Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as Harry stared at the small, foggy bottle before him.

He couldn’t say why he thought the antidote for Umbridge’s poison would come in a larger form, or why he felt it would look more imposing, especially given how many potions he’d recently taken, and how small and innocuous they were.

Perhaps that was precisely why he found them so intimidating?

Potions rarely advertised their effects through appearance, and Harry spent enough time reading with Snape, to know how easily they could appear to cause one effect but, in all actuality, cause many others.

His stomach twisted into a knot as he thought of how many of his difficulties involved poisons and antidotes lately.

He needed a cure after Avery tossed a mis-made potion over him and he needed a cure after the antidote for that potion failed. He needed a cure after Dumbledore tore through his thoughts, and now he needed another because of Umbridge. He half wondered how his life would’ve turned out, if he and Snape hadn’t formed a better relationship.

Maybe Dumbledore would have forced Snape to help? He’d forced Snape to help Harry after the incident with Avery, after all, and Harry still struggled to understand what he’d said to make Snape interact with Aunt Petunia, given their history.

Back in his mum’s flat, Sirius told Harry Dumbledore won by manipulation. Snape never struck Harry as someone who would let Dumbledore control him though, even if that was exactly what had happened the last time they’d spoken in his office. It happened again after Harry’s horrendous meeting with Umbridge as well though. Dumbledore managed to make Snape wait rather than collect Harry himself, however, there’d been too much broken glass littering the floor for Harry to believe their conversation involved any subtle manipulation on Dumbledore’s part.

Harry had been around Snape when he was angry. He knew how controlled Snape was in the face of his own anger and he shuddered to imagine what Dumbledore said to make Snape throw something. Snape only said he and Dumbledore had a disagreement when Harry asked about the glass, he never identified which of them threw something.

For all Harry knew, it may have been Dumbledore who’d thrown something.

However, that seemed unlikely, given how he’d won the argument. Harry carefully searched over his memory of Dumbledore and Umbridge’s conversation and tried to ignore the unbridled rage looming in the background as he recalled shivering awkwardly several steps away from the floo. Dumbledore hadn’t responded to Harry’s age, aside from telling Umbridge it was none of her business. It was difficult to tell if he intentionally ignored Harry’s age in order to push the attention away from Harry, or to distract Umbridge from asking about it for Harry’s sake, or if it had been because Dumbledore had no answers for it.

“Do you know why the aging antidote keeps failing?” Harry asked as he reached a nervous hand out and twisted the antidote for Umbridge’s poison forwards and back.

Snape inhaled slowly.

“It’s just, it’s,” Harry stammered. “I mean, why does it keep failing?” His eyes flickered over the breadcrumbs of a sandwich he struggled to keep down before sweeping upwards and catching Snape’s fingers pressing against the dark purple rings around his eyes.

“I don’t know why.” Snape said as his hands dropped away from his face. “However, I would like to return to our previous conversation—”

“But there has to be a solution, right?” Harry asked quickly. “You think there’s a solution at least, right? That is, it can’t be just unsolvable—”

“Harry,” Snape said before pausing as he held his hand out. “It’s entirely possible Avery mis-stepped more than once in his own brewing process, which would make an antidote that only countered one mistake defective. That you are able to return to your proper age is a sign that the issue is resolvable.”

“But what if I’m not actually growing?” Harry asked as he sat forward. “What if I’m returning to fifteen for two days and not aging past that?”

An odd rigidity stilled along Snape’s back. “Have you shaved in the last few weeks?”

“Erm,” Harry searched over the corners in his mind as he tried to remember anything beyond the last few days. “Yeah, a few times I think?” He vaguely remembered Dean applying more shaving cream than necessary and pretending to be Dumbledore one morning.

“Then you’re aging, however interspersed your growth may be.”

Hair growth seemed like an odd thing to base his survival on, though he wondered if he sounded dramatic with that thought. Harry reached up and held his hand gently over his wild tangle of his hair and tried to guess how long it had been since his last haircut. He couldn’t remember if Mrs Weasley had trimmed his hair after the Triwizard Tournament, or if Aunt Petunia had taken himself and Dudley to the barber sometime over the summer.

The sound of scissors snipped in his ears, but it was difficult to tell when that happened.

“May we return to our previous conversation?” Snape asked as he folded his hands atop his desk. “I’d like to ask once more, if you can pinpoint what I said that set off your dissociation.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. He disagreed with naming the uncomfortable feeling of falling into his thoughts, especially because leaving it nameless could’ve been to their benefit. If they never named it, they never had to bring it up, and Harry liked to think of accidentally falling into his thoughts as being rather difficult to do, as he’d gone the first fifteen years of his life without it stumbling over it.

“There may be an easy solution,” Snape said as he flipped his wrist over to check his watch. Harry wondered how much time he had left before he could take his antidote. “It may be a matter of avoiding certain phrasing, or behaviour.”

