“Which d’you imagine is worse?” Ron asked as they filed out of the classroom. “Detention with Umbridge, or writing that essay?”

Harry ducked into a shadowy alcove before the bitter glares of his classmates could overwhelm him, and flicked his wand at his face as he whispered a spell he’d seen Snape cast more than once.

Icy wind burst through his fringe and swept down his neck.

The snitch hummed through his thoughts, and kept him from focusing on his anger too much, but it did little to keep him from collapsing against the wall. He wanted to crawl into bed, or maybe never move again. The last time he’d fallen into his thoughts, he’d slept for the better part of a day. It’d been exhausting.

“Both probably.” Harry said before dropping his head backwards against the cool stone. “I bet she’ll have you write the essay in detention.”

Ron moaned.

“It’s hardly relevant to our course.” Hermione said as she wrinkled nose. “Well, it’s relevant under Umbridge, but if our course were taught by anyone who actually valued Defense, at least we’d be writing about something worthwhile.” She added. “But I care more about her behaviour, than her essay. It's vile. She must know how much trouble you’re already going through.”

Harry shook his head and grimaced. “If she thinks this will make me crack and go running to apologize to her, she’s mental.” Maybe it was Harry who was mental for letting her get away with hurting him at every turn though?

Hermione flicked her wrist over as she checked the time, leaving Harry to wonder how long he could get away with hiding in the alcove.

He briefly wondered if Snape would rather he sleep than attend class?

He couldn’t remember if Aunt Petunia ever allowed him to call in sick, on the off chance he felt too ill to attend school. He doubted she had. Dudley had been able to call in if he felt too ill, as Harry had more than one memory of attending class without him, but he couldn’t remember a time when the opposite occurred.

Crying about being too sick wasn’t going to get him out of trouble either. That, Harry knew vividly, never worked.

“You don’t suppose writing about,” Ron cleared his throat and pitched his voice into an insulting parody of Umbridge’s. “‘Recognizing situations in which defensive magic can legally be used’, will help us in any way, do you?”

“Legality could probably be useful,” Hermione said. “But, given the war, I somehow doubt the Ministry’s opinion of legality will matter long term.”

“You never know, they lost control during the first war.” Ron said. “At least for a few years, but they went mad, and were obsessed with control after they had it back.”

Harry grimaced as he thought of Sirius and his wrongful imprisonment in Azkaban. He was uncomfortably aware of how Sirius must’ve felt to be made into an example, and how much more helpless it would’ve made him feel to receive punishment when he was innocent. Sirius had already been coping with immense guilt for having thought to swap secret keepers as well. Harry could easily see why he might’ve accepted the Ministry’s judgement and attributed that punishment to his own guilt.

Sirius had been innocent though.

He knew he was innocent, and that innocence kept him sane while others rotted with their guilt. Twelve years in Azkaban, however, was a long time to remain sane. Why hadn’t the Ministry investigated it? Fudge had spoken with Sirius before he’d shown him clipping of Ron and his family’s trip to Egypt, he must’ve thought it strange that Sirius could still think of something other than his own misfortune.

He knew the Ministry disliked having their own faults thrown in their face, but Sirius would’ve presented an issue even if the Ministry never admitted to having made a mistake.

Anyone who fought back hard enough to stay sane for twelve years must have posed a threat. Maybe the Ministry believed trapping people in their worst memories held them docile with self-loathing, which could explain their blasé attitude, and why Sirius accepted his punishment, given his part in Harry’s parent’s murder? If that were true, then the Ministry succeeded, because Sirius hadn’t escaped to save himself.

Harry couldn’t help but be reminded of his conversation about leashes with Ron though, and how violently those trapped fought back with the right motivation.

After all, Sirius only escaped when he saw Harry was in danger.

“Maybe we can reference the first war in our essays?” Hermione asked as she gently tugged Harry away from the wall. “And acknowledge the Ministry’s failures and the madness they created?”

“I bet we’ll get detention whether we turn that essay in or not.” Harry said before slumping as he grabbed his backpack and followed Ron and Hermione.

