Harry was going to be late for Potions. Snape was going to flay him alive. Snape might have been cordial to him outside of potions, but in class, nothing had changed. He rushed to the classroom, biting his lip, not quite sure what had just happened.

He’d taken a quick detour between classes to use the restroom. He was washing his hands in front of the mirror, when his vision wavered and the scene in front of him—the mirror reflecting himself, the stone floor, the walls, and the bathroom stalls—vanished.

It was replaced by the constricting walls of number 4 Privet Drive. He was outside his cupboard under the stairs, and his vision was dimming as he fought to breathe against the thick, beefy fingers curled tight around his throat. He felt a wall at his back as his small legs pedaled uselessly in the air, his small fingers clawing at those around his neck. He couldn’t breathe. Like an old TV set, his vision went grey static, then solid black.

The next thing he knew, he was panting and heaving on the cold stone bathroom floor of Hogwarts. He massaged his neck, trying to catch his breath. No hands were there, but try as he might, there just wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. He was shaking and trembling. He scrabbled in his bag for the calming draught, but just as he pulled it out, it fell from his unsteady hand, shattering on the stone floor.

“Bugger!” he cursed. Out of frustration and helplessness, he slammed the stone with his fist, a sob escaping him.

The pain had been so real. He didn’t have any more than this tidbit of memory; just this piece, but it kept coming to him, over and over, like some obscene punishment for being alive to remember it.

When he’d finally peeled himself off the stone floor, trembling and sweaty and still struggling to breathe, he considered skipping potions class altogether. Maybe he should go to the hospital wing. But then he’d have to explain what had happened to Madam Pomfrey, and he didn’t want to do that either.

Steeling his shoulders, he made his way to the potions classroom, dread coursing through his veins. He was 20 minutes late. He didn’t want to deal with Snape’s outrage and disdain on top of everything else. He wasn’t sleeping for the nightmares, he couldn’t stay present during the day, and he had lost control of nearly everything in his life. Or at least it felt that way. Bracing himself, he entered the classroom and stood by his seat, awaiting Snape’s wrath, not even bothering to sit down.

The Potions Master didn’t disappoint. “Well if it isn’t our local celebrity, deigning to join us at last.”

Harry braced himself against the man’s derision. It was nothing. It meant nothing. He’d suffered worse.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention tonight.”

Harry held himself rigid, refusing to meet Hermione’s or Ron’s worried looks.

“In my office NOW, Potter, where you will explain to me why you thought it acceptable to enter my classroom a quarter of the way into class.”

Harry’s was about to set down his shoulder bag when Snape called, “Bring your things.”

Harry trudged to the front of the room, to the classroom entrance to Snape’s office. He was barely holding himself together. He wanted to rally against the injustice of it all. And he wanted to collapse in a pile of exhaustion.

Snape shut the door and leaned against his desk. “Explain yourself.”

Harry stood, looking at his feet, willing the asinine tears back. When had he lost control of everything so badly?

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, more gently. “What happened?”

At the change in tone, Harry looked up. Instead of finding rage and impatience on the man’s face, he found, not understanding, but sincerity and curiosity. The lack of anger there prompted him to speak.

“I passed out, I think.”

“You what?” Snape asked, straightening up alarmingly.

“I was in the bathroom, and then I wasn’t.” Harry felt his breathing become labored once again and his pulse spike. “I was at the Dursley’s. I was little. My body was little, I mean.” He swallowed against the rising panic. “And Uncle Vernon was choking me. He had me up against a wall, off my feet, and I couldn’t breathe, and my vision went all fuzzy and…” He couldn’t go on. He hadn’t even meant to say as much as he had, but it just sort of spilled out.

Harry jerked violently when two hands settled on his shoulders.

“Breathe, child,” Snape’s voice was gentle, soothing, as he squeezed Harry’s shoulders.

“I can’t,” Harry gasped, feeling once again like a fish out of water. His hands had formed into fists as he fought against the sensation of choking once again.

The hands on his shoulders disappeared. Words echoed in the distance, Snape’s words Harry guessed, but he couldn’t decipher them. His vision was blurring and he began clutching at his throat, scratching at it, as the panic overwhelmed him.

