He runs blindly. It doesn’t even enter his head where he’s running, but his feet seem to know where to take him. His chest heaves, but he puts his all into just making sure his legs keep moving. Not once does he even check if he’s being followed, but at the frantic speed he’s running, he’s sure Snape wouldn’t be able to keep up. Leaving the dungeons, he notices briefly that there are a few people milling around, but he runs so fast that their faces are a blur. He vaguely notices his breaths coming out in loud wheezes, and begins hoping it just sounds louder in his ears than it does to everyone else. He slows down when he reaches Gryffindor Tower, just enough to mutter the password and slide through the portrait as it opens up.

Like a blinkered horse he bolts through the common room, completely unhearing as someone calls his name. With legs like jelly, he takes the stairs two steps at a time until he reaches his room. When he gets inside, he comes to an abrupt halt. There’s no one there, he is thankful for that, but in the silence he can hear his rapid breathing as the air grates up and down his windpipe like sandpaper. Taking a wobbly step towards his bed, he goes to sit down, but ends up sliding onto the floor next to it instead. One hand flies to his chest as the other grips the knee of his trousers as if just holding on to something can give him some control over the situation, but the tighter he grips, the worse it seems to get.

He tries to calm down, tries to think of anything to get his breathing back to normal, but his chest constricts painfully and the more he tries to make it better, the more panicked he gets that it’s not working.

“Harry?” a voice calls, but it sounds so far away. “Harry!” someone calls again, this time louder but still muffled as if someone has stuffed cotton wool into his ears. His heavy head feels like a dead weight on his shoulders until a hand tilts his chin upwards and, through the blur of tears in his eyes, he notices Ron’s red hair and concerned face staring at him. The sight of his friend grounds him. Still struggling, Harry reaches out for Ron’s shoulder – anything to grasp hold of – in an effort find a modicum of calmness within the turbulent tides of his emotions.

“Calm down,” Harry hears Ron say. “Come on, catch your breath.”

“Is he alright?” another voice says, and Harry’s eyes flicker to the doorway where Neville is standing looking even more nervous than usual. Busy trying to keep Harry’s attention, Ron waves Neville off.

“That’s it mate, settle down,” Ron says, squeezing Harry’s shoulder like Harry is squeezing his own. Slowly, but surely, Harry finds his breaths coming slightly easier. Finally he is able to focus on something other than just his breathing.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles between hitches.

“S’alright. What happened?” Ron asks tentatively. Harry merely shakes his head and stares at the floor between his legs, trying to take in as much air as possible. He can’t look at his friend. Ron’s question is too probing and yet too ambiguous. How on Earth can he answer it? Why would he want to? At Harry’s silence, Ron tries again, “You can tell me, y’know.”

“Jus’ –” Harry tries, but shakes his head again. He doesn’t want to talk about it. If he can help it, he’ll never talk about it to anyone, ever. However, as Harry’s gaze flits wildly about the room, he realises in the midst of his settling panic that his one comfort, stowed carefully away in his rucksack, is nowhere to be seen – in fact, his rucksack is missing. His chest tightens further as his eyes snap up to meet Ron’s concerned face. “My bag,” he chokes, “my bag! Where is it? I had it. I had it before...didn’t I? I’m sure I did. I must have! I’d never have left it.” 

“We’ll find it, mate,” Ron reassures him, giving Harry’s shoulder a squeeze, but Harry violently throws his hand off, shaking his head and looking madly around the room.

“No! You don’t understand!” he tries to shout but it comes out as more of a pathetic wheeze. “Sirius!” Motioning onto his knees, Harry crawls across the room, looking under the beds as Ron looks on. “Sirius”, Harry keeps muttering.

“Harry, sit down, yeah? Whatever it is, we’ll find it.” Ron carefully wraps a hand around Harry’s upper arm and frowns when he flinches away from him. Expelling a loud breath, Harry slumps back against the wall and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sirius,” he says once more, and finally Ron can’t take his friend’s devastated expression any longer.

“You’d better get McGonagall, he’s not making sense,” Ron says, looking over his shoulder at Neville. As Neville scuttles out of the room, Ron turns his concerned gaze back to Harry whose hands are now gripping his hair in frustration. “Sirius”, Harry says again, his breaths coming too quickly again. His eyes are pleading for Ron to understand, but Ron simply doesn’t, he can’t. Through all the panic, all Ron can think is that his friend is finally losing it. The stress of the war, of Voldemort, and a life being watched and hunted, has broken his brain.  

*

It doesn’t take long for a flustered McGonagall to arrive with Neville in tow.  

Taking one look at Harry sat back on his haunches, McGonagall’s eyebrows knit together. “Mr Potter,” she says questioningly, gazes flicking briefly to Ron who looks equally as puzzled, “what on Earth is going on?”

“Nothing,” Harry says, sucking in a loud breath as he tries to calm down.

“Harry,” Ron urges, but Harry keeps his mouth shut, eyes still working the room. “His bag’s gone missing. I don’t know what’s so bad about that but–”

“How can you say that? It’s my bag! It’s got my stuff in it, and I’ve lost it! I need it!” Harry snaps.