The path down the stairs and into the dungeons seemed uncommonly quick, as dense, damp air broke over Harry sooner than he realized. Snape’s absence from the hallway did little to hide his presence, and left Harry wondering once more how angry Snape would be with him, and what he might say or do. He hazily remembered having dreamt about formulating an appropriate apology, but he couldn’t remember if he’d actually made one.

Ron threw Harry a concerned glance as they slipped quietly into their classroom, set their essays on Snape’s desk, and quickly sequestered a corner near the back. Neville joined them shortly after.

“I don’t want detention,” Ron said beneath his breath as he sat. “We’ve managed to avoid it so far, I have—”

“It's a bit late for that now, isn’t it?” Hermione asked in an equally quiet voice.

Harry couldn’t help but agree, but rather than dredging his exhausted feelings to the surface, he dropped his forehead into his palms and closed his eyes.

He’d chosen to spy, no matter how he tried to excuse his actions. He’d chosen to spy.

The necklace hummed to life, but it didn’t help.

Harry wanted Snape to be safe and knowing what danger Umbridge posed had frightened him. A thousand options for apologies spiraled into his thoughts, and though Harry knew each was as genuine as the last, he couldn’t help but worry that Snape wouldn’t agree.

Snape swept into the room with precise, loud steps, shocking Harry from his self-pity. He hardly glanced at Harry or Ron as he flicked his wand at the board.

A complicated list of instructions and ingredients appeared along the board, reminding Harry unnecessarily of how difficult his OWL year had become. He vaguely remembered reading about potions with similar processes in several of Snape’s catalogues and books, but he didn’t remember them having quite this many ingredients. His time with Snape had rounded out his confusion with quite a few potions, but reading, understanding, and brewing were all quite different from one another when it came down to actual work.

“We are moving on from the Invigoration Draught to the Befuddlement Draught, which will come up in your OWL’s.” Snape said in a soft, cool voice. “Should you have completed the assigned reading, any further explanation is unnecessary, however,” His eyes lingered on the Gryffindor side of the room with a flat, bored look. “I somehow doubt that is the case, given some in this student body, so allow me to elucidate. Whomsoever imbibes this draught will be affected with belligerence and recklessness, as such, I suggest you take this time to acquaint yourselves with this draught’s particulars, as some of its ingredient’s serve dual uses and others can be volatile.”

Hermione hunched over her notebook as she began copying the instructions down.

“It will take more than one lesson to brew, so I suggest you plan ahead.” Snape added as he dove into the complicated series of steps involved in its brewing process before allowing them to begin.

Harry and Ron traded off gathering ingredients as Hermione set their corner up. The busy classroom hummed around them as they moved, and Harry found himself buzzing with it, despite his exhaustion. He couldn’t help but worry about when Snape would turn around and begin belittling him for any mistakes.

He tried reminding himself to breathe, and relax, because Snape likely wouldn’t hurt him, at least not physically. He swallowed back his nerves and tried to think of everything he needed to apologize for, but quickly regretted it as his own mistakes flooded him.

He’d spied on Umbridge after Snape had warned him not to get involved with her. He’d begged Snape to talk with Tom last night, and failed to understand why he wouldn’t until Ginny explained the dangers. He’d left Snape to deal with Sirius and Lupin when Harry couldn’t bear to see their disappointment and stole a book from Sirius’s house. He’d cursed Malfoy and failed to occlude despite how often Snape told him to try.

He’d handled each awful moment worse than the last. What apology could make up for this?

Could an apology make up for this?

He spent the better part of the next hour developing apologies and mentally editing them into a more well-rounded and responsible sounding statement, though he never landed on anything he felt would work.

He was idly surprised by his odd ability to focus on the potion in front of him, and how often unconscious thoughts kept him from making potentially dangerous missteps in his own brewing. He couldn’t help but wonder if that came from how much he’d read over the summer. His previous lessons in potions hadn’t gone quite this well, but Harry had also been far less distracted.

