Umbridge blinked slowly at Harry as confusion rippled over her face.

Harry’s heart pounded in his chest and the full weight of their meeting slammed into him.

How would his secret stay quiet? Could it stay quiet? Would Snape know what to do? Was Snape coming? Would Snape ruin his cover by openly helping Harry?

If he did, would Umbridge tell Lucius Malfoy about Snape helping him?

Would Voldemort use it to hurt Snape?

He tried to remember to breathe, but his throat tightened and he found himself struggling to inhale.

The nausea he’d been fighting through moments before settled into a dull ache.

“This—” Umbridge began, before pausing as confusion swept over her once more.

The muffled sound echoed once more, and Harry briefly thought to find the source, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Umbridge. He wasn’t sure what happened to stall her so severely, as magical accidents like Harry’s weren’t so strange. Snape had pointed that out more than once.

Everyone went through something horrible at least once, it was impossible to get through life otherwise.

“This was not in your student file, Mr Potter.” She said, trying for her usual syrupy sweetness, though she didn’t quite succeed.

Harry silently cursed himself for not running away. He should’ve run. He should’ve run and taken his chances transforming in a cupboard or toilet.

He couldn't have run.

If he’d run, she’d just summon him again and be even angrier with him than she was now. He knew that well enough from having grown up with Aunt Petunia.

Umbridge’s eyes flickered over her desk before something angry began smoking behind them. Harry couldn’t guess what she thought, only that he’d seen a similar expression on Uncle Vernon’s face, often after receiving notes from Harry’s primary school.

At the time, Harry didn’t know it had been accidental magic, he couldn’t have known he’d been the cause.

Humiliation and fear curled through him. He knew Umbridge couldn’t put him in a cupboard, or keep food from him, but he couldn’t ignore the overwhelming belief that she would.

She’d already cursed him and Lupin’s guesses about what else she might do were only frightening him more.

He wanted Snape.

“Well,” Umbridge said, having regained some semblance of control. “How long has this—” She flicked her hand at him. “Been going on?”

Harry outright refused to freely offer any information to Umbridge.

“It is my duty to ensure the safety of students, Mr Potter,” She said in a self important tone. “Is this a prank? A joke?” She asked. “Were you at your aunt’s house when this occurred?”

The yowling China cats cried from along the walls and nearly distracted Harry from Umbridge’s line of questioning.

“Why are you so curious about my aunt?” Harry asked.

He couldn’t figure out how to question her without letting slip how little he was aware of. Aunt Petunia still hadn’t mentioned if Umbridge or anyone else from the Ministry had knocked in her door.

“I am trying to ensure you are safe, dear boy.” Umbridge said. “Is this Dumbledore’s doing? Did he curse you?”

Harry blanched and wondered if she’d do anything to drag Dumbledore’s character through the mud. It didn’t bother him if she wanted to, but he refused to provide any willing part, especially if it came back to hurt him or the people he cared about.

“Dumbledore didn’t curse me,” Harry snapped. “You did.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed and she sat back.

“Well,” She started. “This explains a few things then, doesn’t it?” She said, phrasing it like a question, despite voicing it as if it were damning. “Your obsessive need for attention, lying, starting fights—”

“I’m not a liar!” Harry said fiercely.

He couldn’t find his earlier confidence. He knew Umbridge was only a figurehead, and a poor one at that. He’d come to the conclusion earlier. Something about her office sent his thoughts flying out of his ears though, and he couldn’t make his heart sit still, nor could he force his lungs open long enough to breathe.

Lupin’s warning whispered in his ears, frightening him once more.

“Not a liar?” Umbridge parroted with a strained laugh. “What would you call all that business in spring!? You lost your tournament and a student was killed—”

“I told the truth!” Harry shrieked. “You’re letting a murdering psychopath run free!”

Ribbons slipped over his lips, though they didn’t constrict.

Umbridge’s lips pinched in a hard painted pink line. “You repugnant thing!” She said with a sneer.

A thick lump crept up Harry’s throat, though he tried to shove it down. The word ‘repugnant’ sank through his thoughts in a bitter, uncomfortable way.