Harry blinked upwards. “You think it’ll go away if we just avoid saying certain things?” He asked as something perilously hopeful hummed in his chest. He tried to squash his hope into a more manageable expectation, but his excitement quickly overtook him.

“I think it needs to be dealt with directly.” Snape said, whisking away Harry’s hope with a thick blanket of disappointment. “But I don’t think you should be forced to endure something if it can be avoided.”

“I don’t think I’m enduring anything.” Harry said as he rolled his shoulders against the frustration tightening along his back. “It’s not as if I’m hurt or was hurt.”

That wasn’t a lie either, not truly, because the ache in his head had been self-inflicted. He’d overreacted to Snape’s response, a response which he now knew to be maybe not entirely reasonable, but surely understandable, given what happened last night with Umbridge.

“Harry,” Snape said, dragging Harry from his thoughts. “Just because you’re not physically—”

Harry lunged forward and pulled the stopper from the bottle before one of Snape’s hands quickly dropped on top of his own. Murky liquid sloshed against the insides and very nearly spilled out the top when Snape hissed a soft sound, causing the bottle to rattle unnaturally and shiver to a stop at a precarious angle.

“You still have ten minutes before you can take this yet.” Snape said as he gently tipped the bottle back onto its base. “It can easily damage your stomach lining, please wait.” He added with a long look. “I know this isn’t a conversation you want to have, but please try.”

Harry resisted the urge to slump in his seat. He knew their conversation couldn’t last forever, especially with Snape needing to teach another class soon but discussing his thoughts in this classroom sent shivers up his spine.

He hated this classroom. No matter how much time he and Snape had spent, rebuilding their relationship, the classroom remained the same.

“Please try to explore one question,” Snape said quietly as he held up a single finger. “One question with me, if a discussion feels like too much.”

The night he’d stayed in Spinner’s End, and the curry he ate flickered into his mind. Snape had offered him one bite when three had been too many, but Harry hadn’t been sure if he could stomach even that little of an amount.

“I don’t—” Harry sucked in a stunted, awkward breath. The urge to run his nails over his wrists itched along his arms, but he couldn’t very well indulge in the sated feeling it left behind with Snape’s hand resting heavily over his own. The pendant on his mum’s necklace hummed warmly.

“You said you remember the crack in the floor.” Snape said.

“Yeah,” Harry said as his fingers on his free hand tightened around the hem of his jumper.

“I’d like us to ask about why you focused so firmly on it.”

“But it was a crack in the floor.” Harry glanced down toward the floor and tried to ignore the uncomfortable agitation racing through him. “I don’t think it was very important.”

“I think if you remember it, it served a purpose.” Snape said with a whisper. “You could’ve remembered anything else, but you didn’t.”

Harry sniffed. “I remember other things, like you being angry.”

“But you hadn’t dissociated at that point.”

His memory of the anger in Snape’s voice echoed in Harry’s ears and he tried to recall when exactly he’d fallen into his thoughts.

He pulled at the frayed hem on his jumper and wore a small hole into the fabric.

“Think of it this way,” Snape’s voice softened further. “Your focus landing so firmly on the floor has little to do with the floor itself, and far more to do with why you didn’t look up.” He said slowly. “I think it’s important to understand that reaction.”

Bitterness bubbled up Harry’s throat at his inability to understand why Snape felt the floor was so important. Either he looked at the floor or he didn’t. His response to his own misbehaviour had never been investigated before, aside from being frowned upon, and Harry never had the luxury of learning from his mistakes because no matter how he responded after having messed up, he always made the wrong choice.

Old, itchy memories blinked behind his eyes.

‘Don’t give me that look,’ Aunt Petunia hissed in his ears before shoving his head forward and forcing him to drop his eyes to the shattered China on the carpet. ‘You destructive thing.’

‘No manners,’ His year two teacher said snidely. ‘None at all. Look at me when I speak with you.’ The sound of a ruler cracked near Harry’s ear and his eyes flew upwards and landed on the juice stain soaking into her blouse. ‘Don’t just gawp!’

‘I’m sorry—’ He tried to say as Uncle Vernon’s fingers tightened around his arm.

‘Don’t lie!’ Uncle Vernon whispered as he gave Harry a firm shake. ‘If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t have hurt my Dudley!’

“Perhaps, given our previous relationship, you were frightened of my reaction and anger.” Snape said as he gently pulled Harry’s hand away from the small bottle. He neglected to let go however, for which, Harry couldn’t tell if he was thankful or not.

Harry shook his head ‘no’ and wrapped a loose thread tightly around a finger on his free hand.

He couldn’t be sure if that was the truth, as he couldn’t remember worrying about Snape hurting him at the time, though he knew he’d worried about precisely that in the past.