“Is the lovage meant to be diced?” Ron asked quietly, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

“Er,” Hermione hummed back after peeking through her notes. “You need to chiffonade them, but however small you cut them, the sneezewort needs to be double that size.”

“I’m surprised lovage is in this,” Neville said as he began cautiously cutting the plant. “You wouldn’t really think of it as something that could make you batty, Gran uses it when she cooks fish.”

Hermione’s eyes wandered from her own cutting board toward Neville’s, and Harry wondered if he could see her mentally measuring his work.

Maybe Hermione would be able to help him with an appropriate apology?

“I mean, it’s something of an irritant, so I understand why that could affect someone negatively, but I guess I don’t see it as something that could really send someone into a rage.” Neville said. “Maybe that’s the sneezewort?”

“Sneezewort is a,” Hermione paused before paging through her text and checking the work twice. “A numbing agent.”

“But I thought it only affected the mouth?” Neville asked before letting out a sharp hiss as he accidentally cut himself.

Ron nudged Harry’s shoulder and slid a ragged slip of parchment toward him.

Harry quickly pulled it closer and unfolded it and read the scribbled note.

‘What’s our plan for after class?’

Harry looked up as Ron pointed toward his watch. He quickly flipped his wrist over and realized how soon class would be ending. He quickly wrote back. ‘Apologize?’

Ron stole the note back and looked carefully over the room before adding another line below Harry’s and tapping impatiently. ‘I don’t want to die, Harry. Do you have a firecracker? Maybe we could use it as a distraction, like before.’

Harry read the note before widening his eyes at Ron and giving him an imploring look. ‘No’. He silently mouthed.

Ron snatched the note back and scribbled a crooked line of text. ‘Who are we dealing with? Snape or ?’

Harry struggled to guess who the question mark belonged to, given that Snape was the only person who’d caught them outside of Defense, unless someone else had appeared after Harry fell into his thoughts.

Ron mouthed ‘Ruffles’.

‘I don’t know.’ Harry’s heart clenched as he wrote back.

The parchment was snatched from his hands once more as Ron began writing. Harry didn't know if he and Ron would scrub cauldrons or write lines, or if a far worse outcome was coming and Snape would truly, finally be done with Harry altogether.

Ron passed the note over and tapped the parchment several more times before Harry felt brave enough to read it. ‘Do we at least want to have our story straight?’

Neville let out a low groan as his cauldron began smoking with a foul smell.

“Put it out!” Hermione jerked and whispered sharply. “Quickly! Out, Neville!”

Neville flicked his wand at the fire, but rather than cooling it, he scorched the bottom of his cauldron and sent a dense plume of smoke ballooning throughout their small corner.

A searing, painful cough stung in Harry’s lungs as he quickly snatched his and Ron’s notes from the table and stuffed them into his bag. The cloud spilled over the classroom, shocking students into dropping to the ground or attempting to push open thickly encrusted windows. Harry moved to dodge backwards and away with Ron but tripped over his stool before long fingers slipped around his upper arm and pushed him beneath the table.

Harry very nearly collided with Hermione before he caught himself on his palms and quickly seated himself beside her.

He tried peering out from under the table, but Snape’s dark cloak blocked most of his view. There wasn’t much to see either way, given how thick the smoke grew as it built around the room. He thought he might’ve been able to see an outline of either Malfoy or Zabini beneath a desk to Harry’s right, but it was too difficult to tell.

The smoke sank heavily around them, making Hermione cough and squint as she dabbed her watery eyes. “Did Ruffles teach you the bubble head charm?” She asked with a croak.

Harry shook his head ‘no’ confusedly before realizing the burning in his throat had disappeared. He blinked at himself and caught sight of an impossibly thin membrane roiling just near the edge of his vision. He jerked and moved to pop it, but Hermione caught his arm before he could get too close.

“Don’t!” She hissed. “Don’t mess with it! It’s letting you breathe!”

Guilt clawed up Harry’s throat as he slowly lowered his hands. He doubted he’d accidentally cast a bubble head charm on himself, and given Hermione’s surprise and heavy coughing, he doubted she’d cast the charm either.

