“Mr Potter?”



A loud buzzing began ringing in Harry’s ears. He tried to gently shake it away, but it continued humming with a persistent tone. Professor Umbridge didn’t seem to notice the sound and Harry worried he was closer to some kind of episode than he’d initially thought. Sweat ran down his neck and dampened his shirt collar.



Had he fallen asleep and dreamt this up?



He hadn’t been the best sleeper lately and it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to have nodded off. It might be a dream, given how strange his dreams usually were. If it was a dream, it was frighteningly realistic. Realistic and bizarre.



Dreams could be bizarre and realistic though, so that made sense.



Snape’s voice whispered discordantly over the buzzing, asking Harry how he could wonder whether or not this was a dream if he was the one doing the dreaming. If he knew this was his dream, why hadn’t he woken up? If this was his dream, he wasn’t sure how or why he’d created Professor Umbridge. Why would he have created someone who enjoyed an alarming amount of pink and preferred crying cats on China plates? This line of thinking only served to confuse Harry more.



Maybe his subconscious desperately wanted him to go back to his mum’s flat?



Pink didn’t feature everywhere in his mum’s flat though, it was mostly in the sitting room, and that made this being a dream feel even more unlikely.



“Mr Potter?” Professor Umbridge asked again as she leant closer and folded her hands. “Did you hear my question?”



Harry blinked and set his tea cup onto the desk.



“Erm, I don’t—”



“It’s quite simple really,” Professor Umbridge’s painted lips tightened. “You see, given your behaviour and the events at the end of last term, the Ministry saw fit to check up on you.”



Horror thrummed through Harry, only adding to the roiling nausea swimming in his stomach.



Why hadn’t Aunt Petunia mentioned the Ministry to Snape when he’d written her? Had she written Snape back? Harry suddenly couldn’t remember if they’d actually communicated, or if Snape had just owled her Dudley’s cure.



What did Professor Umbridge mean by Harry’s behaviour as well?



He hoped she didn’t mean his behaviour surrounding Voldemort’s rebirth. Harry felt it was obvious as to why he’d acted out of character after that. He’d behaved exactly as he imagined someone who’d been kidnapped and tortured and left to their own devices might, so that really couldn’t have been out of character.



Even after three months he was still a bit off, despite attempting to process the events. He knew the Ministry didn’t believe his story and that infuriated him, but they couldn’t deny Cedric’s death. They must’ve known he hadn’t dropped dead of his own accord. Of course Harry’d be a bit off after witnessing something like that, regardless of whether or not they believed him about Voldemort. Snape had worked with him for nearly a month now though and he’d started slowly coming around.



Professor Umbridge’s eyes flickered to a roll of parchment on her left.



The writing was nearly too thin for Harry to read, but he thought he spotted several names in a row.



“You do live with your aunt, do you not?” She asked.



Harry’s mouth started watering again and he searched the office once more for a rubbish bin. Should he say he was ill and run? It wouldn’t be a lie and being sick might buy him time to speak with Snape.



Why hadn’t they come up with a plan in case this happened? Snape usually thought of everything and if he didn’t, Ms Eileen caught what he missed.



“Harry, dear?”



Professor Umbridge’s eyes found Harry’s and he worried for one heart stopping moment that she was a Legilimens. She didn’t look as if she’d learned anything from Harry’s thoughts though, not in the way Snape described it.



Her dark brown eyes searched Harry’s, but thankfully seemed to come up empty.



Snape had made it sound as if it was nearly impossible to lie in the face of legilimency. Not that Harry’d lied yet.



He hadn’t even said anything.



The smile slid from her lips and a concerned look replaced it. She stood and slowly circled around her desk. The taffy-pink ribbons seemed to fade as she came closer, as did the crying cats. It was as if she took up all the available space, though Harry didn’t think she’d grown in size. She wasn’t a large woman, Harry actually thought she’d been relatively short, but at the moment he felt very much like he had when he’d been six and Uncle Vernon loomed over him.



