"There you are!" Seamus exclaimed when Harry walked up to the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for breakfast. "Where did you go last night? We all thought Black must have gotten you for sure."
"Right," Hary began, shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact with his housemates as all eyes seemed to turn on him. He quickly slipped into a seat next to Ron and Hermione as he recalled what Severus had told him to tell anyone who asked about where he was staying currently. "About where I'm staying for now. Dumbledore moved me. Temporarily."
"Moved you wear?" Dean asked.
"Well," Harry said as he piled food on his plate, only speaking loud enough to be heard by his immediate dormmates. "Professor Snape's quarters."
A collective gasp rippled through everyone close enough that heard what Harry said while Dean and Seamus exchanged horrified gasps. Ron and Hermione shared concerned looks with each other.
"Snape's quarters?" Dean repeated, his eyes wide. "Are you serious?"
"Dumbledore said it's for my safety," Harry explained, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "With the uptick in Black sightings near Hogsmeade, especially after . . . you know, after he got into the tower last time. It's just until Black disappears again, but he could be plotting another break in."
"But . . . Snape?" Seamus shivered. "Isn't that like putting you in the lion's den?"
"You mean the snake pit," Dean snickered as he elbowed Seamus.
"Dumbledore said it was the most secure place," Harry insisted, his eyes meeting Ron's and Hermione's as if pleading for a bit of back up. They nodded in agreement.
"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do it if it wasn't necessary," Hermione said firmly, sounding very confident in her words. "He has to look out for Harry since Black is clearly after him."
"Besides," Ron added, "it's Snape. I don't think many people want to run into Snape if they don't have to."
Dean and Seamus, though still clearly uneasy, seemed to accept the explanation, albeit reluctantly.
"True," Dean said. "I certainly wouldn't want to run into the dungeon bat, even if I was a mass murderer myself."
"Just be careful," Seamus said. "Let us know if anything weird happens."
"Of course." Harry nodded, relieved that he'd managed to avoid any further questioning. "But don't worry. I doubt it'll last more than a week or so. It really is temporary."
Everyone ate breakfast quietly, only discussing bits and pieces of homework assignments that may or may not be due yet. When Dean and Seamus walked away and everyone else seemed too engorged in their own discussions, Ron and Hermione turned to Harry, their expressions shifting from supportive to concern.
"Spill it," Ron said, keeping his voice low. "How's it actually going? Is it horrendous?"
"Ron!" Hermione hissed through her teeth before meeting Harry's eyes. "What he means to say is how has Snape been treating you?"
"It's not been terrible," Harry answered honestly.
Ron's eyebrows shot up.
"Not terrible?" he said in disbelief. "You're living with Snape for a week."
"I know, I know," Harry said, rubbing the back of his head. "But he's been okay, ever since this all started actually. He's really not been so terrible. He's really helping me with everything and he's just making sure I actually get all the Wolfsbane this time around. He even walked me through meditation."
"Meditation?" Ron's eyebrows could not possibly rise anymore. "Like namaste and all that?"
"Not quite." Harry laughed as he remembered having very similar thoughts. "I know it sounds crazy, but I really don't think I'll mind staying with Snape for the week. He's been . . . different."
"See?" Hermione's eyes sparkled as she smiled. "I told you Snape would be what you needed."
"Yeah, yeah," Ron said with an eye roll. "Still, mate. Living with Snape? That's got to be weird."
"It is," Harry admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But it's been okay. More okay that I expected."
The small cottage stood nestled deep within a thicket of ancient oaks and towering pines. A large pond sat behind the cottage, a thin layer of misty fog hovering over the crystal-clear water. Albus, his eyes twinkling as always, gestured towards the building.
"Charming, isn't it, Severus?" he asked. "Quite secluded."
Severus, his expression as austere as ever, surveyed the cottage and the surrounding forest with a critical eye. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine needles, and the silence was only broken by the rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird.
The cottage itself was a patchwork of weathered stone and dark, aged timber. It's thatched roof, thick with moss and patched with uneven straw, sagged slightly in the middle, as if weary of the elements. The windows, small and grimy, were set haphazardly into the walls, some crooked, some square, none offering a clear view of the interior. A single warped door, it's paint peeling in long grey stripes, hung slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of shadowed interior. The surrounding garden, if it could be called that, was a tangle of overgrown weeds, brambles, and gnarled, untended rose bushes, their thorny branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. A broken, rusted iron gate, half buried in the undergrowth, hinted at a forgotten attempt at a more civilized boundary.
