was harsh and final.

"Sirius!" Remus snarled when he noticed Sirius had opened his mouth once more.

"Fine!" Sirius hissed, sitting down but looking furious. As soon as the Order meeting was finished, he was going to write to his godson and make sure Snape wasn't abusing him ― he wouldn't put it past the bastard. He had always been jealous of him and James. Only Sirius Black could mistake psychotic rage for jealousy.

Harry got everything done for the day; he trudged up the stairs, exhaustion written all over his body and face. He was half-tempted just to flop down on the bed and sleep―he hadn't slept much yesterday or the days before that. He was used to it, but it was becoming too much for him; he felt ready to collapse. He only wished he had the guts to go down to the dungeon and get a vial of Dreamless Sleep. He'd had it the night after the tournament, and boy, it had been the best sleep he had ever had. All year he was up at six o'clock at school; during the summer it was the same, getting breakfast ready for the Dursleys while his aunt watched. Harry didn't even know the meaning of a long lie-in, but the dreamless sleeping potion had had him sleeping for twelve straight hours.

Instead of falling on the bed, he showered, and made sure his hands were in pristine condition before walking down the stairs. He found his professor sitting in his chair, and Harry made his way around, not even having the energy to say hello. Snape didn't look like he was in a good mood, so Harry wanted to avoid making the man angry.

The dinner was beautiful― beef, asparagus, and baby potatoes― and Harry had never had anything like it in his life. Dessert was plain yoghurt added to whatever fruit he wanted; Harry loved it even more, and he could have eaten it all. He didn't have much of the yoghurt, but the fruit he ate; the rhubarb he wasn't keen on and avoided that.

"Go to bed, Potter," Severus said. He could see exhaustion written all over the teen; the fact that he was struggling to keep his eyes open was just one sign. The boy looked relaxed, despite how tired he looked, which made Severus curious. He wanted to ask the boy why he hadn't contacted anyone yet, moaning about him, but he refused to open his mouth. He didn't want to admit to the boy that Dumbledore hadn't told anyone and that no one had a clue he was here... or hadn't had a clue. He had been under the impression Potter and his mutt were close. How close could they be if the mutt hadn't known? Severus was getting very annoyed with all the questions swirling around his head and not getting answers. He would just have to watch the brat and find out for himself, and find out he would, even if it killed him.

Edited by Jake and Jordre thanks guys