“Now, you poor dear,” Professor Umbridge began with a strangely kind tone. Harry blinked at the change. The cloying perfume faded leaving the room blissfully unscented for a moment and she reached a hand out, grasping him gently around his shoulder. “I want you to know that I’m your friend before I’m the Senior Undersecretary. You see, Minister Fudge seems to think you’re in need of a firm hand, but I—” She gave a soft titter as she gestured to herself. “I am more of the opinion that you’ve just had a rough go of things and haven’t found your feet yet.”



The soft fabric backing of the armchair hit Harry’s neck and he realized that the closer she’d come, the farther away he’d tried to move away.



“Would you say that’s about right?” She asked kindly.



His stomach rolled in an uncomfortably icy way, but he didn’t throw up. He wasn’t even sure if he could throw up, as he suddenly found himself struggling to move at all. Maybe this truly was a dream and he’d fallen asleep over the toilet. Hermione might be trying to shake him awake. That would explain the hand in his shoulder, though it didn’t explain his inability to move.



Sleep paralyzed the body, or at least it was supposed to, wasn’t it?



A knock on the door forced Umbridge away. She stood so quickly her coiffed curls fell forward and slipped out of place, seeming to break whatever held Harry so forcibly still. Her heels cracked loudly over the wooden floor as she sped toward the door.



Harry inhaled greedily the farther she moved away. He must’ve stopped breathing at some point, but he couldn't guess when it’d happened. The awful perfume rushed back around him and he coughed heavily against it. He wasn’t sure where it’d gone or how it’d left, but it coated his throat now.



He shivered and pushed himself to sit up, fighting the uncomfortable, relaxed feeling sinking in him.



What had happened?



He flinched as he heard her twist the lock on the door. He couldn’t remember having heard her lock it in the first place.



“Yes-oh!” Professor Umbridge said sweetly. “Professor Trelawney, isn’t it?”



Trelawney’s warbling voice echoed from the doorway, though it was cloudy in Harry’s ears.



Harry wrenched himself to his feet and wobbled for a moment as he struggled to stand. He didn’t want to be in this room anymore. He didn’t want to be on the third floor anymore. He wanted to be as far from Professor Umbridge as he could get and he couldn’t decide if that meant he’d need to escape to the Common Room or to the dungeons.



The yowling cats broke through the dampening buzzing and seemed uncharacteristically loud. In fact they were much louder than they’d been when he’d first entered.



“The Staffroom? Of course, in ten minutes you say?” Professor Umbridge asked.



It sounded as if Snape wouldn’t be in his office anyway and Harry didn’t have much choice then but to escape to the Common Room. Later, if he could, he might sneak down to Snape’s office. He’d check the Marauders Map and make sure it didn’t seem as if Snape was too busy for a visit.



He twisted on his heel and tipped sideways before falling into the armchair. His head swam as a lump shot up his throat and he jerked backwards, missing the armchair by a hair as he finally sicked up.



Professor Umbridge recoiled at the sound and sucked in a gasp as she caught sight of Harry.



Harry pressed his palm to his mouth.



Humiliation burst through him and he tried to vanish the mess quickly, though after failing twice, he forced himself to cast a scouring charm instead. It left several thick scars over the worn floor, but cleaned it well enough.



“I’m sorry, Professor!” He coughed as he made for the door. “I don’t feel well, excuse me.”



Professor Umbridge jerked out of his way, as did Trelawney. He thought he heard Trelawney call out an awkward consolation and something about ginger tea, but he ignored them both in favour of getting as far from them as he could.



His heart thundered in his chest and the necklace began warming in an attempt to help.



He realized with a shock that it’d been cold for the entire meeting. It always reacted to fear or anger before and he didn’t understand why it hadn’t warmed, because Harry had been plenty fearful. He didn’t love to think of himself giving into his emotions like that, but he couldn’t very well lie to himself at the moment.



This Umbridge woman was just a professor though, he tried to tell himself. She wasn’t worth being worried or fearful of, despite their awful meeting. He certainly needed to watch out for her, but being actively scared wouldn’t help him.



