“Mr. Potter!”

The saccharine voice stops Harry in his tracks. He’s fifty feet to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and part of him considers just making a run for it. But this particular voice would never let him get away with it, and so he reconciles himself to yet another dose of misery and turns around.

“Feeling better, are we?” Professor Umbridge asks, a fake note of concern in her voice. She scans Harry with her piggy little eyes. “You still look rather flushed, dear. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey released you too soon?”

“I feel fine,” Harry answers stiffly. He totally forgot about this woman while inside the Room. It’s a comfort, in a way, to be reminded so forcefully of her insignificance. Once she leaves Hogwarts, or he does, he’ll never spare another thought for her. Perhaps Umbridge can sense this discovery, because she narrows her brows at him.

“I must say, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge says softly, “things were so much quieter while you were ill. It’s almost a shame, really.” She laughs delicately. “But I suppose all good things must come to an end. Spattergroit, wasn’t it? Nasty disease.” She peers at him expectantly. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, which type of spattergroit did you have, yellow or red? It was so difficult getting any details out of anyone.”

Oh, Merlin. Harry knows absolutely nothing about spattergroit, but he can still smell a trap. The old toad is definitely suspicious, or at the very least, too nosy. Dumbledore should haven taken care of her, but apparently he’s left the mess for Harry. Big surprise. “We had the yellow kind,” he finally answers. “I think. I could be wrong, though. I was kind of out of it whenever they updated me.” He pretends to look nauseated. “I think there was something else the matter with me. I kept vomiting all over the place and there were great chunks in it—”

“That will do,” Umbridge interrupts, wrinkling her nose. She quickly regains her equilibrium, though, and smiles sweetly at him. “At least you had Professor Snape for company. Still, it’s rather odd, don’t you think? The two of you falling ill at the same time, and with the same disease? The same highly contagious disease, I might add, that nobody else has caught?”

Harry silently curses out Dumbledore. What a stupid cover story. “It is strange,” he agrees honestly, and she purses her lips, thrown by his concurrence. “But I don’t really know the details. Most of the last week is kind of a blur.”

“You must have missed your friends,” Umbridge says, playing with the beads on one of her many bracelets. “Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley in particular. They both looked so lost without you. I’ve seen quite a bit of them this week, actually.” Umbridge chuckles again, a horrid tinkling sound that makes Harry cringe. “I’m afraid I had to give your friends detention. They were out after hours on the seventh floor. And they refused to explain why they were there.” She looks at him innocently. “You wouldn’t happen to know what they were up to, would you?”

“Not a clue,” Harry says quickly, his heart thumping inside his ribcage. His poor friends—his poor STUPID friends. Why on earth didn’t they use his invisibility cloak?

Umbridge studies him. “It’s a pity you aren’t in the hospital wing more often,” she says softly. “I’ve never spent a better week here. But perhaps another visit could be arranged.”

Harry’s blood freezes in his veins. She really is twisted. Maybe he should just stop expecting otherwise. Everybody over the age of 18 seems to be mad around here.

“Ah, Professor Snape,” Umbridge chirps, turning her smirking face away from Harry. “So good to see you up and about again.”

“Yes,” comes a very familiar, very dry voice. “The hospital wing is a tedious place.”

Snape sidles up to them, a languid and disinterested expression on his face. Harry darts a look at him and then looks firmly away. Snape had better not blow their cover story. Perhaps, just this once, things could go smoothly. Is that really too much to ask?

“Mr. Potter here was just telling me,” Umbridge says sweetly, “about his illness. You both had red spattergroit, I believe?”

Harry’s heart sinks. If Snape falls for this, they’re screwed. Umbridge will keep digging until she finds out what really happened. And then it’s game over, definitely for him and probably for Snape and Dumbledore too. They’ve all been flouting Ministry policy left and right, and Umbridge won’t have to look far to find a broken law. Harry tries to mask his unease and sticks his hands in his pockets. Snape looks at him briefly and his brows narrow ever so slightly. “No, it was yellow, Dolores.”

“I see,” Umbridge says, disappointed. “Well, I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do, Severus. I won’t keep you.” She smirks at Harry. “I hope you’ve caught up on your homework, Potter. It would be a pity for you to have to join your friends in detention.” Then, to Harry’s immense relief, she waddles away.

