It was happening again and there was nothing he could do to stop it. In the beginning, he’d been in denial. There was no way this could be happening. It was a fluke of circumstance. The fates were out to get him. 

Harry pressed his sweaty forehead against the cool stones in one of Hogwarts’ abandoned corridors, swallowing the bile that was rising in his throat. It’d taken nearly two months for everything to culminate to its present state and it was the only second time he was experiencing this curse. He shuddered, clamping a hand over his mouth and dry heaving. Hogwarts was not safe, but he didn’t think he’d be able to get out of the school without being seen.

The dry heaving passed and Harry slumped against the wall, twisting his wrist to peer through bleary eyes at his watch. Quarter till 5. He had just over an hour before his life turned to hell and quite possibly made everyone else’s life hell. With that thought in mind, he gathered his strength and forced himself to his feet. There was a secret passage nearby, one that Filch knew about, but Harry didn’t think the caretaker would be lingering near it so close to supper.

“Mr. Potter,” a voice drawled and Harry cringed, “I trust you are not up to some mischief so early in the year. I believe the Great Hall is in the other direction.”

Harry kept his hand on the wall, forcing himself to take a steadying breath so he wouldn’t retch on the potions professor’s shoes. “I — I was going to the hospital wing, sir.”

He could almost feel Snape’s sneer, but he must’ve looked positively wretched because Snape didn’t express any skepticism. “You are taking a rather circuitous route, Mr. Potter.”

The corridors felt like they swayed dangerously and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fingers digging into the stones of the wall. “Yes, sir. I guess.”

He wasn’t sure if Snape was still watching, but Harry shuffled down the corridor until he reached the secret passage and hesitated. A glance behind him assured him that Snape hadn’t followed and so Harry withdrew his wand and struggled to remember what the Marauder’s Map said about passwords. His thoughts swam and he gave up, jabbing his wand at one of the blocks for lack of any clearer idea. To his combined surprise and relief, the blocks in front of him rippled and a narrow crack opened. Harry practically fell through and the wall closed behind him, enveloping him in cool darkness.

The floor was uneven under his feet and he couldn’t see, but he was running out of time so he hurried as quickly as his shaking legs could carry him. The passage opened up on the Hogwarts lawn, not far from the Whomping Willow and Harry could’ve cried. He stumbled across the lawn and reached down to find a stone. It took a few tries and several stones, but he finally managed to hit the knot that would still the willow’s branches long enough for him to scurry down the passage hidden beneath its roots. 

It was getting more difficult to force his limbs to move and the sharp stabs of pain were becoming more frequent. The rocky passage felt even longer than it did last year when they chased after Sirius and Ron. 

Finally, Harry hauled himself though the trap door in the floor of the Shrieking Shack. He’d just managed to kick the trap door closed when pain slammed into him with all the force of a speeding Hogwarts Express. It felt like every bone in his body was shattering and he wasn’t able to prevent the howl of pain that ripped from his throat before he lost consciousness.

 *.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Severus had watched with a dark scowl as Potter stumbled away, presumably toward the hospital wing, before he turned and continued his vigilant patrol of the corridors. With the rapid approach of Halloween, the students were more apt to create pranks or cause mischief. He hated the holiday. It brought back too much self-recrimination and guilt. The only holiday worse was Valentine’s Day, but that was a different matter entirely. 

Severus stalked the corridors, most of them quite dim until bright full moonlight fell through the panes. The large clock in the school chimed the time and Severus turned his steps toward the Great Hall for supper, his thoughts returning to Potter. The brat was up to something. Severus was sure of it. The boy had returned from the summer holidays looking even more worn and drawn than in previous years. He’d only grown more haggard as the month of September advanced. He wondered that neither Granger or Weasley appeared concerned, though it seemed they were more involved in an ongoing argument.

The Great Hall was buzzing when he arrived at his seat. Halloween was still almost two weeks away, but the Hall was already decorated with jack-o-lanterns and swooping bats. Minerva nodded to him when he reached his seat, lifting her goblet to her mouth. “Good evening, Severus. Were the corridors quiet?”