Harry was not repugnant. Umbridge was repugnant. Her opinions weren’t true, no matter how they made Harry feel. They were just a symptom of her having lost control, which Harry knew well, as she behaved nearly the same way Dumbledore had when he lost control.

Although Dumbledore was quicker to cover it up.

“You,” Umbridge hissed as she jabbed a finger at him. “Have done nothing but start trouble!” She shoved her chair away and stood before storming around her desk. “You are clearly in need of more help than even the Minister believed,” She said. “Children often are, despite what some may believe—”

Harry shrank backwards against his chair and wrenched his wand free.

Umbridge froze a step from Harry. She loomed over his chair, despite how short Harry knew she was.

There was something innately strange about how she acted, though Harry couldn’t guess what was wrong. He didn’t know if he could stupefy her, like he had Avery, seeing as she could make his life infinitely worse through the Ministry.

He still didn’t know how she knew about his time away from Privet Drive, what if the Ministry had launched an investigation?

What if they figured out Harry’d been in Germany?

Would they publish Snape’s actions all through the Daily Prophet?

His wand wobbled in his sweaty palms and the odd feeling he’d had when she’d called him repugnant filtered through him once more.

“Are you going to curse me, Harry Potter?” Umbridge asked. Her painted smile stretched uncomfortably wide. Harry was sure human beings couldn’t stretch their mouths like that.

He shuddered and held his wand higher. “Stay away.” He whispered as his heart dropped into his stomach.

“What will you do, if I come closer though?” She asked, as her heels dragged over the worn wooden floor. “Do you know, children can never quite tell when they’re being helped.” She said as her heels scraped over the floor again. “They’re too young to understand that repercussions are for their benefit.”

Harry heard something rattle to his right.

The yowling China cats cried a hair louder, covering up the muffled sound that’d echoed earlier.

Umbridge reached blindly toward her desk and snatched up a fluffy pink quill, which shivered and transformed into a thin ruler moments later. Her thumb pressed over the edge as she clenched it between her fingers.

“I think,” Umbridge began sweetly. “That you and I struggle to communicate, don’t we?” She asked.

Harry swallowed around his dry throat and tilted his wand higher.

“I was under the impression you could be held in line by a firm understanding of the rules.” Umbridge said as pointed the ruler at him. “You knew better than to bring up You-Know-Who, and yet, you consistently—”

“Because the Ministry—”

The ruler cracked over the desk and sent a sharp thrill of fear up Harry’s spine.

“When adults speak, children don’t.” Umbridge whispered with a sharp look. “As I said, you have yet to grasp the concept of self monitoring.” She said with a syrupy sweet giggle. “I gave you the chance, and I should’ve known you’d misuse my offer to listen, and to help you—”

“You didn’t offer me anything!” Harry said. “You—”

Umbridge darted forward and her fingers locked around Harry’s wrist in a painfully tight grip.

Harry shouted and fired a stunner at her, but it missed as Umbridge wrenched him from the chair. He tried to tug himself free, but she was too big to shove off, no matter how he kicked or pulled.

“Let me go!” Harry screamed.

Umbridge pulled him around the desk and held his right hand out flat against the table top. “I have offered you every chance to avoid this, Mr Potter. I understand now that I should have been more up front about this, you see, other schools are aware that this sort of deterrent is necessary.”

Harry cast a stinging hex and hopeful bitterness wound through him as Umbridge jerked her hand away.

“You rotten—” The ruler cracked over Harry’s knuckles with a sharp sound.

Sudden pain split over his hand and a fierce loathing flooded Harry.

He shoved an over large trainer on the side of the desk and began trying to leverage himself free when the door cracked and burst open.

Umbridge spun clumsily on her heel and slipped backwards, taking Harry with her.

They fell and landed hard on the floor in a tangle of limbs. Harry tried to climb to his feet and escape, but his shoes were too large for his feet, and he hardly made it a step before being swept upwards in a nauseating whirl of colour.

His clothes gave a quick shiver around him and shrank to a neat fit.