He rounded the corner and dashed up several sets of stairs, taking care to avoid the steps that vanished.



The portraits burst noisily around him, they gossiped, sang, and joked as he passed them by. It felt too normal and as if he hadn’t just sat through one of the most uncomfortable meetings in his life. He felt there should’ve been some louder type of reaction, though he wasn’t sure what he was specifically searching for. He supposed he really shouldn’t judge the strangeness of a meeting by the castle’s reaction, given that it housed several far stranger things than Umbridge without seeming off.



“Harry!” Ron’s voice called from high above. “Where’ve you been!?” He asked.



Harry gave him a short wave and they made their way toward each other with Ron chattering the entire way down. He mentioned the new first years and his shock at how small they were, Fred and George and their newest merchandise, something that involved a horrendous type of monkey, and lastly, his prefect duties and poor opinion of them.



“You wouldn’t believe all the work we’ve got to do on top of homework. It’s mental, mate.” Ron said as they met near the entrance to the fifth floor. “Those midgets don’t know how good they’ve got it. We had Percy for a prefect, remember? ‘I’ll be checking beds at night to ensure there’s no sneaking about’ .” Ron said, mimicking Percy’s no-nonsense tone. “Though, They do have to suffer Hermione, unlucky little tossers. I bet she’s already drawn up maps with the best routes to the library for them.”



Harry desperately wanted to laugh, though he didn’t fancy sicking up again if he did.



“Are you alright?” Ron asked after a moment. His eyes widened as he looked Harry over. “You look pale.” He said. “Really pale, mate.”



Harry shook his head and sucked in a gasp of blissfully cool and unperfumed air. “I have to go throw up,” He said blandly. “And I have to tell you about Umbridge.”



Ron’s forehead creased, but he followed Harry down the fifth floor corridor without complaint.



“You’re still sick?” He asked as they swept into the lavatory.



Harry grunted a yes and made for the toilet. There wasn’t even anything to throw up, as he hadn’t been able to keep anything down once he’d gotten off the train. He’d thought water would be safe, but he’d been dreadfully wrong.



“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather go to the Hospital Wing?” Ron asked.



“Positive.” Harry said with a hacking cough. “Pomfrey said she thought it was food poisoning, so there isn’t really anything to do about it.”



Ron shuffled in place and sniffed.



“I don’t know, food poisoning doesn’t really make people this sick, does it?”



“I haven’t actually had food poisoning before.” Harry said, after a moment of contemplation. “I don’t really know how sick is too sick. I guess if I’m still sick in the morning, I’ll go to Pomfrey.”



“You don’t think it has anything to do with what happened over the summer, do you?” Ron asked.



“How could it?” Harry said, spitting, flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth off as made his way out of the stall.



“I dunno, I’m just asking.” Ron said. He rubbed his nose and glanced nervously around the lavatory. “Maybe it’s like, you’re body not knowing it can eat more than a six—”



Harry waved Ron off with a sharp movement before he threw up the muffling charm Snape had taught him over the summer.



“Sorry,” Ron winced. “I forgot we knew that spell.”



Harry nodded, though he couldn’t say whether he was actually alright with their conversation potentially having been eavesdropped on. He was more worried about Snape’s cover remaining intact than anyone learning about his having been six though.



“Speaking of the summer,” Harry began leaning over and trying to hear if anyone else was in the bathroom. “Umbridge knows I wasn’t at the Dursley’s.”



Ron grimaced and tossed a second look around the loo, double checking again that it really was as empty as it looked.



“How?” He asked. “When would she have learned that?”



Harry shrugged before twisting and splashing water over his face.



“It was awful though, she was—” He paused, wondering suddenly if he wanted to tell Ron everything about the unnerving meeting. He couldn’t very well keep the entire thing secret, not when he had to attend her class in the morning. They’d probably wonder what was wrong with him if he acted strangely around a teacher he supposedly hadn’t met. “She was just really weird.”



“Weird like,” Ron paused and seemed to struggle to find the right words. “Weird like, we need to watch out around her, or weird like Lockhart?” He asked as his eyes turned serious.