Snape makes no move to follow her, and Harry looks longingly at the portrait hole. He’s so close to freedom, he can taste it. “What do you want?”

“I need a word,” Snape replies in clipped tones. “Now.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry groans. “Come on, Snape. Can’t it wait?”

Snape eyes a first year Gryffindor climbing out of the portrait hole. The student takes one look at him and squeaks, tumbling roughly to the ground. He mouths something that looks suspiciously like “Snape’s back” to his friends, and they all begin to moan in dismay.

“It’s Professor Snape, Potter. Five points from Gryffindor. Now come with me.”

Snape turns on heel and marches away, robes billowing behind him. Harry makes no move to follow him. Snape senses this real fast and halts. He spins around, folding his arms across his chest. The other first-years have joined the squeaker and they are all watching the confrontation with terrified expressions. Harry feels like he’s in an Old West saloon. All he needs is a gun.

“Do not make me come back there, Potter.”

Harry clenches his fists. He considers refusing, but he really can’t see that ending well. “Yes sir,” he finally says, and follows Snape down the hallway.

He expects Snape to lead the way to his office in the dungeons, but instead Snape halts in front of one of the rarely used classrooms. He glides inside without looking back at Harry. Once inside, he aims a spell at the closed door and points to a chair. “Sit.”

Harry slumps in the seat, not bothering to argue. He rests his chin on his hand, exhausted. The scene with Dumbledore must be catching up with him. Snape considers him for a moment, and then pulls up another chair. He sits across from Harry. “We need to get our stories straight. What did you tell Umbridge?”

“I told her we had yellow spattergroit. And that most of the past week is a blur. And that I kept vomiting.”

“She seems suspicious.”

“I know.”

Snape begins to massage his brows. “Alright. We had yellow spattergroit. I’ll send a message to Dumbledore and Pomfrey and they can adjust their stories accordingly. If anybody asks you, the disease is characterized by painful yellow postules over the body, along with the inability to speak and a raging fever. Vomiting does sometimes occur, lucky for you. We both remember only bits and pieces of the week, which should provide adequate cover. Neither of us was able to keep up with any reading or other responsibilities. We had little interaction with each other.” Snape taps his hand against the desk. “Also, you served detention with me two nights before we fell ill. The toads I had you disembowel carried the virus. Got it?”

Harry nods.

“Good,” Snape breathes, relaxing slightly. “What else did Umbridge say?”

“She said she gave Ron and Hermione detention. She caught them after curfew.” He looks at Snape meaningfully. “She caught them on the seventh floor.”

“Of course she did,” Snape mutters. “Your friends are idiots! Of all the times not to use your blasted Cloak!”

“I know,” Harry says sourly. “And Dumbledore’s stupid cover story doesn’t help. She’s going to figure out something’s off.”

“I can handle Dolores Umbridge,” Snape says grimly. “I picked the right kind of spattergroit, didn’t I? Did she want anything else?”

Harry shrugs. The old bat threatened him, but that’s nothing to write home about. Besides, Snape isn’t the only one who can handle the old toad. “Not really.”

“You are sure?”

“Yup.”

Snape says nothing else, and Harry peers wearily at him. “Is that it? Can I go now?”

“No. Now that we are truly back at Hogwarts, there is something I need to discuss with you.”

Harry groans. “I thought after you killed Dumbledore you wanted to go flying. So go fly. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I can fly later. As can you—”

“Not on my Firebolt.”

“Do not interrupt me.”

Harry folds his arms on the desk and rests his head on them. This triple punch of Dumbledore, Umbridge, and now Snape is kind of crushing him. “Sorry.”

Snape sighs. When he speaks again, his voice is calmer. “I’m just as weary as you, Potter. This will not take long. I need to tell you that what happened to us must remain a secret. Do not tell anyone about the Room. I certainly will not.”

“I’m telling Ron and Hermione. I won’t tell anyone else but I’m telling them.”

“Granger and Weasley are children,” Snape says firmly. “And children, especially children too stupid to foil Dolores Umbridge, cannot know my true loyalties. Children cannot know about my history with your mother, or my real opinion of you.”

“They’re the same age as me. And I’m not a kid.”

“It is too dangerous for your friends to know. For them and for me. And, I might add, for you.”

“I’m not going to argue about this with you, Snape. They won’t tell.”