“Dolores,” Dumbledore’s cold voice echoed from above Harry. “It’s against Hogwarts policy to lock the door when a student is present.” Footsteps shuffled around the room. “I’m afraid your lock may be difficult to utilize in the future, though that may be to your benefit. Similarly, we do not block the floo, when a student is present.”

The pendant on Harry’s necklace warmed quickly.

He shuddered and nearly sobbed when he realized Dumbledore, rather than Snape, had come to get him. Dumbledore’s thin hands were loose around Harry’s rib cage, but where Snape normally cuddled him close, Dumbledore seemed well aware that Harry’d be sick if he were anywhere near the old man’s beard.

He didn’t want to be near Dumbledore at all, in fact, he would rather never see Dumbledore again.

He wanted Snape.

His hand hurt, and his stomach ached. At that very moment, he’d have broken down sobbing if Umbridge weren’t in the room.

“Likewise Dolores,” Dumbledore said as his voice hardened and Harry found himself slowly being lowered to the floor. “We do not use corporal punishment.”

Harry spied his wand and darted away from Dumbledore before snatching it quickly.

He twisted and spied the open doorway, as well as the mangled lock. He wondered if that’d been the muffled sound he heard while he and Umbridge spoke.

“I’m sure you’ll find, Albus,” Umbridge began as she pushed back a loose curl from her forehead. “That corporal punishment has not, in fact been made illegal in private schools.”

“Unless the school has declared otherwise.” Dumbledore said as his fingers trailed down Harry’s arm, barely touching him until he came to his hand. “And Hogwarts has.” He said as he gave a close look at Harry’s knuckles. “Separately, is the matter of Mr Potter’s present condition.”

“I quite agree, Albus.” Umbridge said as she folded her hands before her middle. “If I am unaware of a severe impediment, how am I meant to educate—”

“You were not made aware of it because it does not impede Mr Potter’s education.” Dumbledore said before stepping closer to Umbridge’s small fireplace. “I trust you understand how a school functions, in regards to it’s underaged student’s medical records.” He said as he found a small taffy pink jar. “Severus?” He called after tossing a handful of powder into the floo.

“The floo is clear.” Snape’s disembodied voice echoed from within the bright green fire.

Harry jolted at the sound and wished desperately that Snape had come through the floo and collected Harry himself, even though Harry could just as easily use it alone.

“Mr Potter,” Dumbledore held a thin hand toward the fireplace and gestured for Harry to climb in. “Professor Snape will assist you further. I shall handle this, for now.”

“I should think not, Albus,” Umbridge said with a sharp look. “The Minister sent me here for a reason, one which I now see is far more dire than he initially assumed.”

Harry trembled and swallowed back tears as he tried to focus on the conversation around him. A piece of him felt there should be a louder reaction to Umbridge’s actions, but he wondered if that was illogical to hope for.

Dumbledore had already shown that he would sacrifice Harry’s health for his safety.

Harry despised him for having come to his rescue, and wanted nothing more than to shout at him for everything he’d done lately.

He also wanted Umbridge to hurt.

The odd feeling fluttered in his chest again and he looked over his sore knuckles with a curious sense of detachment. He remembered seeing them like this before, but he also couldn’t remember it.

Aunt Petunia preferred to lock Harry in his cupboard, rather than hit him.

None of his primary school teachers had hit him with a ruler either, or at least, Harry couldn’t remember it ever happening. He remembered them saying they’d have liked to, as they said it more than once, but they’d also always said it was illegal.

Something brushed over Harry’s hand and he flinched backwards as a strong sense of bitterness flooded through him. He wanted them all gone, but he also didn’t.

He wanted Snape, but he also wanted Snape to stay away.

“Harry?” Dumbledore’s distant voice was followed by sharp blue eyes drilling into his.

The sounds around the room quickly grew in volume and Harry found Dumbledore’s hand within reach. The mask Harry’d grown used to searching for appeared hard as rock now, and Harry couldn’t spy any sign of whoever lived beneath.

Harry snatched his hand back and eyed the path to the fireplace. Umbridge was too close to it for him to feel any semblance of comfort, and he debated asking for her to leave, though he knew better than to assume she’d listen.