Harry snickered. “I’m not sure anyone is weird like Lockhart.”



The foreboding nausea that had followed him for the last few hours finally seemed to dull, though it hadn’t faded.



Ron gave him a forced smile.



The porcelain blissfully chilled Harry’s sweaty back as he leant against the sinks and stared down at his trainers. Ms Eileen had found the shoes at the market. They weren’t ratty in the slightest and she’d even charmed the sides red, all because Harry’d mentioned liking the colour.



“Come on,” Ron said with a sniff. He gave Harry a look he’d rarely seen before and was often only directed at Ginny. “Let's go warn Hermione about another Professor who’s out to kill you.”



Harry huffed.



“She might not want me dead.” He said, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t actually know all of what she wants or knows, I was sick in her office and ran away before she could start anything.”



Ron shook his head and took a deep breath before steering him from the bathroom.



“You know, that’s my dream escape.” Ron said as they climbed the stairs and neared the entrance to the Common Room. “They can’t argue with you if they think you’re sick. Especially when you’re actually sick.”



Harry nodded.



“Maybe Fred and George hit on a good idea with their products. Umbridge couldn’t really say much with me spewing everywhere.”



“Tell that to Mum,” Ron mumbled as they climbed through the portrait hole. “She thinks they’ll go broke in a month.”



The Common Room bustled with a subdued excitement. Several groups of yawning students were draped over the couches as they talked about their summers and the upcoming year. Harry could almost pretend it felt normal, if not for the forced silence that surrounded him when he passed them by.



He wished they’d get it out of their system. He was almost glad Colin mentioned believing him, though he wished he’d felt less ill when they’d spoken.



Ron made a beeline for Hermione and Harry followed, eager to avoid the stares and sneers.



Hermione looked up from a book and a thick roll of parchment. She smiled and gestured for them to sit in the squashy armchairs she’d commandeered. She looked to have set up quite a comfy and secluded looking spot while he and Ron had been gone.



“How are you feeling? I’m glad Ron found you, you haven’t been sick this whole time, have you?” She asked quickly.



“Bad news out the gate.” Ron said, dropping into a chair and flicking his wand the same way Harry had in the bathroom.



The muffling charm hummed around them.



“Not the worst news,” Harry started, heading off Ron’s dry tone. “Just not great.”



“Not great?” Ron echoed as he gave Harry a disbelieving look. “You’ve been back for two days and thing’s have already gone poorly.”



Harry dearly wanted to shrink in on himself at that comment. He sank slowly into a chair instead.



“Ron!” Hermione hissed with a glare. She looked as if she’d wanted to say something more, but she kept her mouth shut instead. “What is it then? Don’t tell me Malfoy actually does know about what happened this summer. I swear, I knew he might, what with how he carried on at our prefect’s meeting.”



Harry winced as a faint memory floated to the surface of his thoughts and Dumbledore’s voice echoed in his ears.



After he’d escaped Avery and woken up in Grimmauld Place, he’d snuck into the kitchen and heard the Order discussing Voldemort. Dumbledore said Avery spilled everything about Harry being six.



If Voldemort knew, Lucius Malfoy must’ve known.



There was no way then, that Draco Malfoy didn’t know Harry’d been six. Lucius wouldn’t have kept that gem to himself.



Harry fell forward and dropped his head into his palms.



“Oh,” Hermione said weakly. “Maybe, well, maybe it’ll be alright?” She added equally faint. “Maybe he was-he was bluffing?”



“Hardly, that’s two things to worry about now.” Ron said with a groan. “Is there anything else we want to add while we’re talking about it? Snuffles hasn’t shown himself at the Ministry or anything, has he? Sn-er,” Ron paused and Harry was nearly tempted to look up from where he’d hidden his face, but he couldn’t stomach the thought yet.



He couldn’t imagine the torment Malfoy would cause this year.



“Two things?” Hermione asked quietly.



“Umbridge wants Harry dead.”