“For the most part,” he allowed.

“You should allow the children to have their fun,” Dumbledore commented. “There is much in this world that isn’t.”

Severus grimaced. 

The Gryffindor table was rambunctious as always, but he spotted Granger peering down the benches and craning toward the doors in search of someone. Potter, of course, wasn’t at the table and Severus wondered if the boy hadn’t told his friends where he was going. 

Severus finished his supper and quickly excused himself from the table. He had several essays to grade before the next morning. The dungeons were cool and Severus settled onto the settee before the fire in his quarters with a thick stack of parchment and a self-inking quill. The top parchment was Potter’s and his script was even more atrocious it had been. The essay itself was weak and looked rushed. Normally, he would pass it off as laziness, but all the evidence he’d seen this year was adding up to a worrying picture. Despite everything, some niggling feeling of concern started to blossom.

 *.*.*.*.*.*

The staff meeting the next morning felt far too early, but Severus hadn’t missed a meeting since he started his career and he wasn’t about to start. Minerva was already in the conference room when he arrived, cradling a cup of tea. She greeted him with a smile that he acknowledge with a stiff nod. A house elf popped up next to his chair with a mug of coffee. The two heads of house sat in comfortable silence while they waited for the rest of the staff. Severus nursed his coffee, breathing in the fumes and mulling over lesson plans for the day, when Minerva spoke up, “It appears the Shrieking Shack’s hauntings have started up again.”

It took a moment for him to understand what was said. He knew from previous experience that the Shrieking Shack had never been haunted, no matter the rumors that were perpetuated in the village and school. The only hauntings it’d ever seen were the ravings of a werewolf and his menace of a pack. It’d been quiet the last fifteen years. 

“The Shrieking Shack was never haunted,” Severus stated.

“Oh, once it was,” Minerva disagreed. “When I was still in school there were some rather despondent spirits that adopted the place, children who…died in the war. Gradually, they moved on. I believe you’re aware of it’s most recent haunting.”

Severus set his coffee mug on the table with a frown. “And it’s haunted again?”

The Gryffindor Head of House nodded. “The villagers sent word early this morning of strange howls and groans. It caused quite a stir, though none of the residents of Hogsmeade ventured up to the house. With Halloween so close, they worry about dark magic being performed on the site.”

“There is no special reason why the Shrieking Shack would attract dark magic users.” Severus drummed his fingers against the table. “Was it just last night?”

Minerva shook her head and placed her empty teacup on it saucer. “The report this morning mentioned that it happened about a month ago as well. They thought it was just students stirring up trouble since school had just started.”

Further conversation was halted as other professors started arriving and Dumbledore breezed in with a cheerful, “Good morning!” Severus suffered through plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend, the imminent arrival of the other schools for the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and events scheduled for Halloween celebrations and the drawing of the Champions. It was all tedious and he wanted nothing more than to cancel everything. He skipped breakfast, requesting another mug of coffee in his classroom while he prepared for his first class of the day.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins filed into his classroom and noisily set up their work stations. Potter looked even worse than he had the evening before and he was moving stiffly. Severus cleared his throat and the class fell silent. Flicking his wand at the blackboard, he began, “Last class we went over the properties of the Calming Draught. You’ll be attempting to brew it now. You have the entire period to complete it. Work on your own; each of you will be turning in your own sample at the end of class today.”

There was some grumbling, but that was quickly silenced and they got down to work. Severus stalked around the classroom, observing his students as they measured out ingredients and prodded at the flames beneath their cauldrons. He kept half an eye on Potter, taking in the boy’s rigid posture and the tremor that passed through his frame periodically. Memories he’d tried his best to bury rose before his mind’s eye, reminding him of another boy from years ago. His brow furrowed and he turned sharply on his heel and headed toward his desk and the calendar blotter. In a matter of seconds he located the date and clenched his teeth. If it was what he thought it was, there were going to be some serious consequences and, quite possibly, an expulsion.