“Sometimes soon, Potter.” Umbridge said with a displeased sniff. “Our conversation is not finished, by the way, we will continue it.”

“On the contrary, Dolores.” Dumbledore said as he backed away from Harry. “If you wish to speak with Mr Potter again, I expect his head of house to be present.”

Umbridge gave a high, strained laugh. “I think you’ll find that by the Minister’s approval, I am permitted to speak with any student I believe you’ve secretly begun to educate.” Her eyes raked over Harry. “Or secretly harmed.”

“Request a hearing.” Dumbledore said as he knit his hands lazily together. “I will not disagree nor attempt to stop you. I have neither harmed nor given Mr Potter any form of special education, the same can be said for the remaining student body.” Dumbledore began to make a slow journey toward the floo. He managed to slot himself neatly between Umbridge and Harry, almost as if he knew Harry’d been too frightened to come close while she stood there.

Harry slowly began to inch forward.

“Don’t think I won’t!” Umbridge said with a bright chirp. “You forget, I have evidence!”

Harry swallowed around his dry throat and wondered if he’d broken into too many pieces. He couldn’t tell his head from his toes, nor could he guess at what was going on. He wanted to go back in time, and to ignore everything that’d happened since Germany.

“Dolores, consider something with me, for a moment.”

Harry wondered if he was inconsequential and easily forgotten, or if they were making a conscious effort to ignore him while he wrestled with his fear of coming too close to Umbridge.

“The Ministry ruled Cedric Diggory’s death to be inconclusive.” Dumbledore said.

“It was an accident, Albus. A tragic, once in a lifetime accident.” Umbridge’s painted lips curled downwards as her voice dripped with overt sadness.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder if she’d told Mr Diggory the same thing in the same voice.

He couldn’t imagine anyone appreciating it.

“Yet no one seems to know how the accident happened.” Dumbledore twisted to look at Umbridge before slowly making his way nearer to Harry, though Harry no longer could tell if it was to help him toward the floo or not. “What happened according to the Ministry?”

“An accident—”

“They believe a portkey murdered an otherwise healthy seventeen year?”

Umbridge blinked at Dumbledore.

“Do they believe his heart gave out after winning? That would be illogical, as I said, he was healthy.”

“The official Ministry stance is that Mr Diggory’s death was a tragic accident.” Umbridge said with a slow inhale. “The accounts surrounding it were rife with delusion.” Umbridge said as she pointed at Harry. “The best investigators in our government looked into the event and ruled it an accident.”

Dumbledore hummed. “It’s strange that Mr Diggory’s death is so easily written off, given the circumstances.”

Harry wondered how long Dumbledore had spent arguing with Umbridge in the past, because it didn’t feel as if either of them cared what the other said.

His knuckles throbbed and he thought of how often he’d hidden in his cupboard after Dudley’d hit him, and how little anyone had cared about his pain then as well. Dumbledore hadn’t attempted to help him when he’d seen his black eye over the summer, he’d been quicker to use it against Harry and Snape. Maybe this was a similar instance, where once more, Harry’d been hurt and Dumbledore thought it was more helpful to use it than to help Harry.

“The Dark Mark was sighted, just over a graveyard the very same night, wasn’t it?” Dumbledore asked.

“Dreadful business, as the Minister has openly acknowledged in a statement, but we have seen similar copycats before.”

“A dead boy, and the Dark Mark, together?” Dumbledore said. “And no one ever found Voldemort’s body, did they?” He asked in a curious voice.

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed and she seemed to debate Dumbledore’s comment, though Harry wondered if that were actually true. She didn’t strike him as the sort of person who actually listened when others spoke.

“Dolores,” Dumbledore started before turning to look at Umbridge. “Do you think that after you present your evidence, the court will find me guilty?”

Harry paused his nervous movement.

“When they have the full grasp of the measure.”

“Do you think they’ll send me to Azkaban?” Dumbledore asked.

“They very well might, you’ve caused mass hysteria, Albus.” Umbridge said as she flung her hands wide. “You’ve created a delusional panic in our society, and for what?”