Harry sat up this time, giving himself an uncomfortable dose of vertigo. “No!” He said sharply. “She doesn’t, or at least I don’t think she does.” He said.



Umbridge hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting Harry dead. She’d tried to piece together where he’d been in August, which was a sharp cry from wanting someone dead. He understood why Ron would make that leap, but he wasn’t keen to add another person to the steadily lengthening list of people who wanted him dead.



“She’s just weird.” Harry said as his nose wrinkled at the phantom scent of her perfume. “She has a thing for the colour pink and cats and I can’t tell if she drugged the tea or if I just have food poisoning.”



“I thought you were sure it was food poisoning!” Ron said with a worried look.



Hermione stared at him for a long moment before snapping her book shut and standing.



“I’m getting—” She paused before huffing and gritting her teeth. “Do we have a name for them yet? I’d like to know before one of us really slips up.”



Ron stared open mouthed at her before making an aborted, unsure sound.



“Er,” Harry started before shaking his head ‘no’.



“Fine. I’m going to pick one on the way down. Will you get the map please so we can do this delicately.” Hermione said, forcing her voice to soften as she shoved aside the careful stack of parchment and books she’d arranged.



Harry shook his head ‘no’ again. “They’re in a staff meeting.”



Hermione’s eyes darkened and she threw herself back into her seat.



Harry wasn’t sure if he even wanted to run to Snape. What if he was busy, or dealing with Malfoy? Or Dumbledore or Umbridge? Or any plethora of tasks.



What if he thought Harry was overreacting or being clingy?



This was clingy behaviour, Harry knew he should admit that. He hadn’t ever had an adult he could just run to before and he didn’t want to ruin their relationship by getting Snape for every little thing.



What would he even say?



He could imagine it now. Harry would stumble over his words and moan about being uncomfortable in Umbridge’s office and maybe he’d say something like, ‘I can’t say for sure, but I think she might’ve hexed or drugged my tea’. Snape would be distinctly displeased. He liked to have concrete facts before he listened to accusations against people, so he wouldn’t like for Harry to make wild claims.



What if it turned out like the last four years, with Harry worrying and Snape thinking he was just an attention seeking toe-rag?



“How long do those meetings last, do you think?” Hermione asked as she bit her thumbnail. “An hour? Less than that?” She glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall.



“It’s the first night, probably more than an hour?” Ron guessed.



Hermione scoffed and folded her arms.



“Maybe we bother Fred and George for a prank and we break up the meeting, like we did at—” Ron waved at what Harry guessed meant Grimmauld Place.



“I don’t think it’d work.” Harry said. “Plus, Umbridge is in there right now.”



Hermione nodded.



“I hate this.” She said after a moment. “I knew he knew something, ferret.” She whispered under her breath and glared at the scarlet rug before the fire. She looked up at Harry and seemed to change tacks. “What’s something specific to them, Harry? A name we can call them that we won’t accidentally say during regular conversation? I mean, of course we’ll still use their name, but that’s only for when we want the-the less useful version of themselves!”



Harry nodded and sat back as he tried to think of something specific that had happened over the summer.



There were plenty of events to draw from, though he wasn’t sure he wanted Ron or Hermione knowing about all of them. Some of the stories were more precious to Harry than he was willing to admit and he wasn’t sure he wanted to share all of them. He wasn’t sure how Snape would feel if he shared them as well. Several were small, inconsequential moments from within the horrible beginning of August, but they were all the more special to Harry for that.



He thought of the plaits his mum had tried styling in Snape’s hair and the stories about the arguments between the two. He quickly found himself thinking of Germany again, and of the small stuffed dog that sat on his bed. Ms Eileen had promised to look after it despite Harry being fifteen again and knowing that it didn’t need much care. The memory of their unofficial Gobstones championship and how they’d forced Snape into participating the night before leaving for Hogwarts rang in his ears.



“I don’t really know, you two don’t have any suggestions, do you?” Harry said as he curled his fingers loosely around the edge of his jumper.