McGonagall closes the door behind her. “Calm yourself, Mr Potter, there is no need to work yourself into a state. I am sure we will recover your bag. It is not irreplaceable, so it is not the end of the world.”

You have no idea, Harry thinks.

“I just –”. He looks to the floor shaking his head before fixing his gaze with McGonagall. “Sirius, he gave me something...I just...it’s all I have. I can’t lose it, Professor.”

Oh Merlin, it’s gone. The mirror could be anywhere. I’ve lost it for good. Remus is going to kill me! His thoughts flit between being worried that Remus will discover how careless he’s been, and being irrationally upset that, even though Sirius is dead, he has lost the thing that kept them close. Harry hates that he can’t tell them about the mirror – he just can’t stand the thought that Remus might find out. The man has already lost his best friend. I can’t even keep hold of a mirror!

McGonagall’s eyes soften and Harry finds himself having to look away.

“Somebody will hand it in, Potter. Don’t worry too much. In the meantime, I’m sure Mr Weasley and Mr Longbottom here wouldn’t mind sharing their texts with you.” The boys nod, Ron clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder, offering him a glimmer of a smile. “I will ask the professors to keep an eye out and see if Miss Granger will do a quick scan of the halls for you. Is that satisfactory?”

Harry sighs and nods. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You are sickly pale, Potter. It is probably a result of your worry, but you will go and see Madame Pomfrey if you feel unwell, is that clear? You have already had your share of sickness this year, I’m not sure Madame Pomfrey could take it if you had another extended stay with her.” At McGonagall’s smirk, Harry can’t help but smile.

“Yes, Professor,” he says, pulling himself into standing position and brushing himself down.

Opening the door, McGonagall looks at Ron, giving him a nod, before leaving the boys to their thoughts.     

“There’s nothing else you can do, mate,” Ron says quietly, “they’ll find it. When has Hermione ever failed at anything?” he half-laughs and smiles broadly when Harry joins in. “Come on, let’s play exploding snap or something.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, trying to put his missing bag to the back of his mind. His last piece of Sirius is in that bag. The idea of it being lost for good...the thought is inconceivable. “You playing, Neville?” 

The boys settle down, Ron and Neville concentrating hard on the game. Harry doesn’t win once, his brain too fervent on straying to thoughts of Sirius, the contents of his bag, and worst of all...to Snape. He’d almost lost it completely in front of the man. Harry could give credit where it was due, Snape was a good actor – he almost had him believing the git cared about him. Then again, years of being a spy don’t come without picking up a few tips in deception. The man didn’t even follow him.

No, he doesn’t care about me. Can’t believe I even thought he could.

“Alright Harry? It’s your turn,” Ron says, bringing Harry back from his reverie.  

“Sorry, guys.”

*

After finding Hermione and sending her off to look for Harry’s bag, McGonagall retreats from Gryffindor Tower. Moving with her usual rigour, she doesn’t notice Snape until they collide, in a flurry of robes, with a thump in the corridor.

Ignoring McGonagall’s flustered mutterings as she straightens herself, Snape tugs his cloak back into shape and puffs out a breath of hot air.

“Do watch where you are marching, Minerva!”

“I believe you also collided with me?” she retorts, tone clipped, receiving nothing in return but a loud harrumph. “What brings you here, Severus? Surely this is enemy ground for you,” she says, only half seriously.

“Hmm. Much to my irritation I am here to find Potter. We had a minor altercation and he left before we reached a conclusion,” Snape says, giving away as little as possible. 

“Ah, yes, I did suspect something other than just a missing bag had got Mr Potter in such a state. I should have suspected it was you.” Snape’s brow crinkles momentarily, but he quickly schools his features again. McGonagall frowns and lowers her voice. “I thought, after everything that’s happened, you’d have re-thought your petty grudge against the boy?”

“I am doing what the headmaster has asked of me,” Snape snaps. “Potter is difficult.”

McGonagall smiles slightly and purses her lips, looking at him over the top of her glasses. “He is a teenager, Severus. They’re always difficult.” She sighs and the smile falls. “I am worried for him.”

“Yes, well...” Snape pauses, unsure of how to go on. “I assume the boy’s little tantrum is over now?”

“Severus,” McGonagall chides. “It was hardly a little tantrum.” 

Snape looks to the floor and makes a show of brushing off his robes again. “Hmm. Well, no harm done.”

“No harm done? Severus, I have never seen him in such a way. He had calmed down by the time I reached his dormitory, but by Mr Longbottom’s recollection of the incident, Mr Potter was having some sort of panic attack. I wasn’t going to pry, but honestly, what on Earth was this minor altercation about?”

“That’s precisely the point, Minerva, I have no idea what it was about. That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Did you speak to him about the...his...the injuries?” McGonagall hedges.

“...in a roundabout way, yes. I felt we were getting somewhere and then he ran.”

“Getting somewhere? Did he say anything? How did it happen?”