“Caution, Dolores, is never delusional.”

“You-Know-Who is dead!” Umbridge half shouted. “He is dead, Albus. He has been dead for years!”

The ribbons whispered over Harry’s lips.

“Say you succeed—”

“I have no doubt I’ll succeed.”

“Now, I am in Azkaban.” Dumbledore said. “And you, Dolores, where are you?”

Umbridge sniffed. “Beside the Minister, I won’t be led into—”

“I should think you would aim a little higher, if your successes remove me from your troubles.”

Harry tiptoed closer to the floo once more, feeling weightless and lost. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Snape anymore, or if he wanted his cupboard now. A soft, quiet voice whispered for Snape, and Harry, was too off foot to ignore it.

He couldn’t help feeling forgotten.

His knuckles throbbed again and he’d been more frightened in the last hour than in days. He wasn’t sure why he expected for either of them to have cared, but somehow he had.

His heart clenched and he tried silently explaining to himself that the few people Harry trusted were worth more than Dumbledore.

“I’ll have your school then.” Umbridge said. Her perfect coif bounced as she nodded. “I will become acting Headmistress in Hogwarts. It will be a sweeping Ministry success.” She added as she waved her arm wide.

Dumbledore nodded. “Now, say that Voldemort is alive.” He said.

“You’re beginning to believe your own lie, Albus.” Umbridge said in a kind voice. She stepped closer and laid a hand on Dumbledore’s forearm. “You’ve been bought, by your own delusion.” She gave a sweet sounding giggle.

“If you are acting Headmistress, and I am in Azkaban, what will Voldemort think?” Dumbledore asked as he lay his own hand over hers. “Will he come to duel me in Azkaban, a prison he has no interest in, or will he come here, to a school, one he’s claimed more than once to value?”

Umbridge blinked and a flat look appeared behind her eyes. She tried to tug her hand free but Dumbledore kept hold of her.

“What will you do, against him?” Dumbledore asked.

“He’s dead!” Umbridge hissed through her teeth.

“Are you so sure?” Dumbledore asked softly. “Are you positive, Dolores? Would you willingly place yourself directly in his path?”

Unbridge tore her hand free and stormed around the side of her desk.

“I would be very careful,” Dumbledore said as he slowly put himself between Harry and Umbridge once more. “About where you intend to be, should he turn up alive.”

Umbridge threw open a drawer on her desk and snatched a roll of parchment. “I do not doubt the Minister, Albus!” She shouted before presenting a neat looking document. “He has stated, officially, that You-Know-Who is dead.”

Harry stepped into the floo and worried for a brief second about coming out the wrong fireplace, but Dumbledore flicked his hand and Harry jerked as he was spun into a blur of bright green fire.

A rush of fire thundered through his ears and he tumbled out onto the hearth before being helped to his feet.

At once Harry felt the urge scream and cry, though he couldn’t sort out which to do first.

Snape brushed the ash and soot free from Harry’s uniform as Harry tried to search around the office for familiar and comforting things. He idly noted the cabinets and stacks of parchment that were ever present, but he also caught sight of glass littering the floor beneath one of the cabinets.

The more he looked at it the more it looked as if someone had thrown something, or many things, given how much glass there was.

He wondered where Ron and Hermione were, and if they’d run to get Snape or Dumbledore. He hadn’t told them about Dumbledore’s search through his mind, but he thought they were as wary of the man as Harry was.

“Dumbledore will ensure Umbridge does not use this against you.” Snape said in a soft voice. Harry looked up at him and shuddered through another confusing rush of anger, fear and hate. “He has sworn to resolve the matter surrounding your age.” He continued, before slowly sinking down to his knees. “And if he doesn’t, I will.”

Harry sniffled and rubbed at his knuckles. He tried to imagine how Dumbledore could be of any use, given how he’d handled the last few disasters in Harry’s life.

Snape’s promise gave him far more confidence.

He looked up and watched as Snape’s eyes narrowed on Harry’s hand. A dull memory flickered through Harry, and he thought of when Dudley’d punched him over the summer.