Now that he truly thought about it, Harry couldn’t guess if he was protective of his memories for selfish reasons or not. Snape would probably be annoyed if Ron and Hermione knew the ins and outs of every moment he and Snape had experienced, but he would likely understand if Harry wanted to share stories with his friends.



“Bat.” Ron said after a moment.



Hermione tossed him a withering look. “No, that’s too obvious for one and we’re giving them a second chance.”



Ron raised his hands apologetically.



“What about,” Hermione started before pausing and blinking down at the rug again. She scoffed again before dropping her chin into her palms. “This is actually quite hard.”



Harry laughed, feeling normal for the first time all day.



“I’m going to ask Fred and George, they’ll know something off the cuff.” Ron said as he stood. “Do you want to check the map, Harry?” He asked before stepping passed a few snoring second years.



Harry nodded and made his way to the dormitory. He bypassed a few dirty looks and some uncomfortably friendly ones, all the while trying to remind himself that it was probably alright to speak with Snape tonight. He was busy, but he’d specifically said Harry could come visit.



If he hadn’t wanted Harry to visit, he’d have said not to.



Wouldn’t he?



Hermione seemed to think they could get him anytime they liked, though Harry was very unsure of that. This wasn’t summer nor was it Germany. If he loitered around the dungeons day in and day out, someone was bound to notice.



Maybe he should have a limit? Perhaps he could visit for one day out of every week.



He shook his head gently and tried to push away the slowly growing nausea again. Once a week was still too often to visit a Professor who, by all accounts, hated the very air Harry breathed. Maybe there was a secret passageway that led to Snape’s office? That seemed like the sort of thing Snape would have.



He shoved the dormitory door open and stepped inside.



“You’re still here then?” Seamus asked from where he’d thrown himself across his bed. “Don’t you have some attention seeking to do?” His voice dripped with derision.



Harry twisted and eyed him before trying to slow his breathing and clear his mind. Snape had mentioned Occlumency being good for a great many instances and this felt like one of them.



“I can’t believe they haven’t expelled you yet? Not even after all your lies?”



Not that Harry was feeling particularly good at Occlumency at the moment. He tried to remind himself that this was hardly the worst sort of bullying he’d been on the receiving end of.



He also tried to remind himself that Occlumency was more for his own benefit than others.



Dean whispered a sharp sound at Seamus before turning back to Harry. “He doesn’t mean that, he’s sorry.” He said.



“Yes, I do mean that!” Seamus snapped. “And I’m not sorry.”



Harry waved him off and kicked open his trunk. He half wondered if Snape would feel it was an invasion of privacy for Harry to snoop on his whereabouts, but it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t done just that before.



“Do you know what I had to do in order to convince my mum to let me come back to Hogwarts because of you?” Seamus asked. “Do you—”



“You’re mad at me because your mum wanted to protect you?” Harry asked. “Sounds rough mate, really.” He added as he plucked the map from its hiding place and glared at Seamus.



Seamus coloured and he shoved his wand downward in a sharp arc.



“It’s not like you’d get that, Potter.” He snapped.



Harry’s hands tightened into fists around the map and nausea roiled through him again.



“Stop it, Seamus.” Dean said, crossing his arms. “You made it here and it’s not like Harry was begging your mum to keep you from Hogwarts. Yelling at him isn’t going to change her opinion.”



Seamus threw a fierce glare at Dean before flicking his wand in another sharp movement and lighting Harry’s bed covers on fire. Harry jerked backwards and drew his own wand, but Dean hopped to his feet and smothered it with a wave.



“Seamus!” Dean shouted.



Rather than answering, Seamus turned into his pillow and thrust the covers over his head.



Acrid black smoke slunk lazily from the blanket and rose to the ceiling. Harry didn’t know if ‘reparo’ would work very well on burn marks. He wondered if he should just ask Dobby for a new cover.



Despite having grown up in cast-offs, Harry was surprisingly poor at mending spells.



He didn’t want to think about why that was.



“I’m sorry.” Dean whispered. “I’m sorry, Harry.” He said again as they both stared at the blackened hole in Harry’s blanket. “I’ll talk to him, please don’t get McGonagall.”



