Harry Potter awoke abruptly, halfway through Transfiguration with a pounding headache; although it was not that which woke him.

"Harry Potter!" screeched Professor McGonagall from above him, clearly at wits end. Harry jumped at least a foot and nearly fell out of his desk.

"Sorry Professor," Harry said sheepishly, hanging his head slightly and wondering how deep a sleep he’d been in. It looked like McGonagall had been yelling for some time.

"See me after class Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall sternly.

Harry flushed when he saw Malfoy watching him.

"Yes Professor," he replied quietly.

***

When the last of the students had handed in their finished work and departed, Harry said goodbye to Ron and Hermione and walked up to Professor McGonagall’s desk. He looked as though he was being sentenced to death.

"You wanted to see me Professor?" Harry inquired nervously, trying to avoid the stern woman’s gaze as he watched the snowflakes fall outside the window.

"Yes," she nodded curtly, motioning the teenager toward her desk. "First of all: ten points from Gryffindor for falling asleep in class."

Harry nodded. It was fair.

"Secondly, I would like to know Mr. Potter, are you alright?" she asked, sounding slightly concerned.

Harry was shocked into looking up at her. Professor McGonagall didn’t sound concerned often.

"Sorry?"

"Are you okay? Did you sleep alright last night? You are normally quite attentive in my class," said Professor McGonagall, looking at Harry closely, taking in the shadows beneath his eyes.

"I’m fine Professor. And I slept alright, I guess," shrugged Harry, still taken aback.

"Alright, you may go now," she sighed, taking a seat at her desk. "If you need anything, let me know."

Harry picked up his books on his way out of the room. He tried to calm his rapid breathing as he strode down the hall. For he had now begun to give his Professor’s question a thought: had he slept well? And that was the thing; he didn’t remember how he slept last night, or even what had happened in the past month. He had positively no memory of how he had gotten to Hogwarts, let alone to Transfiguration class!

***

"Come on mate, have some treacle tart at least. It’s your favourite!" Ron Weasley said, wafting a dish in Harry’s direction. "How can you possibly refuse food?"

"Are you sick Harry?" Hermione asked, with the same concerned expression McGonagall had worn. "You’re quite pale."

"I’m fine guys," Harry told them, trying to sound irritated, even though he didn’t believe that his words himself. Though his headache may have cleared up, he was still confused as to what was going on. "McGonagall gave me a few ginger newts so I’m not all that hungry right now."

"Why would she give you ginger newts if you were in trouble?" Ron said thickly through a mouthful of treacle tart.

"She thought I looked a bit peaky," Harry made up. He felt guilty lying to his friends, but after all, it was partially the truth.

"Well, if you’re going down to the kitchens later can I come? I’d like to talk with Dobby," Hermione said serenely, flipping through a book.

"Sure," Harry told her, promising himself to choke down a bit of food later for Hermione’s sake.

***

The next day dawned bright and cold, sunshine pouring into the Gryffindor dorm, where Harry lay sleeping. Though not for long, for he awoke as soon as the sunshine hit his bed, wanting so much to drift back into sleep, but finding he was unable to. So, dragging himself out of bed as quietly as possible, Harry dressed and made his way down the common room with his mind set on grabbing some toast from the kitchens and perhaps going up to the owlery to visit Hedwig.

On his way to see his owl, Harry pondered the strange dream he had had. The details were becoming increasingly hard to remember as he trotted along, and so he let it rest. That’s the thing with dreams, he thought, sometimes you remember them, and sometimes you don’t.

When Harry arrived at his destination, he stood there, up in the owlery, letting the chill winds caress his hair. He relished the cold on his ears and face, for it took away a little of the numbness he’d been feeling and made him feel so alive. Harry smiled as Hedwig flew in through one of the windows, landing on his shoulder and enthusiastically nibbling his ear as if to say I missed you.

"Hey, that tickles," Harry laughed, reaching up to scratch the feathers around her neck.

That was her favourite spot.

Hedwig hooted sleepily, shuffling off his shoulder and onto a perch.

"Hang on girl, I brought you a bit of toast," said Harry fondly, holding out a little piece of crust to the owl. She ate it gratefully before tucking her head behind her wing.

Harry watched her a little while longer, taking in the ever so familiar way her feathers rose and fell with each breath. He had the strangest feeling he hadn’t seen Hedwig in a while. But that was most likely due to the fact he didn’t really remember a lot at the moment. He sighed, taking one last glance at his feathery friend before descending from the owlery. It took him a moment to realise, but a few things had begun to trickle back to him. He now remembered visiting Hagrid not too long ago, and a few other trivial things from earlier in the year. This came with a relief to Harry, and he was even able to catch a little bit of rest in the common room before the other students got up. Besides, he thought lazily, I’ve probably just been stressed out about the extra homework we’ve had to do in preparation for NEWTs next year.

***

"Good to see you’re hungry today Harry," Hermione commented from across the table during lunch that day. Harry nodded, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Arg, I just remembered, Defence Against the Dark Arts after lunch …" Ron grimaced heartily as he served himself yet another bowl of soup.

"What’s wrong with Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Harry asked, clueless as he dipped a roll into his soup.

Hermione and Ron stared.

"Hello, don’t you remember who teaches it?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Er …" Harry said, wracking his brains for the answer, which mercifully came. "Oh right … Snape!"

"You need to get more sleep mate," Ron said, looking worried.

"Harry, is something wrong?" Hermione asked with concern.

"I’m perfectly fine, like Ron said, I didn’t get enough sleep last night," Harry said, covering up his mistake before excusing himself early to go to the bathroom.

"What is wrong with you Harry?" he whispered to himself a few minutes later, washing his face with some water from the bathroom sink. His insides felt as though his soup had decided to claw about his stomach.

He looked at himself in the mirror, shocked at how the shadows under his eyes stood out even more than yesterday and how his skin looked almost sickly. It was no wonder his friends were worried. His hands shook slightly as he struggled again to remember what had went on in the early months of the year, and before that.

"Um okay, Snape’s teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, so who teaches Potions?" he interrogated his reflection. "Think Harry think!"

"Right. And how did you get those scars on the back of your hand?" he tried himself.

Harry started to calm down. It was all there; he was just stressed. That was all there was to it.

With that last thought he made his way to class, and when he arrived, was startled to see almost the entire class in their seats. Had he been that long? Harry quickly scanned the room for his friends, and spied them almost immediately. Ron caught his eye and shoved a few books off of the seat next to him, which he had saved for Harry.

"Thanks," mouthed Harry as the bell rang, signalling the beginning of the lesson.

***

"Is it just me, or was Snape staring at me for almost the entire class?" Harry asked his friends as they left the classroom. He shot an uneasy glance back at the doorway, and sure enough, Snape was looking straight at him.

"He did seem to be observing you from a distance, that’s for sure," Hermione said thoughtfully. "You haven’t been out of bed after curfew lately have you?"

"I don’t think so," Harry said, combing his thoughts. "No I haven’t."

"Maybe he’s just being a creep, I mean, he does do that well after all," Ron reasoned.

"Oh well, best forget about it," Hermione re-assured Harry with a smile.

"Yeah, I suppose," Harry smiled back.

He was a still bit confused however, for the way Snape had stared at him wasn’t the look of utmost loathing he was used to. Though Harry wasn’t certain, he thought had caught a bit of pity, and maybe even regret within those dark eyes. And that, Harry knew, was not like Snape at all.