Severus turned his head enough to glare at Albus, who merely continued smiling at him patiently.
"Secluded," Severus finally said, looking back at the cottage. "And conveniently located in the middle of absolutely nowhere. A monument to rustic despair, if I may be so bold."
"Precisely!" Albus said cheerfully. "Far from prying eyes and any potential . . . threats. A perfect sanctuary for Hary during the summer months."
"If this is perfect, we might as well as spend the summer at my home in Spinner's End. Who'd know the difference?"
"Don't worry," Albus said as he began walking up to the cottage. "I'll have a house elf fix up the place before summer comes. You'll hardly recognize the cottage when she's through with it."
Severus sighed heavily before he followed Albus, who pushed the warped wooden door fully open, a creak echoing through the still forest. The interior was dim, the small, grimy windows allowing only a sliver of the afternoon light to penetrate. A musty, almost earthy smell hung in the air, a blend of damp wood and old parchment, and something faintly floral, perhaps dried herbs.
"Cozy, wouldn't you say?" Albus murmured, stepping inside. He lit a candle with a quick flick of his finger, offering some light in the room. He ran a hand along a rough-hewn wooden table, its surface covered in a layer of dust. "Full of character."
Severus followed, his robes brushing against the low doorway. He scanned the single room with a disdainful frown. The floor was uneven, made of cracked flagstones, and a threadbare rug lay askew in front of a cold hearth. The single, flickering candle cast long shadows across the walls, revealing cobwebs strung between the rafters like ghostly lace. Books, their spines faded and cracked, were piled chaotically on shelves that sagged under their weight. A chipped porcelain teapot sat on a small, rickety stove; its spout blackened with soot.
"Character," Severus echoed Albus's words, his voice dry. "Or perhaps simply neglect. The air is thick with the scent of decay in this disgusting rut."
Severus paused, frowning for a moment before he pointed to a stain on the floor, a dark irregular mark.
"And what, pray tell, is that?" Severus asked, making a face at the many ideas that crossed his mind.
Albus peered at the stain, his eyes still twinkling.
"Perhaps spilled tea?" he suggested. "One never knows what surprises these old cottages hold."
Albus wandered over to the bookshelf, his fingers tracing the titles.
"Ah, look, Severus. A collection of herbology texts. Quite extensive."
Severus bit his tongue to keep from snapping at the headmaster as he turned his attention to the fireplace, then shivered suddenly as a chill suddenly fell over him, a stark contrast to the musty warmth that had previously permeated the cottage.
Suddenly, a spectral figure materialized from the shadows, its translucent form shimmering faintly in the candlelight. The ghost, clad in tattered Victorian-era clothing, let out a raspy, guttural moan, his wispy white hair swaying in the nonexistent breeze.
Albus simply raised his eyebrows as he walked over to Severus to see the ghost, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Ah, a resident ghost," he remarked. "Well, well, well, how fascinating. A bit of a drafty old place, isn't it?"
Severus, however, was not amused. His face contorted in a mixture of annoyance and exasperation as he slapped a hand over his face, dragging it down slowly.
"Albus," Severus hissed through his teeth, "I really do believe you could have mentioned this little . . . inconvenience beforehand."
The ghost, seemingly taken aback by the lack of fear, let out a startled squeak and vanished into the shadows, leaving behind only a lingering trail of ice air. Albus chuckled, shaking his head.
"Don't be such a spoilsport," Albus said. "A bit of ghostly company never hurt anyone. Besides, exorcisms are rather simple affairs, you know."
"I swear, Albus," Severus said, his voice muffled by his hand, "you have a knack for finding the most . . . charming places."
After checking out the rest of the cottage, and ensuring there were no more residential ghosts, Albus and Severus agreed that the location was secure enough, and secluded enough, to be a haven for Harry during the summer months. While Albus promised to make sure the ghost was removed and a house elf or two would come fix up the cottage, Severus began adding strengthened security wards. Albus watched as Severus meticulously traced a series of complex symbols in the air, ancient runes known for power and secrecy, his wand tip glowing with a soft emerald light as the symbols etched into the wall.
"Ready, Severus?" Albus inquired as he stepped closer, his own wand hovering above a section of the wall.
Severus nodded curtly and said, "As I'll ever be, Headmaster."