Harry almost let out a laugh. McGonagall wouldn’t care much about a burn mark on Harry’s covers.



He paused and blinked when it occurred to him that Snape might, though.



He wondered how Snape would feel if someone burned a hole in Harry’s blanket in Germany. He’d been fastidious with Harry’s bedroom there. Fastidious and frighteningly specific. Harry’d never been able to convince him to swap sleeping arrangements throughout the entirety of August. He wasn’t sure if this bed held the same meaning as the one in Germany though.



“It’s fine.” Harry said before twisting on his heel and slipping out the door.



He whispered the passcode for the map and unfolded the inner sections until the first floor was revealed. Several professors milled about near the Staffroom, though it didn’t look as if whatever meeting they were meant to attend had finished.



“Is Ruffles free?” Hermione asked once she spotted Harry.



Harry stopped short. “Ruffles?” He asked.



“Fred and George thought it was hysterical. Snuffles and Ruffles.” Hermione said in a deadpan voice. “On account of how easy it is to ruffle them.”



Ron snickered.



“They’ll hate that.” Harry said, dreading the idea of ever informing Snape of that name. To say nothing of the hell Sirius would raise if he ever learned Snape’s nickname rhymed with his. He mentally promised himself to think of something else for Snape that wouldn’t eventually lead to a screaming match.



“We’ll think of something better later. I’d really like to know if Ruffles is free now though, please.” Hermione said, leaning over the armchair. “I think it’s rather important.” She said with a stern look.



Harry shook his head ‘no’ and passed the map over.



“What are we supposed to say anyway?” He asked. “It’s not like anything happened.”



“Several things, the first being that you think our Professor drugged you!” Hermione said whispering violently under her breath. “That’s not normal behaviour!”



“I mean, in a way, it is.” Ron said, though he backtracked quickly. “Not that it makes this any better, I mean, we know it’s not entirely out of the ordinary though, so S-Ruffles wouldn’t think we’re-we’re—” His eyes flickered to the ceiling and he looked to be debating his next comment carefully. “I just mean, maybe heading this off will make it better in the long run?”



Harry stared at the two of them. “What if they can’t do anything about it?”



That wasn’t necessarily what he’d wanted to ask, but he didn’t think he could make himself say what truly worried him.



He didn’t even like thinking about it.



Ron’s voice echoed through his thoughts again, asking when Snape would get sick of him and toss him back to the Dursleys.



He tried to shake the thought away, but failed. Nausea wracked through his stomach again and nearly had him turning to find a bucket, but it kindly stayed down. He wished he didn’t feel ill.



Hermione slowly lowered a fold on the map. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak to them.” She said softly. “We can think of it like checking in. We check in today and we see how things work going forward? We’ll see what they feel about everything that’s happened. We can’t guess at what they’d say without asking, it’s not very fair to them.” She nodded as her voice strengthened. “It’s especially unfair given how we’ve treated their character in the past.”



Ron hummed a sour, but agreeable note.



“Let’s wait out their meeting and sneak down afterwards.” Hermione said. “I’m going to make sure the first year girls get to bed alright, Ron, do you want to—”



“Already handled.” Ron nodded. “They’ve got things in hand.”



Hermione’s nose wrinkled but she neglected to say anything as she handed the map over to Harry and made for the girls dormitory.



Harry wished he was back in Germany again. He almost wished he was six as well, though he never wanted to feel that vulnerable again.



He closed his eyes and tried to picture their average day.



It was easy to pretend having dinner back in Germany and Harry growing more tired by the minute after they’d relaxed into their armchairs. Once he was too tired to even be awake he’d go up to a bed with no burn marks and he’d sleep peacefully.



His necklace hummed, slowly beating a warm patter against his chest.



He wouldn’t have to worry about any Professors or Malfoy potentially tormenting him. He’d probably be planning his next morning.