That only left Snape, and Harry couldn’t bear the thought of Snape keeping his promise to help Harry, while Harry threw caution to the wind and did the exact opposite of what Snape asked of him.

Clear air trailed slowly upwards from their hiding place and began cutting through the thick, muddy smog.

“Longbottom!” Snape’s cloak cracked as he stormed around their table to where Neville had been hiding.

Neville hacked before choking out, “I didn’t mean—”

“Has five years of education on heating and cooling potions been utterly lost on you?!” Snape’s quick footsteps advanced on Neville until he was nearly backed into a corner. He continued tearing into the dangers behind the smoke while Ron nudged them both as he crept beneath the table.

“Poor Neville, that's rotten luck.” Ron whispered before squeezing his eyes closed and coughing into his sleeve.

“It’s an easy mistake,” Hermione nodded. “I hope we’re allowed out of class a little early, I want to check with Madam Pomfrey before Arithmancy, I feel horrid.”

Harry swallowed heavily. He couldn’t remember Snape ever having willingly allowed them out of class early. Nearly choking out a classroom didn’t put Snape into a grand mood either, and certainly impacted Harry and Ron’s post-lesson conversation as well. “Maybe it’ll be easily solved?”

Hermione shrugged.

“The room is safe; you may return to your seats.” Snape said loudly as he stalked toward the front of the classroom. “Those of you who charmed your cauldrons are in luck, the rest of you can anticipate restarting this on Wednesday.” He added before flicking his wand toward the storage cupboard. A tall, thin mottled bottle sailed into Snape’s hand.

“Bollocks.” Ron moaned. “He’s in a horrible mood, don’t let me die after class, Harry.”

“Well—” Harry’s throat tightened, and his chest burned as he reigned in the urge to shout. The necklace warmed again and kept him from bursting, but he disliked it. He had as much control over Snape as Ron did, and he doubted that anything he said or did was going to pacify Snape enough to forgive them! Why Ron felt Harry would be of any help was beyond him. Snape would be angry until he wasn’t.

He helped Harry avoid inhaling caustic smoke though, so maybe he would forgive them? However, Harry hadn’t been the cause of the smoke, so Snape having helped him made sense.

Did it make sense?

Harry dropped his head into his palms and tried to inhale against the heavy, thick feeling creeping into his thoughts. He desperately wanted to go back to sleep and forget this day happened.

“If you inhaled smoke, come to the front of the class.” Snape said as he spun on his heel and popped a small glass eye dropper from the top of the bottle.

The bubble around Harry’s face gave a near silent pop and disappeared without a trace. Footsteps echoed around them as most students climbed out from beneath tables or dropped away from the windows and formed a clumsy line.

“It’s Dittany, Miss Brown, it’s not going to burn you.” Snape snapped as Lavender flinched away from his hand.

“Come on,” Hermione said as she massaged her throat. “Let’s go.”

They crawled from beneath the table and spied Neville staring blankly at the scarred bottom of his cauldron.

“You might still need some Dittany even with the bubble head charm,” Hermione whispered to Harry as she looked over the room. “I’m not sure what came out of Neville’s cauldron, but it couldn’t have been good.”

Neville flushed and shrank deeper into his seat.

“Not that—oh, I’m sorry Neville!” Hermione’s shoulders flew up near her ears and she apologized profusely despite her raw-sounding throat. “It’s, that is, it’s the smoke that’s not good, not that you’re potion—”

Ron looped a hand around Hermione’s elbow and guided her toward the queue.

It seemed as if everyone had been impacted by the smoke regardless of preventative measures, even Malfoy, who was rubbing his worryingly bloodshot eyes. Harry couldn’t decide if he felt better that Malfoy had been affected with the rest of them, or worse that he’d been affected at all.

While Harry hoped the queue and cleanup would take at least another hour, it wound up dragging class to the very last bell, before which, Snape ensured Harry and Ron were reminded, in no uncertain terms, that they were meant to remain behind.

Hermione gave them each a hopeful look over her shoulder as she collected her bag and tried again to console Neville before shutting the door behind her.