With a synchronized sweep of their wands, the two wizards unleashed a torrent of magical energy, the air crackling and humming with power. The runes on the wall ignited, their glow intensifying until they seemed to pulse with life for several seconds before the glow died down, fading slowly before extinguishing with a quick pop, the symbols vanishing.
As the wards settled around the property, a sense of calm descended upon the cottage, the air once again still and silent. Dumbledore smiled, a satisfied expression on his face.
"There. The wards are stronger than ever. No one will be able to find or breach this place now."
"Good," Severus said with a nod. "This will be a good haven for Potter when school is finished."
"And you will accompany him," Albus said, more reiterating what they had agreed on.
"Yes. But only until a more suitable guardian can be found."
"Of course."
The dimly lit kitchen of Snape's quarters was unusually warm, a stark contrast to the chill that often permeated the dungeons. Harry perched on a high stool at the kitchen island, idly tracing patterns on the polished countertop, the silence broken only by the faint crackling of the fire in the adjoining sitting room. The aroma of spices hung in the air, a testament to the meal that was about to materialize.
Severus emerged from his potion supply closet, a small, dark vial in his hand.
"Your potion, Potter," he said, setting the vial down in front of Harry. "Take it now, before dinner."
Harry took the vial, his expression resigned. He downed the potion in one swift gulp, wincing slightly at the familiar bitter taste that always left him nauseated and weak. He made a face as he smacked his lips, his stomach churning slightly before settling once more.
"Right." Harry swallowed a few more times as he set the vial aside. "Done."
As if on cue, a series of soft pops echoed through the kitchen, and two plates laden with steaming food materialized on the island. The smell made Harry's stomach growl and he sniffed the delicious meal before he grabbed his fork and began shoveling the food, only slowing down at Severus's glare.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Harry spoke.
"So, where did you disappear to all day? You were gone for hours."
"That is of no concern to you, Potter."
"Right, of course. Nothing's ever my concern." Harry rolled his eyes.
"Ah, the Potter eyeroll," Severus said, smirking slightly. "A classic demonstration of your profound lack of self-control. I suggest you attempt to restrain them, lest they become permanently affixed in that position."
Harry, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes again, decided to change the subject.
"Fine," he said, after swallowing a bite of food. "If you won't tell me what you did, I'll tell you what I did. I spent most of my day in the library, mostly. With Ron and Hermione. We did a lot of reading."
"I trust you were reviewing your assigned texts?" Severus asked.
"Actually," Harry confessed, "I was reading about werewolves. Theories, mostly."
"Theories?" Severus quirked a brow. "I sincerely hope you were not neglecting your studies for such frivolous pursuits."
"They weren't frivolous," Harry insisted. "There were some interesting ideas. Like, one book mentioned using a specific blend of silverleaf and moonpetal to, like, dampen the . . . the rage. It said it might not stop the will to hunt, but it could make it less . . . violent."
Severus scoffed.
"Silverleaf and moonpetal? A concoction based on very little thought process, it would seem. And it is highly dangerous. Incorrectly prepared, silverleaf alone can cause severe internal damage. And moonpetal has a variety of unpredictable effects on magical beings."
"Aconite is poisonous, but you use that in Wolfsbane," Harry argued.
"The amount I use merely sedates a wolf. Silverleaf is exactly as it sounds—it's made of silver. And unless you forgot, you are highly allergic to that."
"Well . . . it's just a theory! And there was another one, about a ritual. A kind of . . . of focused meditation, combined with certain incantations. It said it could help a werewolf connect with the wolf inside, and . . . and maybe control it."
"Rituals and incantations," Severus repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "Potter, lycanthropy is a complex magical affliction, not a matter for amateur spell-casting and wishful thinking. Those kinds of methods are based on ancient superstitions and would likely change nothing at all. Or worse, cause more harm than good."
"But what if . . .?" Harry began, but Severus cut him off.
"There is no 'what if.' The Wolfsbane potion is the only reliable method proven to work and continues to work for many wolves around the world. End of discussion."
Harry's shoulders slumped slightly; his enthusiasm dampened. He had hoped for a more open discussion with Severus, but it seemed every theory he had read about was quickly being shot down. He moved his fork through the food on his plate, his appetite diminished now. Why had he even bothered sharing what he had read with Severus? Even Hermione, as skeptical as she was, had been more open to theories on different ways of controlling the wolf within him.