“Not even if the Dark Lord tortures it out of them?”

“Not even then.”

“I do not trust them,” Snape replies grimly. “You should not either.”

“Do you trust me?” Harry says crossly. He wants a sandwich. He wants his bed. He wants his friends. He does not want to debate something as simple as this.

A long pause follows this statement.

“Come on,” Harry groans. “Don’t make this a big deal. Do you trust me?”

“It is not as simple as that.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Alright,” Snape says, rolling his eyes. “For the sake of brevity, yes, I find myself trusting you in certain situations some of the time.” He pauses. “Against my better judgment.”

“I’m flattered,” Harry mutters. “So if you can’t trust them, trust me. I promise that Hermione and Ron won’t say anything.”

“If they prove unworthy, we will pay for it with our lives.”

“So we’ll be in slightly more danger than we are now.”

Snape shakes his head. “You raised your wand to Dumbledore today, after expressedly promising me you would not.”

“So take more points,” Harry says tiredly. “Didn’t take you long, did it?”

“I will continue to take points if and when you deserve it,” Snape growls. “And you miss my point. Your broke your pledge to me once already. Why should I believe your promise about your friends?”

Harry has no good answer for this. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “Dumbledore just made me so angry. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Your friends won’t be able to help themselves either.”

Harry sits up. “I need to tell them,” he says fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s dangerous. If I don’t tell them I’ll go mad. It’s as simple as that.”

Snape scowls. “Your reliance on them is troubling.”

“Just because you never had any friends but Mum—”

“Don’t take that tone with me—”

They both stop abruptly and stare at each other. Surprisingly, it is Snape who breaks the silence. “I cannot allow this to happen,” he says slowly. “Ms. Granger can handle herself, but that Weasley boy is an idiot. I do not like to forbid you, but I can see no way around it.”

Harry wonders if he would obey such a stricture. Snape is probably thinking the same thing. It would be a big test, that’s for sure, and Harry’s not sure if their fledging relationship could handle it. And then, blessedly, the solution comes to him. “How about if we use the Fidelius Charm?”

A look of relief passes over Snape’s face. “Of course. I am surprised I did not think of it earlier.” He nods his head. “Alright, Potter, you may tell them. Then you will bring them to my office and I will perform the charm to ensure their silence.”

“Fine,” Harry says, equally relieved. A silence settles over them. “Is that it? Now can I go?”

“Careful, Potter, you’ll hurt my feelings,” Snape murmurs dryly. “One more thing. I want you to swear to me that you will never raise your wand to Albus Dumbledore. And I want you to mean it this time.”

“Why do you still care about that?” Harry grumbles. “And what if I lose my temper again? That’s a really hard promise for me to keep.”

“Nonetheless. Swear to me that you will not hurt the headmaster.”

“What about his pet?” Harry says sharply. “Can I hurt Fawkes?”

Snape smiles mirthlessly. “I was making a point, Potter.”

“It was a stupid point,” Harry mutters, slumping even further in his seat. “Stupid and unnecessary.”

“Will you do as I have asked?”

“I swear I won’t hurt Fawkes.”

Snape raises an eyebrow.

“Or his owner,” Harry adds, glowering.

“Swear on your mother’s memory. Then I know you will keep your word.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Dumbledore’s welfare really means so much to you?”

“It’s not his welfare that interests me,” Snape says quietly.

Harry looks at him skeptically. Then he shrugs. “I swear on Mum’s memory, then. I won’t touch a hair on Dumbledore’s head. Unless in self defense.”

“Good enough for me,” Snape murmurs. He eyes Harry. “We have much to discuss, Potter, but nothing else is pressing. You are dismissed.”

Harry heaves himself to his feet.

“Oh, and Potter?”

“Whaaaaaaaaat?” The whine escapes from Harry’s mouth before he can stop it. He blushes and looks away.

“You may have an extension on your Potions homework.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles.

“Dumbledore made me offer it.”

“Great. Thanks.”

And then, blessedly, they are done. Snape heads for who knows where, and Harry finally crawls into the portrait hole. He stumbles past a blur of faces greeting him. He sees neither red nor bushy hair, and so he doesn’t stop. Instead he finds his bed. He’s asleep within seconds.