Snape slowly circled the damp, empty classroom and trailed his wand over the doors, windows, and cracks and crevices with care. Harry wondered if he was searching for any leftover smoke, but he appeared to come up empty handed.

Harry’s throat dried up when Snape twisted around and stepped closer. His nails ran over his wrists as the apologies he’d thought of earlier weighed on the tip of his tongue. Before their relationship changed, Snape had never appreciated Harry speaking unless he was spoken to, and Harry was uncertain if he should behave as he’d been expected to before or if he should just begin profusely apologizing.

“Let’s begin with what—”

“I’m really sorry.” Harry’s mouth ran ahead of his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

Snape slowly held a hand up, stopping Harry mid-sentence. He flicked his wand and summoned a goblet from the shelf before filling it with water. “Take a sip.” He said calmly as he held it nearer to Harry. “Let’s begin with what precipitated your presence in the Defense classroom?”

Harry wished quite suddenly that he and Ron had made a plan before Neville’s cauldron began to smoke.

“We, er,” Ron stammered. “Harry—I mean, Malfoy was saying, saying he had a meeting.” His hands jerked every few moments, longing to gesture along with his thoughts, but he kept them still by his side instead.

Harry’s fingers tightened around the goblet as he brought it closer.

Snape’s eyes flickered away from Harry and landed on Ron. “You heard Mr Malfoy had a meeting with Umbridge.” He repeated before waving at Ron to continue.

He seemed remarkably calm, in comparison to what Harry anticipated. He wasn’t sure if he should be disappointed in himself for having expected Snape to shout or berate them, but then, Snape rarely held his temper in check around Ron and Hermione.

“Right, well,” Ron said as his hands flinched against his sides. “Er, we didn’t want them chatting.”

“Chatting?” Snape repeated slowly.

Ron nodded. “They’ve been, er,” He looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye and grimaced. “Close. Weirdly close, going by what we heard.” He seemed less than inclined to offer information freely, and Harry worried if he should follow in Ron’s footsteps. Normally, he would’ve leapt for that course of action, but Snape was impossible to lie to. Snape had also pointed out, more than once, that if he didn’t know what had truly happened or where things went wrong, he was unable to help.

“And you presumed the meeting would pertain to yourselves, in some way?” Snape asked. “Did you anticipate disrupting this meeting?”

Harry shook his head ‘no’. “We didn’t want Umbridge to tell Malfoy that I went to your office after she—” Harry shivered as phantom pain burned over his hand and Tom’s memories flickered in his thoughts. Thankfully, none of his breathtaking anger appeared with them. “I didn’t want Malfoy to know you’d helped me after my meeting with her. I didn’t want Malfoy to tell his father either, or anyone else. If he had, they might tell V—”

Ribbons whispered over Harry’s jaw, but a bright shock of electricity cracked over them, keeping them from brushing over his lips.

“Tom.” Harry finished dully.

At some point, Snape’s eyes had returned to Harry and looked at the goblet once more “You had a well-founded worry, I agree, but did you have any inclinations to disrupt this meeting?”

Harry quickly took another sip.

“We hadn’t quite worked everything out.” Ron said through gritted teeth.

Snape’s head tilted left. “But you had established a clear need to spy. Had you considered what to do, should your fears be realized?”

“No.” Harry said. “But knowing about it would’ve been better than not knowing.”

“May I assume then, that if your fears were realized you would’ve burst into her office?” Snape asked as he held his hands aloft.

“We’re not mental,” Ron snapped. “We wouldn’t have—we would’ve—” He threw his arms upwards in a tight, uncomfortable gesture as a bright flush coloured his ears.

“You would’ve what, Weasley?” Snape’s eyes hardened on Ron as anger tightened across his face.

The bitter, steely disappointment that’d bubbled to the surface this morning appeared and struck Harry as being terrifyingly reminiscent of Snape’s behavior before their relationship changed.

“Told you?” Harry asked weakly.