Snape sighs loudly, sounding more and more frustrated by the second. “I simply do not know. He didn’t say much, but what he did say has only raised more questions that I do not feel it is prudent to divulge at the minute.”

“Severus, I am his head of house! I should know if –”

“Be that as it may,” Snape interrupts, “that meddlesome old fool has assigned this arduous task to me, so I will do as I see fit which, at the moment, involves not succumbing to speculation or spreading notions I do not know for certain to be true.” At McGonagall’s terse face, Snape continues, “I will, however, say this. Somebody has been hurting the boy and it is somebody he knows. I suggest you keep a close watch on him.” With a menacing growl he adds, “I must have a word with the Headmaster.”

Sensing the agitation in Snape’s voice, McGonagall’s face sets into a deep and troubled frown. “Do be gentle with him, Severus.”

“You would not be saying that if you witnessed what I have witnessed today.” And with that, Snape sweeps passed a confused McGonagall in a flourish of black material.

*

The march down to Dumbledore’s office does nothing to quell the uncomfortable feeling dwelling in the pit of Snape’s stomach. Muttering the password, he tries to muster some visible semblance of objectivity and stoicism – not difficult considering he’s had to do it all his life – and climbs the stairs to the headmaster’s office. As he takes each step, it crosses his mind more and more that nothing good can actually come of this visit.

Either the headmaster will confirm my suspicions, and then I’ll have to deal with the aftermath of that revelation, or he will dash it completely out of the water meaning Potter and I will be back to square one.  Neither thought fills Snape with joy.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he raps quickly on the door, and on Dumbledore’s orders steps through.

“Severus, my boy, to what do I owe this pleasant albeit unexpected visit?”

Snape’s eyes narrow and he shoots Dumbledore a look as if to say, you know exactly why I’m here. When else do I turn up unannounced?

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle softly and he motions for Snape to take a seat. “Have you made any progress with Harry?”

Snape hesitates. Has he really made any actual progress?

“We have...spoken,” is all he decides to reply.

“And?” Dumbledore urges, leaning forward at his desk. 

“I have my suspicions, Headmaster. Tell me, what do you know of the Dursleys?”

A fleeting look of confusion passes Dumbledore’s features. “They are a typical muggle family. Vernon, Petunia, and their son, Dudley.”

Snape slowly puffs a warm breath through his nose. “And what of their characters?”

“I really cannot say. They are a close-knit family – not perfect, but what family is?”

“Albus!”

“Whatever is this about, Severus?”

Snape stands abruptly from his seat and begins pacing the room. “Before allowing the muggles to take him, what did you know about them?”

“Severus, really, this is...” Dumbledore starts, but falters when faced with Snape’s impatient look suddenly staring him down. “Well, they were, perhaps, a little rough around the edges, but they had a son of their own, my boy. They loved him, spoiled him rotten. That is the love I wished for Harry. That is the reason he was placed in their care.”

Snape stops pacing and runs a tense hand through his lank locks. “Did anybody ever check on the boy while he was there?”

“It was unnecessary; he was meant to grow up a normal boy with a normal childhood –” Dumbledore explains, but stops mid-sentence when a realisation hits him. His voice drops to a whisper. “Severus, what are you saying?”

“At the moment I am saying nothing, Albus. If this is true, I --” Snape starts pacing again. “In a decade, an entire decade, nobody checked on him?”  

Dumbledore sorrowfully shakes his head. “Severus, I admit I had my reservations, but –”

“You had concerns, but you did nothing? You left him there, and what, brushed your concerns aside without as much as a second thought?”

“Says the man who has spent the last several years tormenting the poor boy,” Dumbledore retorts, eyes flashing, but he quickly sighs, realising how unfair he is being. “Severus, yes I had my concerns, but nothing that would warrant my interference. I told that family I would leave them be until Harry was ready to come to Hogwarts. I knew they were not the best kind of muggles, but Petunia is Lily’s sister. Harry is Petunia’s nephew. They are family, Severus. I never believed he could truly come to any harm with them.”

“Yes, Albus, but you and I both know that sometimes family does not mean a thing.” Snape grits his teeth.

“Did they hurt the boy, Severus?” Dumbledore asks seriously, rising from his desk on weary legs.

“I can’t be certain,” Snape replies sharply, clenching his jaw and reigning in his frustration. For the first time in his life, living secretly under the wing of the headmaster, Snape is starting to doubt Albus Dumbledore’s wisdom and rationale.

“Please, Severus, find out.” Dumbledore’s words are clipped and Snape realises he, too, is trying to hold back some kind of emotion, but whether anger, sadness, concern or a cocktail of all three, Snape can’t tell, he is too busy settling down his own mixed emotions. As Dumbledore sits back down behind his desk, head in his hands, Snape takes that as his cue to leave. With a curt nod, he heads to the door, but pauses on the threshold.   

“I hope, for Lily’s sake and yours, that my suspicions are wrong.” And with that, he swiftly makes his exit, his words lingering in the room as he leaves a remorseful Dumbledore in his wake.