Suddenly there was a glass vial at his lips and a hand behind his head, supporting him. “Drink this,” barely made it to his brain as the fluid touched his tongue and he reflexively swallowed.

After another few panicked moments, he felt his body start to relax and his breathing ease.

“Sit,” a voice was saying, a hand on his shoulder pushing him down into a chair. The hand didn’t leave his shoulder though; it stayed there, rubbing small soothing circles.

“What happened to the calming draught I gave you?” Snape asked.

“Dropped it,” Harry breathed, “Shattered.”

He heard Snape mumble something about “silly child” and “unbreakable charms”, and then Snape said: “Name one place you find peaceful or relaxing.”

“The lake,” Harry choked out.

“Here at Hogwarts?”

Harry nodded, suddenly realizing that his face was wet with tears. He wanted to bury his head in shame.

“Imagine yourself there,” Snape’s melodic voice was saying. “You are sitting by the lake, beneath the large Beech tree on the shore.”

Harry forced himself to focus on Snape’s words.

“It is a glorious, sunny day. The air is warm, and a soft breeze is blowing in from the West, making small waves grace the surface of the water.”

The hand rubbing circles on his shoulder moved to the back of his neck. “That’s it, Potter,” Snape murmured as Harry relaxed.

“See the birds over the lake, swooping in and soaring over the water, their wings extended, flying free on the air currents.”

Harry took a deep breath, finding it a little easier to stay present now.

“Imagine that you are that bird; untethered, not a care in the world, soaring over the landscape, feeling the wind under your wings. You can go anywhere you want, fly away, take a break from it all.”

Harry felt the sudden urge to hold the hand that massaged his neck, to hold in it gratitude, to hold onto it for dear life. He resisted the urge.

He heard a chair scrape and opened his eyes briefly to find Snape sitting before him. Snape pulled back his hand, and again Harry fought the urge to grab it.

“You can be that bird whenever you need to be, Mr. Potter. You can fly above yourself, take a break from it all. Get your bearings before you land again.”

Clutching his hands together, Harry nodded, fighting back tears. Shame and embarrassment flooded him. He was not a baby. He gritted his teeth in frustration and longed to lash out at something, hit something, in his desperation and helplessness.

“Why is this happening?” he breathed in frustration. He closed his eyes, knowing it was a stupid and obvious question and waiting for Snape’s snide remark. When it didn’t come, he looked up to meet the Potion Master’s gaze.

“We’ve stirred up a lot of memories, Mr. Potter. I imagine this will keep happening for quite some time.”

Harry wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. Instead, he hung his head. “I think the Muggle therapy is making it worse,” he uttered.

“Why is that?” Snape asked.

“It just brings up more bad memories,” Harry said.

“I imagine it does,” Snape replied. “But, in this case, I think things might have to get worse before they get better.”

Harry snorted. Wasn’t that the story of his whole life?

“Have you told Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger about these episodes?”

Harry shook his head. So far, he’d managed to hide this latest embarrassment from them.

“Perhaps you should,” Snape was saying.

But Harry had tuned him out. He just couldn’t make them worry about him even more. Realizing Snape had stopped talking, he glanced up.

“I need to be getting back to class,” Snape said, “before the students blow themselves up.”

The look of consternation on Snape’s face brought a small smile to Harry’s face. “What should I do now, sir?”

Harry waited as Snape studied him. Then Snape transfigured one of the chairs in his office into a bed that looked remarkable like the ones in the hospital wing.

“Rest here, Potter. I will lock the doors. I will wake you after class is over so you can make it to your next class.”

“Sir?” Harry asked in astonishment.

“On one condition.”

Harry felt his stomach drop.

“You tell your friends what is going on so that they can help you.”

Dejectedly, Harry nodded.

“Tonight, for your detention,” Snape continued, “you will come to my office at 6 pm to complete today’s potion.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Mr. Potter?” Snape waited until Harry looked up before he added, “Fifty points to Gryffindor for you showing up to class after what happened and for telling me the truth.”

Harry felt his eyes grow wide.

“If this happens again before my class, come straight to my office and wait here. I will leave the outside hall door to my office unlocked and I will ward this room to your signature so that I am notified when you arrive. That way, I won’t have to humiliate you in front of the class.”