----

Harry awakens just before dawn. The rosy fingers of the sunrise prod at his eyelids, and he opens them slowly, feeling wonderfully refreshed. He pulls the comforter around his shoulders and gets out of bed. The window beckons to him, and he pads over and opens it. Wonderful, real, brisk, fresh air wafts over him. It feels like heaven. Harry sits on the ledge, burrowed in his blanket, and gazes over the quiet lawns. He’d love to go flying, but only on his Firebolt, and Umbridge has taken care of that. But perhaps this is better. This way he can lean his head back, drink in the wind as though it is ambrosia, and wait for Ron to wake up.

It doesn’t take long. Someone claps him in the shoulder, and Harry turns around and grins at a certain freckled-face Weasley. Ron smiles back, but he looks concerned. Harry opens his mouth to greet him, but then thinks better of it, glancing at his sleeping suitemates. Ron nods and gestures toward the door. Harry stifles the need to do some kind of exuberant jig and happily follows Ron to the common room.

Hermione, beckoned by some sixth sense, is already there, setting out three cups of hot chocolate. She jumps up at the sight of Harry, scolding and hugging and patting him until she fairly knocks him over. Then she shoves him into a squashy couch, arranges herself and Ron on either side, and thrusts the cocoa at him.

Harry takes the cup and begins sipping it, feeling warmed by something else all together. Hermione nods briskly and casts several protective spells around them, even though the common room is deserted. “Now we can talk freely,” she says in an unnaturally high voice. She looks at Harry expectantly, but she’s always been quicker with words than he has, and soon her anxiety bubbles over:

“Oh, Harry! We’ve been so worried! That first day it was late and you hadn’t returned and so we went to Dumbledore and asked him to explain and he told us that he had everything under control and so we trusted him. But then it was the next day and you still were gone and so was Snape and then Dumbledore gave out this ridiculous story that you both had spattergroit and then we didn’t know what to think.” She pauses to take a breath. “We tried and tried to get into the Room but nothing worked and we tried pestering Dumbledore but he changed the password and stayed in his office, and, oh, Harry, we’re so glad you’re okay!”

“So what happened?” Ron asks worriedly. “Hermione worked out that Dumbledore put you and Snape in the Room of Requirement together, but we couldn’t figure out why.”

It is such a relief to tell his friends. The pleasure is so intense it feels almost like pain. “Dumbledore wanted Snape and me to get along,” Harry starts. “So he locked us up and basically forced us to work things out.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” Hermione says. “But, oh, Harry, I hoped that it wasn’t! Snape is just unhinged when it comes to you!”

“Did he hurt you?” Ron demands.

“Dumbledore made it so Snape couldn’t do magic in the Room,” Harry says. For the first time, he finds this slightly amusing, and a smile quirks at his lips.

“That was clever,” Hermione muses. “I just knew Dumbledore wouldn’t leave you in there unprotected.”

Harry scowls.

“So did it work?” Hermione wants to know next. “I can’t honestly see you getting along with Snape, but I don’t think you’d be here now if you hadn’t settled things. Unless you escaped from the Room? Or maybe Dumbledore gave up? Or—”

“Let him answer,” Ron growls. “Did you guys become friends or what?”

“I don’t think I’d call us friends,” Harry says slowly. “But I wouldn’t call us enemies either. I’m not sure what to call us. I learned some stuff in there that made me change my mind about him.”

“Like what?” Hermione demands.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise to take the Fidelius Charm later. Some of this is really serious.”

“Of course,” Hermione says, nodding her head vigorously. “Whatever you like, Harry.”

Her easy agreement is so refreshing that Harry could hug her. He settles for smiling goofily into his cocoa. “You too, Ron?”

“No problem, mate.”

And that’s all it takes. No arguments, no questions, no second-guessing of his motivations. Merlin, he missed his friends. Harry gives into his exuberance at last and smacks Ron on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you again, mate.”

“So go on, Harry, what did you learn about Snape?” Hermione says impatiently.

“First that he’s on our side. That’s the most important bit. And, um, I found out that he was in love with my mum.”

Hermione and Ron both stare at him. “Excuse me?” Hermione finally says. “Er—Harry—you aren’t going to say—Snape’s not your dad, is he?”

Ron looks at Hermione in horror. “Sometimes the way your mind works is really terrifying.”

