The Third Place
Harry had learned how to move in silence. It was something the Dursleys had taught him through their disdain, through whispered reprimands and knocks behind closed doors. At the Dursleys’, he was not supposed to be heard. And now, in this house he didn’t know, where the cold seemed to seep up from the foundations, that silence came in handy again.
Days passed. Snape spoke little, and only when necessary. He wasn’t cruel, but he wasn’t kind either. He cooked without ever inviting Harry to join him—he simply left the plate on the table and walked away. No one said “thank you.” No one said “you’re welcome.” It was a kind of coexistence made of distance, of words measured out carefully, as if speech were a luxury neither of them wanted to afford.
Harry had found refuge in an old Transfiguration book, spending hours flipping through pages he couldn’t really read. His mind was too busy wondering what happened now. And whether this was really his new “family.”
Then he arrived.
It was an evening like any other. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and Snape was shut away in his study. Harry was on the couch, trying not to make a sound. When he heard the front door open, his heart leapt into his throat.
The sound of wet boots. A voice—male. Young. Irritated.
“Severus! Is there a reason no one told me we’re living with someone?”
Harry sat up slightly, holding his breath. Footsteps drew closer. Then a figure appeared in the hallway, lit by the dim glow of the lamp: Draco Malfoy.
His blond hair was neatly pulled back, his face set in an expression of pure annoyance. He wore a black cloak, soaked with rain. His grey eyes landed on Harry with a look that didn’t need words: What are you doing here?
Harry stood slowly. “Hi,” he murmured, uncertain.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Oh, how polite. Potter saying hello. I thought all you knew how to do was strut around like a peacock, but apparently you can also look… pathetic.”
Harry clenched his jaw. He was tired. Too tired to start an argument.
“I’m not here by choice.”
Draco stepped closer. “Neither am I. But at least I have a reason to be here.”
At that moment, Snape emerged from the study, his hair tied back, his gaze sharp.
“That’s enough, Draco.”
“You didn’t tell me anything.” Draco didn’t look away, not even from Snape. “I come back after a week and find… him on the sofa?”
Harry froze. That same tone he’d heard a thousand times from the Dursleys. That of the intruder, the unwanted guest. There was no difference.
Snape ignored it. “We’ll talk later. For now, act like a guest, not the master of the house.”
Draco scoffed, throwing one last glance at Harry before heading upstairs without another word.
Harry remained standing, unsure.
“Do you need an explanation?” Snape asked.
“No.” Harry’s tone was flat. He didn’t want to show how much it hurt. How much it hurt to always be the one who didn’t belong.
Snape watched him for a moment longer than necessary, then returned to his study.
Harry sank back onto the couch. There was no more focus left for reading. Only a knot in his throat that wouldn’t loosen. The thought that even in this house, there was someone who didn’t want him here. Someone who thought he was a mistake.
And the worst part? Harry couldn’t blame him.
⸻
Later, he heard voices upstairs. Snape and Draco. They weren’t shouting, but the tension was clear.
“This isn’t just about… liking him, Severus. You brought Potter here. Potter.”
“Who I host is none of your concern.”
“Oh really? Then what am I?”
“You are my godson. He is… something more complicated.”
A silence. Harry held his breath.
“How complicated?” Draco asked, almost with contempt.
“Complicated enough that I couldn’t let him die alone.”
Harry didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more alone than ever.
⸻
That night, lying in bed with rough sheets and slow, shallow breaths, he realized he might never have a place of his own. But maybe, at least, he had found a corner where no one was asking him to disappear.
And for now, that might be enough.