Snape paused and inhaled slowly as he turned back toward Harry. His cold temper settled, though it didn’t fade entirely. Harry almost wished they’d had this conversation in his chambers, rather than the classroom, but then, Harry had very few pleasant memories of Snape’s chambers.

Awkwardly standing around Snape’s desk might’ve been the best option they had. Harry certainly felt more comfortable on his feet, though he didn’t fancy investigating why. He thought his post-lesson meetings would’ve helped make the classroom into a more comfortable environment, but he supposed it was difficult to move past four years’ worth of the bullying and torment he’d endured from Snape while inside.

“Just, we didn’t have any proof of it being true,” Harry said as his voice withered in his throat. “What if you hadn’t believed us?”

Harry couldn’t quite tell if that had been the primary source of his need to spy or not. In the past, he’d always needed to have proof on hand for why he’d acted the way he did, regardless of how improbable Harry’s guilt may have been.

Aunt Petunia had never taken Harry’s side in a single fight, nor had Uncle Vernon or Dudley, even if he had evidence. They often either punished him regardless or rationalized whatever had occurred as something Harry truly had no control over. It wasn’t until he’d begun primary school that evidence and proof even became an option for Harry, and even then, his evidence had needed to be irrefutable.

Even at Hogwarts, prior to Snape’s change in behaviour, evidence only took Harry so far. He needed proof if he wanted to see results.

The tense lines on Snape’s face loosened and he reached upwards as he rubbed his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.” Ron muttered.

Harry’s fingers tightened around his goblet as and cold anger burst over his face once more. The urge to drop the goblet and flee the classroom rushed through him, but before he could give it much thought, Snape’s shoulders dropped, and he gave a long, low sigh.

“My previous disregard for your concerns is inexcusable. I apologize.” Snape said slowly.

Shock washed over Harry, and he blinked several times before he realized Snape hadn’t stopped speaking.

“Going forward, I will believe what concerns you bring to me, regardless of proof.” Snape said, giving Ron and Harry both a measured look.

The bright flush near Ron’s ears dulled. “Any concern?” He asked.

“Within reason,” Snape said. His temper remained present on his face, though he seemed unlikely to begin shouting. “Any concern you feel I should be made aware of.”

“Within reason.” Ron nodded.

Harry nodded firmly. He idly wondered if Snape would believe Harry if he mentioned his worry about his safety under Voldemort again.

“We have established your reasons for spying then, along with your plan, if your fears had been realized.” Snape said. “My next question then, would be what your plan had been, if Umbridge caught you?”

Harry blinked and took a sip to stall for time. They hadn’t had a plan, beyond their plan to spy. Their plans went awry often, regardless of whether they were good or bad and Harry had seen how successful thinking on his feet could be in the hands of someone like Sirius. Even if Sirius hadn’t always made the best decisions, the decisions he’d made often worked out.

“We,” Ron started slowly. “Well, we could’ve run away pretty quick?”

“Run away.” Snape parroted dully. “From someone fully capable of magically restraining you.”

“She’d have had to aim.” Ron shrugged sheepishly. “It’d have been tough with both of us running, and she’d need to clear the classroom before she caught up to us. I bet we could make the Grand Staircase before she came too close.” He said in a high voice as the flush appeared over his ears again.

Harry silently agreed, though he’d also spent far too much time as a small child to feel as if running was a feasible solution in every scenario. He was also intimately aware that sooner or later, they’d be out of areas left to run to. Umbridge could summon them to her office at her leisure, and even if McGonagall sat in on their meeting, Harry couldn’t very well argue that he hadn’t spied on Umbridge if she had seen him while they were escaping.

“She could easily have barred the hallways.” Snape said. “You would’ve been caught whether she caught up with you or not.”

“We were spying though.” Harry said. “We would’ve known if she was coming our way, we would’ve heard her.”

“Just as you heard me?” Snape asked with a single raised eyebrow.

Harry blanched before shaking his head ‘no’. “We had thought to bring the map, but we didn’t want to pass up the opportunity. We didn’t know if they’d meet up again, or what Umbridge might’ve already said.”