They passed the time with a nervous sort of energy. He and Ron checked the map several times before Hermione returned, each time finding Snape frozen next to Professor Sprout. Hermione checked it more than either of them and couldn’t seem to put the map down for more than five minutes.



He’d escaped to the loo twice while they waited, though he never felt better afterwards.



Harry wondered as he waited, if Umbridge would somehow learn about his wanting to sneak out and meet with Snape. It had him curious again about how she’d learned he wasn’t at Privet Drive for most of August.



Ms Eileen’s voice hissed several questions in a row and interrogated his memory of the meeting.



‘Did she give anything away?’ Her voice echoed in his ears. ‘What didn’t she say?’



Umbridge had asked Harry if he lived with Aunt Petunia, but she hadn’t remembered her name directly. Harry supposed that wasn’t wildly unusual as Umbridge probably saw more than a thousand names a week, what with being a Senior Undersecretary.



‘Petunia Dursley’ probably didn’t rank very highly in importance to her.



There was something distinctly odd about her one-sided conversation, but Harry struggled to remember all of the specifics. He wasn’t as good at this as Ms Eileen and it felt as if his memories were clouded over with taffy-pink smoke. He began feeling even more uncomfortable when he tried to recall if he’d said anything during the meeting, but could only imagine pink ribbons being wrapped so tightly over his mouth that it impaired his ability to speak.



He blinked sluggishly against the feeling and his arms and legs felt as if they’d turned to lead. Something else had happened, but he couldn’t guess at what.



“They’ve finished.” Hermione said as her head whipped up. “I’ve been watching Umbridge as well and it looks as if she’s headed to her office. Do we want to wait until she’s in there or make a break for it now.”



The Common Room hardly whispered around them now, nearly empty as it was. Dying embers threw a weak glow over the scarlet furniture and whoever else had managed to remain awake despite the late hour. Anyone left lingering was likely trying to make up summer work. They’d mostly dropped off though and were snoring into their arms.



“Let’s wait.” Harry whispered quickly.



He didn’t fancy running into Umbridge, not when he still couldn’t get the uncomfortable feeling of ribbon out of his mouth.



Hermione nodded and stared back at the map. He almost warned her about behaving a bit obsessively, but he supposed he’d acted the same way when he wanted to know where someone was or where they were going.



“Have you got your cloak? I worry about all three of us sneaking out. Maybe Harry should just go?” Hermione asked.



“No way,” Ron said, his voice dropping after a third year snorted. “All or nothing. We were split up for most of August and I’m sick of not being in the loop.” He added. “We’ll just have to be careful.”



Harry thought he caught the odd look Ron had given him earlier, though he couldn’t be sure.



Hermione squinted and seemed to debate it, but nodded before climbing to her feet. “I don’t love the thought of us sneaking out on our first night. I thought with us being prefects and having Ruffles now, we’d try being more,” She paused and gestured silently at them all. “More well behaved.”



“We are.” Ron said. “We’re about to get a bloody teacher to help us. This is the most well behaved we’ve ever been.”



Harry grabbed his wand and pushed himself to his feet. Whatever left him feeling like lead had dissipated and he wondered if he’d just imagined it. Maybe it really was just food poisoning.



“Maybe,” Harry started as worry began creeping in quickly. “Maybe I will just go alone? I don’t want Ruffles getting mad at you two.”



Hermione’s eyes widened and she glanced nervously at Ron.



“Are you sure?” She asked, turning back to Harry. “You will promise to bring up Umbridge, won’t you?”



Harry shrugged, but felt more and more like just hiding in his bed. He didn’t want Snape thinking Harry couldn’t handle one night without him. Maybe he’d just bugger off to an empty classroom and hide there for a while before coming back and claiming that Snape was asleep?



“I’m coming, if just to be a distraction.” Ron said as he spun and tip-toed out of the portrait hole. Hermione folded the tails hanging off the map and searched it twice more before slipping out the door as well. “I can’t go to sleep anyway,” Ron’s voice echoed quietly through the corridor. “Seamus was being a prat earlier and I’m still angry with him.”



Harry groaned inwardly as he followed after them.