 *.*.*.*.*.*

Harry’s entire back ached which only caused the headache he woke with that morning to pound louder. Everything hurt, even separating the lavender sprigs sent shooting pain up his arm and made his hand tremble. Hermione was mumbling instructions to herself as she worked and it brought some comfort that everything was normal. He’d dragged himself to breakfast, still feeling queasy and broken, knowing that if he didn’t show it would be noticed. 

He could feel Snape’s eyes boring into his head and he already worried what the professor thought. If there was one thing Harry could say about Snape, it was that the man was scarily observant. Working slowly, Harry concentrated on keeping his hands steady and the grimace from his face. He was just adding the crocodile heart when a violent spasm knocked his hand against the rim of the bubbling cauldron hard enough to turn the cauldron over. He yanked his hand back with a hiss of pain, mentally cursing his sudden clumsiness.

“Harry,” Hermione yelped, scrambling to save her ingredients and avoid burning herself.

“Sorry,” he hurried to say, wincing.

“Potter!” Snape swooped down from his desk like the grim reaper, slashing his wand and vanishing the spilled potion. “Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter. Wait for me in my office.”

Harry blinked. “Now, sir?”

“Yes,” Snape snapped.

Harry was feeling woozy and his hand throbbed. “Um, may I go to the hospital wing first?”

“No,” the professor ground out “My office. Now.”

“I think Harry burned his hand, Professor,” Hermione offered.

“Five points, Miss Granger. Mind your own business.”

Snape snatched the sleeve of Harry’s robes and hauled him across the classroom. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see most of the class staring after them with varying degrees of astonishment before the solid wooden door of Snape’s office slammed closed. The potions professor released him and went to the shelves lining the office walls, snatching a jar from the shelf and then turning sharply to pin Harry with an angry glare. 

“Where were you last night, Mr. Potter?”

Harry eyed the jar in Snape’s hand suspiciously, asking stupidly, “Last night?”

“Last night, Potter,” Snape ground out, stepping forward and holding out a hand. “Let me see your hand. If I were to speak to Madam Pomfrey, would she be able to tell me you spent the night in the hospital wing?”

A sense of dread settled on Harry’s shoulders and he held out his hand, trying to force confidence into his words. “Yes, sir. Where else would I be, sir?”

Snape snapped the sleeve of Harry’s robe back, ignoring his wince, and examined the rising blister. “The Shrieking Shack, perhaps?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat and then beat double-time. He swallowed thickly, focusing on his burn. Snape had unscrewed the lid of the jar and was now dabbing a thick cream into the burn. It felt like his ears were ringing and he wondered what he could possibly tell the professor that would be believed. “Why,” Harry’s voice cracked and he started again, “why would I be at the Shrieking Shack, sir?”

Snape examined the burn one more time and then screwed the jar closed and banished it back to the shelf behind him. “Last night was the full moon, Mr. Potter. Is there something you would like to confess?”

Harry glanced up at Snape, his eyes sliding over the professor’s hard face and then focusing on a point over Snape’s shoulder. “It was?”

“As I’m sure you are fully aware.”

“No, sir,” Harry said. “I didn’t notice.”

For a long minute, Snape stared down at him as if he could pull a confession by sheer will. Harry forced himself to keep his breathing even. It was his greatest secret, even mores than his life at the Dursleys, and he wasn’t going to tell it to a man who hated him. 

“Your detention will be at 7 tonight. Report to my office then,” Snape finally said. “Return to class and try to complete your brew before the end of class.”

Harry hurried to follow the command, returning to his desk before Snape could think of further questions he didn’t want to answer. Hermione had been kind enough to set up his workstation again with a fresh set of ingredients. She was scowling even as she stirred her potion. 

“He should’ve let you go to the hospital wing,” she hissed quietly. 

“It’s fine,” Harry assured her, moving his sleeve to show her the rapidly healing burn.

“You have thirty minutes to complete your potion and turn it in,” Snape announced. “I suggest you refrain from idle conversation for the rest of class.”