“That is often the case with spying.” Snape said. “You are rarely granted the chance to spy on your own time, with complete control of the situation. The answer here is to plan ahead.” He said firmly before leaning forward and looking at each of them carefully. “It is to ensure those being spied upon will have no methods to detain, see, or harm you, if plans go awry.”

“You’re not mad then?” Ron asked as he squinted and cautiously looked over Snape.

Snape inhaled slowly. “I believe your decisions were dangerous and poorly executed but founded on principles you believed necessitated those decisions. Spying may be inescapable in your future, but you need to understand it’s faults and dangers beforehand.”

Ron rubbed his hands over his eyes as Harry took another sip of water.

“If a concern can be addressed or answered safely, always choose that option first.” Snape said.

Confusion washed over Harry as he thought of how Snape handled Umbridge and Malfoy. Snape didn’t have someone older or more powerful than himself that he could go to when he had concerns, unless Harry counted Dumbledore.

Although, He supposed Ms Eileen could help, given how knowledgeable she was.

“I’m sorry.” Harry said in a quiet voice. He wasn’t sure how much more he should add, given that apologies normally included a plan to change, but he felt it needed to be said at least once more.

“We’ll, er, we’ve already gone for help loads more times this year than any other.” Ron said as he stood a bit straighter. “We’ll do that more.”

Snape hummed a low note. “You’re forgiven. However, both of you can look forward to 50 lines each, dictating that you ‘have taken every precaution before engaging in willful endangerment’.”

Ron slouched and gave a small, frustrated shiver.

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Despite his worry, and the hours he’d lost in his thoughts, Snape wasn’t abandoning him. The realization sank into his bones and the exhaustion he’d managed to fend off through sheer willpower fell over him. Lines were hardly difficult, and 50 of them was nothing compared to what Harry anticipated. Perhaps Snape anticipated Harry’s fears from last night and knew he’d already panicked?

“You’re free to leave then, Weasley.” Snape said as he moved around the side of his desk. “If anyone asks why you stayed after class, inform them that I believed you had stolen something from my stores, but found you innocent.”

Ron twisted toward Harry with a shocked look. “Harry’s not coming with me?”

“I’m staying?” Harry asked as he looked between the two of them. “We’re still having our after-lesson meeting?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about continuing to stand and chat, not when a chair was within reach, and he knew it was safe to sit. Maybe Snape would offer to transfigure the stool Harry often sat on into an armchair before they continued?

“In a manner of speaking, I would like to speak about the pass I received this afternoon from Professor Trelawney. Along with another matter.” Snape said before pulling a ragged note that stank of sherry from an untidy stack of parchment.

Ron flinched and pointed at Snape. “That was your fault! I didn’t know what to do, I thought Harry was having a fit!”

“I slept it off this time though,” Harry said as he quickly looked toward Snape. “It didn’t last very long; I don’t think so at least?”

A blank look dampened in Snape’s eyes.

“I had to get you from the Defense classroom and up to Divination, which is over about a thousand stairs you know, all in a circle, just so Trelawney could see you and say, ‘he looks stressed’!” Ron said shrilly. “D’you know how long it took me to get you back to the Common Room?!”

“Thank you for helping me.” Harry said tightly. “I’ll try to be less of a nutter in the future!”

“I’m not angry at you, Harry!” Ron said as his fists balled near his sides. “I’m angry at Snape! I’m angry because he said something that set you off just like back—” He fumed as he waved in the direction Grimmauld Place might’ve been in. “It would help if we knew what to do, or at least knew what causes it, because it’s confusing and scary to be around.”

“It will be discussed.” Snape said calmly before slowly settling into his desk chair.

Ron inhaled heavily but nodded. “Well, what if I might be helpful, I can answer any questions about what happened.”

“I believe that beyond a word or two, it was very unlikely you responded to outside stimuli Harry, correct?” Snape asked before looking toward Harry. “What can you remember?”

Harry blinked between Ron and Snape and grimaced. He didn’t fancy exploring what he’d seen or felt in his head, especially when it hardly seemed relevant, and he barely remembered anything specific either, aside from his overwhelming guilt.