Hermione felt sick to her stomach. Harry had looked dreadful when he’d arrived to class. He was as pale as a sheet, his clothes and hair disheveled. He’d been sweaty and shaky too. Hermione exchanged a meaningful look with Ron. What had happened to Harry before class? And what was going on now?

Hermione tried to ignore the rude comments and snickers of the Slytherins who always enjoyed it when Harry got on Snape’s bad side.

“Fifty points!” Malfoy was saying gleefully.

Hermione saw Ron flex his fists in her periphery vision. “Ignore him,” she said, trying, but failing, to focus on her potion.

“Git,” Ron uttered.

Hermione picked up the powdered horn of bicorn and added two scoops before realizing she was only supposed to add one. She cursed, causing Ron to look up at her in surprise.

“You must be worried if you are screwing up your potion,” Ron observed grimly.

“It’s been over 15 minutes,” Hermione whispered.

“If Snape’s not back in the next 5 minutes, I’m going in after him,” Ron announced.

Hermione bit her lip. Harry hadn’t been himself since this whole healing thing started and they both knew it. Just then, the door from Snape’s office to the potion’s classroom opened, and Snape strode in.

“Back to work,” Snape commanded.

Hermione desperately wanted to ask if Harry was okay, but she didn’t dare do so in front of the whole class. She glanced at Ron who was glaring daggers at Snape. Snape, however, was ignoring them both.

“You have 30 minutes to finish your potions. I suggest you make the best use of your time.”

“Think he’ll tell us what happened?” Hermione whispered to Ron.

“Doubt it,” Ron said, “but I plan to stay after and demand he does.”

“Good idea,” Hermione whispered as she turned down the flame on her cauldron and added an antidote to the powdered bicorn horn.

The class seemed to drag on until the end, but finally, the students bottled up their potions and cleared out. Hermione’s wasn’t perfect, but Ron’s was a disaster.

Slower than the rest of the class, they cleared away their things, taking their time packing up their bags until they were the only ones left in the room, aside from the potion’s master.

When Snape finally glanced in their direction, Ron demanded, “Where’s Harry?”

“Sir,” Hermione said, hoping to diffuse some of Ron’s anger and suspicion, “Surely you noticed that Harry did not look well at all when he arrived…”

“And why should Potter’s whereabouts concern you?” Snape queried in a dismissive tone.

“We’re his friends!” Ron shouted.

“He needs us!” Hermione echoed.

Hermione and Ron quelled as Snape raised his hand to ward off their outburst. They stood firm under his assessing gaze, Hermione hopeful, Ron agitated.

“Fine,” Snape relented. “Come with me.”

Hermione looked to Ron in shock. Snape was actually going to tell them something? Ron shrugged as the two of them followed Snape to his office.

Harry awoke to the sound of knocking on the door, followed by the door opening and Snape’s voice.

“Mr. Potter,” he called, “your friends are demanding to see you to assure themselves that I have not turned you into potion ingredients in their absence.”

Harry smiled, pushing himself into a sitting position.

Beyond Snape, Harry saw Ron and Hermione’s worried faces.

“Harry,” Hermione cried, rushing to him and hugging him awkwardly. Pulling back, she asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, stretching. “I just had a quick nap.”

“A nap?” Hermione asked, clearly confused.

“In Snape’s office?” Ron asked, looking gobsmacked.

Harry glanced over at Snape, who nodded, before stepping out of the office, and closing the door, effectively shutting him in with Ron and Hermione. Harry glanced back at his two best friends who were watching him expectantly.

“I just… I was tired, that’s all,” Harry said. “How much time until our next class?” Harry asked, hoping for an excuse to get out of this.

“Ten minutes,” Hermione answered absently. “What happened?”

Harry was debating how much he should tell them when a loud pop heralded the appearance of a roll of parchment. He and Hermione bent to pick it up at the same time.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. “You read it.”

Hermione unrolled the parchment and read aloud:

Prof. Binns,

Please excuse Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger for their tardiness. A situation arose that required their extended presence in my office.

S. Snape

“Harry, what’s going on?” Ron asked.

Harry closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. So, Snape wasn’t giving him an out on this one after all. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

“You might as well have a seat while I explain,” Harry said, hopping back up on the bed to sit as well.