This hadn’t even occurred to Harry, and he finds himself laughing at the absurdity of it. “No,” he finally manages. “No, it was nothing like that. They never dated. But—er—they were neighbors when they were little kids. Best friends, actually. At Hogwarts too. But then he got too weird for her, and she went with my dad.”

Harry pauses. The story sounds so simple when summarized like that. He knows he hasn’t conveyed how terribly this hurt Snape, or how it basically wrecked his whole life. But perhaps he doesn’t need to tell his friends that part of it.

“Of course,” Hermione breathes. “That’s really why Snape hated you, isn’t it? Because you look just like your dad, and he lost Lily to James.”

“I think he hated me because I have Lily’s eyes, actually.”

Hermione gasps. Ron raises an eyebrow at her and shakes his head. “Hermione! You aren’t going soft on Snape, are you?”

“No,” she says, flustered. “But—it’s just—I think he must have loved her.”

“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “I think he did.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But that’s not all. Snape did something—something terrible. He’s never forgiven himself. I think—he despises himself for it and that hatred kind of—curdled him.”

“What did he do?” Ron asks.

“He sort of—caused my parents’ deaths.”

“WHAT?” Ron and Hermione yelp in unison.

This part is harder. Harry frowns, wondering how to put this. “Okay,” he says heavily. “Trelawney made this prophecy about a baby born in July who could defeat Voldemort. She made it to Dumbledore and Snape overheard. This is when Snape was still a Death Eater, so he ran to Voldemort and told him about the prophecy. Voldemort figured out that the baby was me or Neville.”

Twin gasps from his friends. “Yeah,” Harry snorts. “That’s kind of how I felt. So Snape realized that Voldemort was going to kill me. He made Voldemort promise not to kill my mum, but then he ran to Dumbledore and begged him for help. That’s basically when Snape switched sides. Dumbledore hid my parents, Voldemort killed them anyway, and Snape’s been trying to protect me ever since.”

“Or so Snape says,” Ron growls. “He really tipped You-Know-Who off about this prophecy? Well, this proves it, doesn’t it? Snape really is evil.” Ron glares at Harry and Hermione, as if daring them to disagree.

“Is that how you see it, Harry?” Hermione asks, a curiously soft look in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Harry says quietly, rather undone by that look. Nobody has treated him with gentleness in a long time. It feels nice. “Maybe at first.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says again, putting down his cocoa. “I keep changing my mind.”

“I don’t blame you.” Hermione frowns into her cup. “What a horrible story. It ends badly for everyone. Snape and Dumbledore both did their best but your parents still died. No wonder they both feel so strongly about you. All of their greatest regrets and mistakes are tangled up with you.”

Harry nods slowly, considering this. He feels incapable of such a big-picture view of that fateful night. His wounds are still too raw. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I don’t understand,” Ron sighs, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “How can you—how can you learn all that about Snape and still think he’s on our side?”

“He convinced me.”

“How do you know he hasn’t tricked you?” Ron asks. “How do you know he isn’t just a really, really good actor?”

Harry is silent a long while. Finally he looks up, and he lets the weariness show in his face. “It’s not like Dumbledore just locked the door and left Snape and me to our own devices, Ron. He interfered. He put us through a lot. It was kind of like going through a war together. Something like that changes stuff. Snape’s on our side. Trust me.”

“How exactly did Dumbledore interfere?”

Harry shrugs, not sure how open he wants to be. “He made us relive some horrible memories. He stuck the Mirror of Erised in there. You know what that thing is like for me, Ron. And sometimes…sometimes we needed a Healer, but he left us to suffer. It was like he was trying to break us down, and before we could recover from one horrible test, he’d throw something else at us.” He scowls at the memory. “No matter how bad it got, Dumbledore wouldn’t unlock the door. Even when Snape was on his knees—even when he was banging on the door, begging like a baby—Dumbledore wouldn’t let us out.”

Harry studies Ron and Hermione. He doesn’t like revealing Snape’s humiliation like this, but it is the only way to get his friends to understand the severity of what happened. They look properly shocked, so maybe his gambit has paid off.

Ron is the first to recover. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s bad enough that you were hurt and Dumbledore didn’t help,” Ron says, aghast. “But it sounds like he played mind games with the pair of you. I mean, I always knew Dumbledore was the most brilliant wizard alive…but it’s not right for him to use his brains like that. It’s not fair.”