“The crack in the floor outside of the Defense classroom.” Harry whispered awkwardly. It was the only concrete thing he could truly remember.

“Does that align with what you saw, Weasley?” Snape asked.

Ron shrugged. “You didn’t say anything, mate. You followed me when I asked you to, but mostly you just stared forward.”

Harry cringed at himself and bit back a groan. He couldn’t remember what happened the first time this happened in Grimmauld Place either, but at least there hadn’t been a massive student body watching him pull apart at the seams.

He twisted around and grabbed a stool before dragging it closer to Snape’s desk.

“Would you rather Weasley stay?” Snape asked as he flicked his wand at the stool and transfigured it quickly into the plush armchair Harry had come to enjoy.

Harry shook his head ‘no’. “It’s fine, Ron. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Ron nodded slowly before spinning on his heel and slipping through the doorway. It felt as if the room gave a shiver when he left, or perhaps Harry was just too Ron’s presence and was now overly sensitive to his disappearance?

“Before we go into what happened, please try to drink more water.” Snape said as he sat forward. “My meeting with Umbridge was quite useful.”

Harry brought the goblet closer once more as he gave Snape a curious look. He hadn’t given any thought to what Snape had said or learnt in his meeting, though he couldn’t tell if that had been a good thing or not, given where his mind might’ve gone if he’d had the time.

“Your blood results came due last night and revealed that during your meeting with Umbridge, you had ingested something toxic.”

Harry jerked and tried to sit straighter despite the exhaustion flooding him. “So, she did poison me?!”

Anger bolted upwards from his chest with a burning, sharp ache. The snitch hummed distantly in Harry’s ears, but failed to distract him from the sheer fury pouring into his thoughts. He’d avoided thinking too much about his attack in the past, given how humiliated it made him feel, but now it seemed as if he could think of nothing but his own vulnerability and stupidity. She’d taken advantage of everything, from Harry’s willingness to speak with her in her office to his polite sip of tea.

“The results themselves were inconclusive as to what you were poisoned with, though I was able to procure a sample of Umbridge’s perfume, unadulterated tea, and the China set the two of you utilized in your first meeting. Poisons can remain on porcelain for longer than most are aware of.” Snape said as he watched Harry carefully. “And, as Lupin guessed, her skills truly do lie with curses, not potions.”

Harry swallowed heavily against his fury as he tried to organize his thoughts. Worry filtered weakly around his anger and reminded him of Tom’s terrifying presence from yesterday, but he could hardly entertain it beneath the mounting pressure burning in his chest.

He should’ve known better; he should’ve known not to trust a new professor and to be more aware of himself. He should’ve at least attempted to make it harder for Umbridge to outright attack him.

“I believe Lupin’s guess about the gagging curse is correct as well, because the potion she used works in tandem with a trigger.” Snape said softly. He stood and slowly circled his desk as he came closer. “The trigger, in this instance, is the gagging curse, but that alone wouldn’t cause the debilitating weakness you experience. A lack of air will do that, though its physical impact would be reduced, because you are still able to breathe beneath the curse, however limited it may be.” Snape’s finger trailed gently over Harry’s nose as he crouched before his chair.

The urge to cry hit Harry, though he despised every ounce of it. He wanted to go back in time and to shout at Umbridge before she had a chance to hurt him, or perhaps block her door, so Harry couldn’t get in.

“Her intent and goal was to immobilize and silence you, and she certainly tried.” Snape said softly. “The antidote, however, can only be taken with food and drink, so please drink, I doubt you’ve had anything to eat today either, especially given what occurred. The antidote won’t remove the gagging curse, but you will no longer experience debilitating weakness.”

“I sicked up that night though.” Harry said in a flat voice. “Why did it work if I was sick?”

“Because Umbridge set the curse in place before you were ill,” Snape said. “I reviewed your memory. It’s too difficult to tell when she began casting the curse, but it’s readily apparent when she finishes, because she finishes with the same comment you use to lift the curse after it’s been triggered. ‘You just haven’t found your feet’.”