Sirius had been prepared to kill afterwards, but Harry’d been terrified of that reaction.

Even now, a frightened voice whispered about Snape being angry with Harry for having been hit. He might be angry with Harry for not fighting back hard enough as well, despite how he’d tried.

A foul, angry look pinched in Snape’s eyes for less than a second. If Harry hadn’t been so used to seeing it before their relationship had changed, he doubted he’d have noticed it.

He hadn’t imagined Umbridge would hit him. He knew he should’ve prepared for that eventuality, but he honestly hadn’t.

Now he wanted her to hurt.

An uncomfortable, thick feeling began to circle tightly around his head. He struggled to focus on Snape, but no matter how he tried, he found himself distracted by strange inconsistencies. He couldn’t understand why he was so sure he’d been hit with a ruler before.

It’d never happened, but then, it’d happened multiple times.

A sharp, acrid taste bled into Harry’s mouth.

“Harry?”

He wanted her to hurt, badly. He’d rip her hands from her wrists and leave her writhing on the ground when he saw her next.

She’d called him ‘repugnant’.

It reminded Harry of the smell he’d found in his dream, though he still couldn’t name the flower.

Harry flinched as a finger trailed slowly up his nose. In a distant, odd way, he knew this calmed him down, but Harry wasn’t sure why.

No one had ever tried to calm him down like this.

That wasn’t quite right though, Snape used this trick often.

A cooling sensation swept over his knuckles and Harry struggled to place himself back in his body and see what’d happened, but he couldn’t find his hands anymore. He worried for a brief second that he had transformed into a snake, but that couldn’t be right. Snape wouldn’t be rubbing his nose if he was a snake.

He wouldn’t have a nose if he was a snake.

“I want her to hurt.” Harry whispered after a moment.

“Do you want to hurt her?” Snape asked in a foggy voice.

Harry did and he did not. The part of him that was angry, angrier than Harry had ever been in his life, wanted to.

“I want her to hurt.” Harry said again. “I want her to hurt.”

The room danced before his eyes and he could no longer find the glass that’d littered the floor, or the cabinets, nor Snape.

“Because she hurt you?”

The fogginess flickered for a moment at the question and didn’t seem to know how to react.

Harry felt confident Snape would help him, though he didn’t know how to explain that to the blurry feeling. If anything, the confusion he felt only doubled, but it didn’t push Harry toward any murderous thoughts.

“She’s like the rest.” Harry said as an old pain lanced through his heart.

Umbridge felt she was better than him, she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand who Harry was or how small she was in comparison.

“How so?” Snape asked in a quiet cautious voice.

Harry had never felt the need to explain his innate worth. Either others would understand and kneel willingly, or they would die and provide a red carpet for him to walk on.

Umbridge would learn, just as the rest had.

“How is she like the rest, Harry?”

Harry blinked at the name, but struggled to guess why it felt so odd coming out of Snape’s mouth. He tried to rationalize it by reminding himself how Snape stopped calling him ‘Potter’ ages ago, but that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the name ‘Potter’ or ‘Harry’ that sat so wrongly with him.

The right name eluded him though.

“She thinks she’s better than me.” Harry said slowly, struggling to find the right words.

“She’s wrong.” Snape said. “Few people are worse than Dolores Umbridge.”

Harry nodded slowly, and the foggy feeling thinned around his head. It was difficult to guess why it appeared or why it left, and Harry couldn’t tell if it calmed because of what Snape said or from the increased distance from Umbridge and Dumbledore.

Snape’s office flickered into being in the corners of his eyes and Harry found himself wondering about the broken glass once more.

“Did you throw something?”

Snape’s finger disappeared and his eyes strayed from Harry as he looked at the glass. “The Headmaster and I had a disagreement.”

“Oh,” Harry said dully. He couldn’t tell if he’d retreated back into the foggy place, as everything was tinted with confusion and detachment. “Did you win?”

“No.” Snape said as he trailed a cautious thumb over Harry’s knuckles.

Harry blinked down after realizing his hand no longer hurt. Snape must’ve fixed it. Aside from a bit of discoloration, Harry couldn’t see where Umbridge had hit him.