“The whole thing wasn’t fair,” Harry agrees. Merlin, but it feels good to be around Gryffindors again.

“This just doesn’t sound like Dumbledore,” Hermione says, propping her chin on her hands. “He never struck me as cruel before.”

“Well, he is,” Harry snarls. “Whether you believe me or not.”

“We believe you,” Ron says firmly. “If you say Dumbledore went too far, then he went too far.” He looks pointedly at Hermione. “Right?”

“Of course,” Hermione says, flustered. “I didn’t mean to minimize what happened to you, Harry. It just surprised me.”

“Yeah, it surprised me too,” Harry sighs. “I really hate that I can’t trust Dumbledore anymore. I haven’t even told you the worst bits of it yet.”

“No more trusting Dumbledore then,” Ron says firmly. “We’ll just have to look after ourselves a bit more, that’s all.” He juts out his jaw. “So tell me, Harry, is there anyone in your story who isn’t a complete git?”

Harry shrugs. He leans back into the sofa, wondering if any of them really fit that description. Dumbledore just looked so sad in his office. Like he really did have feelings, and like he really didn’t want to hurt Harry.

“You look like you’ve really been ill,” Hermione says softly. “You’re so pale, Harry.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron agrees. “You look like the Bloody Baron.”

“This past week has been horrible,” Harry says, and to his dismay, his voice comes out all wobbly. Ron and Hermione exchange glances. Harry is both pleased and annoyed by this. “I can handle it,” he adds hastily. “But…it was horrible.”

“Harry!” A voice calls from across the room. It’s Dean, looking very happy to see him. “Glad to have you back!”

The three of them turn around, and Hermione quickly cancels her protective spells. Dean comes over and grins at Harry. “Welcome back, mate. I’ve missed you…and the you-know-what.” He winks and strides toward the portrait hole.

Harry looks questioningly at his friends.

“The D.A.,” Hermione says quietly.

Harry frowns. “We ought to change the name.” He stands up. “I’m starving. Let’s get dressed and go to breakfast.”

Hermione and Ron exchange glances again, but Harry is already on his way to the showers.

---

Half an hour later, Harry returns to the common room. Hermione and Ron instantly materialize at his side, and the three of them climb out of the portrait hole. They are stopped periodically by well-wishers on their way to the Great Hall. Harry is a little surprised by how much he’s been missed. Apparently he’s viewed as something of a ringleader in the anti-Umbridge assault, and well, as Fred and George tell him, torturing the old toad just wasn’t the same without him.

Harry pushes the door to the Great Hall open, and a noisy barrage of voices assaults him. He winces, wondering when his peers got quite so noisy. Nobody really pays him much attention, though, which is nice. The spattergroit story does have the advantage of being wildly dull compared to some of his usual exploits. Malfoy, he notices, heaves a great sigh upon seeing him, but even he does not seem unduly concerned. Perhaps only Umbridge suspects that there’s more to his joint disappearance with Snape.

Harry slides into his seat. There really are quite a lot of people in this room. Too many. And all of them are far too loud. It makes him a little nervous. Harry squashes the feeling down and begins to load up his plate. The food smells heavenly, and he devotes himself entirely to his breakfast. Hermione and Ron keep a very close eye on him and urge a new dish on him whenever he shows signs of slowing. Harry does not refuse any of their requests, and even then he does not feel quite full. The food in the Room wasn’t bad, exactly. But they didn’t spend a lot of time eating.

All of these people are really starting to bug him. Harry puts down his fork, wondering if it’s possible to develop some kind of crowd thing in so short a time. He was only gone from the general population for a week, after all.

But it felt like a year.

Harry lets his eyes wander to the head table. Dumbledore’s chair is empty, which makes him feel weirdly unhappy. Umbridge is there, though, and her beady little eyes are glaring at her plate. Something has annoyed her, which never bodes well for him. And then there is Snape. He is also eating steadily away, nodding at random intervals to McGonagall, who looks to be filling him in on something. But she doesn’t have his full attention. Snape’s eyes are darting around, and he looks half-ready to bolt. This Harry appreciates. Her turns back to his breakfast, oddly comforted that Snape is finding the Great Hall a trial as well.

Then a sharp something nips at his ear, and a flurry of feathers lands on his shoulder. Here is a visitor he is very happy to see, and Harry spends the rest of breakfast catching up with Hedwig.