It wasn't that he was against Wolfsbane. No, he knew he needed it so he didn't hurt anyone. But the Wolfsbane left him feeling hollowed out, a shell of himself. The constant nausea, the weakness that lingered in his system, and the unsettling sense of being disconnected from his own body as it took hold over him closer and closer to the Full Moon left a bitter taste in his mouth. It felt less like a cure and more like a slow, agonizing poisoning. He yearned for a way to manage his condition that didn't strip him of his vitality, a way to coexist with the wolf within without sacrificing his own sense of self. The idea of controlling his transformations, of finding a way to live with who he had become, was all he really wanted now.
But was it even possible?
He felt Severus's eyes on him, and he was sure his professor was deciding whether or not to scold him for not eating, but instead, he heard a low sigh from Severus before he spoke.
"There is one theory," he said, "that has some merit. Though it is entirely untested."
Harry's eyes lit up.
"What is it?" he asked.
"The theory suggests that as a werewolf learns to control himself while under the influence of Wolfsbane, the dosage could be gradually reduced," Severus explained. "The premise is that the innate drive to kill stems primarily from a lack of control and understanding of one's transformed state. Fear exacerbates this, preventing the werewolf from focusing on and learning to control the wolf, and instead act as a wild beast and attack other humans. While under the Wolfsbane, a wolf can learn to calm their own mind and suppress the urge to act violently. By slowly decreasing the potion, the werewolf may learn to manage the transformation with less external influence."
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
"So . . . so it's possible to . . . to control it without the potion?"
"Theoretically," Severus said, his voice laced with caution. "But it would require years of consistent potion use and rigorous self-discipline. And it has never been attempted. Now does it make a wolf any less dangerous. The power and drive to kill will always remain, and if provoked, can be drawn out of any werewolf, no matter how well controlled they believe themselves to be."
"But . . . but it could work," Harry asked.
"Potter," Severus said, his voice firm. "Do not entertain such foolish notions. This is a highly dangerous and untested theory. And before you get any ideas, this would require years of potion use, and a control that you currently lack."
"I could learn though," Harry said. "What would I need to do?"
Severus's eyes narrowed.
"You would need to master the potion, to understand its effects on your body and mind. You would need to learn to meditate, to control your emotions, to separate yourself from the beast within. You would need to be able to control your anger no matter what form you are in. To control your impulse to lunge and attack no matter what imperceivable threat comes your way. You would need to possess discipline that you, at present, demonstrably lack. And even then, it is a gamble. One wrong move, one moment of weakness, and you could become a danger to yourself and everyone around you."
So, a lot more namaste was in his future, but he could live with that. He nodded his head in understanding. He wanted nothing more now than to learn to be the calmest person that ever existed on the planet. He could do it. He knew he could.
"This is about more than controlling yourself," Severus continued, giving Harry a curious look. "You must understand both your human half and your wolf half and how they make you one whole."
Well, that sounded awfully cryptic. But Harry refused to allow any of what Severus was saying deter him from immediately wanting to begin practicing whatever it took to free him of the Wolfsbane. It was more than that, though. He just wanted freedom again. To be free of the fear that a raging monster within him would destroy everything he knew and loved. He needed to control it.
"It's not necessarily about control but embracing what you've become," Severus added at the end.
More cryptic stuff. Harry nodded his head. Control, embracing, they were pretty much the same thing, right?
Severus sighed once more.
"You'll want to practice your meditation more. We can work on that tonight."
"Thanks, sir," Harry said with a grin. He moved to stand up, but Severus shook his head, reaching across the island table to tap the space next to Harry's half eaten dinner.
"Finish your dinner," he said sternly. "We are doing nothing until every bite is gone."
Harry collapsed back on his seat and began shoveling the food.
"And if you keep eating like that," Severus added with his usual dry sarcasm, "you will choke, and I will be forced to explain to the headmaster that you expired due to a lack of basic table manners. A rather ignominious end for the Boy Who Lived, wouldn't you say?"
Harry swallowed a large mouthful of food, then smiled cheekily at Severus.
"If I choke, can we at least say I died heroically? Like, 'Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, bravely succumbed to a stubborn roast potato.' Sounds better, right?"
"Finish your meal, you cheeky little brat," Severus growled.
Hary chuckled and began to eat at a more reasonable pace. He could already picture himself, years from now, standing under the full moon, completely in control, the wolf within him a part of him, not a monster to be feared. The image was so vivid, so hopeful, that he almost didn't notice the small softening of Severus's gaze as he watched him eat. Almost.
