September passed without too much more drama. Although Harry was definitely still being treated frostily, it wasn’t as bad as it had been, and for the most part he was able to ignore it.

He still hadn’t told Ron and Hermione about the leash. He wasn’t sure why not. Maybe because it felt too humiliating. He had tried looking them up in the library, and found that they were usually only used to keep disobedient children in line. He couldn’t find a single case of someone using it to discipline a student.

He had also, to his dismay, discovered that they could only be removed by the castor willingly removing it, by the castor dying, or by trained Ministry officials. The only exceptions were a couple of cases where a child had performed unusually powerful accidental magic which severed the connection.

In other words, short of murdering Snape (“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered) or appealing to the Ministry of Magic for help (potential suicide), he was stuffed.

Food continued to be a struggle. He could often feel his friends’ eyes on him at mealtimes, Hermione’s especially; at least so far no-one had asked him outright what had happened to his appetite. As for his actual nourishment, with no ideas how to get more, he had rationed his blood further, to two vials a day instead of three in desperation.

At least one evening a week, Snape had Harry serving detention in the dungeons. The only good thing Harry could say about it was that it was an excuse not to be at dinner. Snape had him scrubbing cauldrons, preparing potions ingredients and cleaning up after classes, for three hours straight every time. Harry always emerged from them aching fit to burst and ready to collapse into bed.

-

After the drama of Halloween, Harry was more than frantic. He was now drinking only one vial a day, with very few left over, and the lack of sustenance was taking its toll. He felt tired all the time, and struggled to concentrate in class, even Defence Against the Dark Arts. Detention and Quidditch practices left him so drained he was constantly afraid he would pass out.

If I can’t find more, he thought fearfully, I am actually going to die.

For the millionth time, he wished he could just ask someone for help; but every time Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, hesitating, he knew he couldn’t do it. Even the thought of eternal nothing paled in comparison to the thought of losing his friends.

He was so engrossed in his dark thoughts on the way back from Quidditch practice, that he nearly ran into something.

“Woof!”

“Snuffles!” Harry gasped. “How on earth—”

Snuffles butted his hand, and Harry got the message and gave him a pat, followed by a grateful hug. “Wow, boy; I have no idea how you got all the way here, but I am so happy to see you.”

Snuffles whined and licked him, before tugging on Harry’s robes with his teeth.

“What is it?”

The dog just kept pulling at him, so Harry got back to his feet and followed, hoping he wasn’t going to bring Snape running.

Snuffles led him around the castle, to the foot of the North Tower. With every step Harry took, he could feel the leash protesting, like something was tightening across his chest; it was, after all, dark and his practice was finished. It was only a matter of time before Snape turned up.

“Snuffles,” Harry said anxiously, “I really should go back—I’m not supposed to be out here—”

The dog scrabbled at something in the wall, and pushed a brick in. There was a great grinding noise, and a section of the wall shifted out of sight, just big enough for Snuffles—or Harry—to crawl through.

“Wow,” Harry whispered, for a moment distracted from the impending danger. “How’d you know that was there?”

He received only a bark in response. Harry squatted down and squinted into the darkness. The room beyond was dimly lit, with a cluster of broken classroom furniture inside and a tapestry patterned with animals. He vaguely recognised it.

Snuffles closed the doorway, and took off like a shot across the grounds. A moment later, Harry knew why, as he heard someone approaching. He scrambled to his feet and, against every instinct, ran to meet them.

“So,” Snape hissed after Harry nearly collided with him—again. “The great Potter can’t follow a simple instruction, can he?”

“I just thought I—heard something,” Harry said quickly. “But it was just a … bird.”

He could see Snape didn’t believe him. “Potter, do you want to remain on your Quidditch team?”

Harry’s heart missed a beat. “Y-yessir.”

“Then I suggest you return to your common room immediately and stay there, and do so after every practice like you are supposed to do. I will not warn you again. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry fled.

-

The first chance he got, Harry made his way to the room Snuffles had directed him to. It was only a storage room, and according to Professor McGonagall, not technically out of bounds. He had taken refuge in there a couple of times to get away from devoted fans, or taunting classmates. The door to it wasn’t very noticeable, and he had never run into another person in there.

When he arrived, he took a seat on the floor, and almost immediately the hole in the wall opened. Harry jumped, and beamed as Snuffles bounded eagerly towards him.

“Thank you for coming,” Harry said quietly, giving the dog a rub down which he seemed to enjoy. “I can’t tell you how lonely it’s been.” Snuffles whined, as if to offer sympathy. “Thanks. You’re the only one I can talk to about this. I don’t know how much longer—” Harry’s breath hitched and he couldn’t continue.

Snuffles nuzzled his cheek gently, wiping away the tears Harry hadn’t meant to shed. Harry continued petting him whilst he struggled for words. He could feel that Snuffles was still very thin, perhaps more so than before.

“You too, huh?” Harry said with a sigh. “I don’t know what to do, Snuffles. I’d—I’d rather die than bite someone else. But I’ve got virtually no blood left, and—and I’m so hungry …” He trailed off miserably. “Can you help me? You did before. Please?”

Snuffles gave a quiet “Woof!”, gave Harry a quick goodbye lick and padded back to the secret door. Harry watched him go, hardly daring to hope.

He waited for what felt like an age. Finally, Snuffles returned, tail wagging in triumph, with something clutched in his jaws.

Harry stared as Snuffles deposited the rabbit on the ground, and nudged it towards him pointedly. It was quite clearly dead, but freshly so.

He understood what he had to do. The part of him that had always had his meat cooked from a packet, squirmed at the thought. But the hunger won out. Harry picked up the rabbit and, with his eyes closed, bit into its neck.

The taste was different from the dragon’s blood, but not unpleasantly so. There was also more than could fit in one of the vials. Harry drank until he couldn’t get any more, and only when the rabbit was drained dry did he take a breath.

He hadn’t really considered hunting wild animals before—probably because of the obvious difficulty doing so within the boundaries of his leash. But Snuffles wasn’t leashed.

“Good boy,” Harry said.