“Do you still want to hurt her?” Snape asked.

The question sank through Harry’s thoughts and fell pleasantly with the foggy feeling, though Harry found the idea gruesome. He hated Umbridge, now more than ever, and he did want revenge, but he wasn’t sure what form it’d take. The way Bellatrix Lestrange’s head had snapped backwards during one of his visions appeared in his thoughts, and the fogginess seemed to relish the idea.

Harry only found himself more nauseous by it though.

“I—” Harry started as he thought of what’d occurred moments ago. “I wanted to rip her apart.”

Snape’s face was drained of colour, which Harry hadn’t quite noticed before. “And now?”

Harry couldn’t be sure now. A portion of him still eagerly entertained the idea, though he couldn’t see himself actually acting on it. The mental image alone threw him into a spin.

A soft hiss echoed in his ears, whispering a jumble of sounds that Harry had no luck separating.

He sniffled against the sound and pushed down a shudder. “I can’t tell,” Harry said as he slowly fought through the fog. “I can’t tell what’s going on.”

Snape flicked his wand and Harry felt a chilly burst of air settle around him.

“I think-I mean, I know I’ve been hit with a ruler before.” Harry said as his knuckles gave a phantom twinge. “But I haven’t.” He looked up at Snape and swallowed a whinge at his own confusion.

“Repressing painful memories isn’t unheard of,” Snape said. “It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for you to have a blurry memory of the event.”

“No,” Harry said as he shook his head fiercely. “They’re not mine.”

Snape’s fingers twitched.

“The memories, I mean.” Harry said, glad to feel an ounce of surety through the roiling mass of confusion. “I know them though.”

He tossed a nervous look at Snape and almost wished he hadn’t. Snape rarely let any form of alarm slip across his face, but at the moment, Harry saw the same look that’d pinched in his eyes when he’d saved Harry from Avery.

Instinctively, he reached upwards for Snape.

Whether he needed comfort due to the sudden realization in the meaning of what he’d said, or if he wanted to force the terrifying expression from Snape’s face, he couldn’t decide.

The two bled together, and only made Harry even more aware of the difference between himself and the uncomfortable anger.

Snape tucked him against his chest and stood before carefully picking his way around the glass.

“I think,” Harry started, internally trying to catch the soft, smoke-like anger circling him. “I think they’re, erm—”

Snape shook his head and pressed a long finger to his lips. He slipped out of a thin doorway and stalked down a narrow, dank hallway. A brief shock of fear burst through Harry before he realized that there were no portraits along the walls, nor were there lights or students.

It was likely a secret passageway. Harry wondered if it was on the Marauders Map or not.

He’d be surprised if his dad had been sneaking around secret passageways near the Potion’s office, then again, that may be reason enough to sneak around it.

“Anyone could’ve walked into my office.” Snape said as he slipped through a short doorway and came out into a hallway in his chambers. Harry belatedly recognized the tufted couch and Ms Eileen’s knit blanket. “I would rather you not be interrupted.” He added as he snatched the blanket and made for his desk chair.

Snape dropped into his chair and wrapped the blanket tightly around Harry.

Harry searched for the books they’d collected from Sirius’s library, and he belatedly wondered if Snape would be angry with Harry for having stolen it.

He wondered now if he’d stolen because the anger in him had wanted it.

“Occlude with me.” Snape said.

Harry wasn’t sure he should occlude, as the anger in him was stark and easy to separate at the moment. It was almost impossible to imagine why he’d been confused in the first place.

The opportunity to interact with it was too great to pass up.

“But what if it leaves?” Harry asked. “You talked with it, you should try talking with it again.”

Snape shook his head. “Not until I know more.” He said. “I cannot,” He shook his head again and tightened his grip on Harry. “I need to know you’ll be safe before we consider interacting with that.”

“You already made it go away once.” Harry said. “You could make it go away again.”

The foggy feeling tightened around his head again, though it loosened seconds later.

“Please, try to occlude with me, Harry.” Snape asked, as he tucked Harry’s head beneath his chin. “Please.”

Harry swallowed heavily and nodded.