“I didn’t need to worry about you being angry.” Harry said quickly, trying his best to ignore his own agitation. “I already knew you were.” He added with a frown. “I don’t think my reaction, or your reaction made me,” He paused as the sour term crossed his tongue. “Made me disassociate.”

“It’s possible it may have been something else entirely.” Snape said as he tilted his head.

Harry nodded.

Snape nodded in agreement. “I’m curious though, about how my anger may have impacted your feelings and concerns.”

He didn’t know what Snape’s anger would do, and that seemed like a stupid idea to think about. Since their relationship changed, Harry hadn’t misbehaved around Snape intentionally and as such, he had no way of knowing what to expect. Snape had changed beyond any of Harry’s expectations, to the point where Harry couldn’t guess if he’d have them write lines or clean cauldrons or if he’d just throw Harry back to the Dursleys.

The odd, thick feeling that weighed on him earlier began to wrap around Harry’s head and crept upwards from his neck. It nearly crested past his ears before a finger trailed down his nose and stopped it in its tracks.

Harry blinked and nearly flinched as he caught sight of Snape, who’d stood from his chair and circled his desk at some point.

Snape paused and inhaled slowly. “That wasn’t my intention,” He said as he trailed his finger over Harry’s nose once more. “I’m sorry.” He added before pulling away.

The quiet classroom echoed in Harry’s ears and felt too wide and too empty for comfort.

“Perhaps then, going by this response, your episode may have involved a fear of my reaction, and what uncertainty you felt around it.” Snape said softly.

Harry’s finger throbbed and he quickly looked down in time to catch the thread he’d twisted around his finger snap free from the jumper. He wished quite suddenly that they could’ve had this discussion in Germany, where he could’ve run to Ms Eileen’s sitting room or his own bedroom to hide.

“Erm,” Harry mumbled in a thin voice. “I dunno.”

“Maybe we should find an agreed upon reaction. You would be aware of how I would respond if we did.” Snape said as he gestured loosely with one hand. “Which may help reduce your uncertainty.”

Harry tossed a nervous look at Snape. “What if you decide not to react in the way we agreed?”

“Then it’s very likely that whatever occurred would require both of us to come to another agreement on a reasonable reaction.”

“What if you don’t want to come to an agreement?” Harry asked as he thought of Snape’s refusal to speak with Tom. He knew Snape’s decision made sense, with the gift of hindsight and more understanding about why Snape wouldn’t interact with Tom, but Harry couldn’t help but be curious about what Snape would say.

An irritable whisper in the back of his mind still wasn’t sure how the crack in the floor connected to a fear of the unknown. He also wasn’t sure if he agreed with Snape about it being the source of his episode, not when he was routinely left in the dark and almost always scrambling for answers. Harry knew exactly how difficult fending for himself was. He didn’t shy away from frightening conversations, or events, Aunt Petunia would’ve never allowed Harry to escape a punishment, nor had Snape, not before their relationship changed.

“If that were to happen, it would be extenuating circumstances and I would be quite clear as to why I made my decision.” Snape said before his eyes softened, and the purple rings around them seemed to darken.

Harry nodded.

Snape stepped back around his desk and checked his wristwatch once more. “You may take that now.” He said as he gave the small bottle on his desk a pointed look. “I think I’d like you to stay in my chambers for the rest of the afternoon; both so you have real peace and quiet, but also so I’m able to help you, if you have any adverse reactions to the antidote.”

“All of this?” Harry asked as he eyed the murky liquid. He was glad to change the conversation, though it lingered heavily in his thoughts.

Snape nodded.

Harry pinched his nose and downed the contents of the bottle before gagging slightly as a sharp, acrid taste and a grainy texture overwhelmed him.

He gave a sharp shudder and handed the bottle to Snape. “Shouldn’t I just go to class?” He asked. He couldn’t remember if he had anything due in Care of Magical Creatures, but with Professor Grubbly-Plank teaching the lesson rather than Hagrid, missing an assignment didn’t bother Harry much. It wasn’t a warm day outside, but he felt the brisk weather would help clear his mind.

“No.” Snape said. “I would rather you look after your health,” He flipped his wrist over and double checked the time. “You deserve and need a break.”

Harry sniffed and tried to find the urge to disagree but given how he’d felt all throughout Potions and Defense, a nap, or at least a bit of peace and quiet, sounded fantastic.

“Try to sleep or read something pleasant.” Snape said as he vanished the bottle, grabbed Harry’s bag and led them both through a crooked side door, down a thin, dimly lit passageway. “I’m not asking you to defer your homework or friends for long, just the afternoon and possibly the early evening.” He added as they slipped into Snape’s chambers.

Hardly anything had changed since Harry left the sitting room this morning, even his stuffed dog still sat, hidden within the couch cushions.

It reminded Harry quite suddenly of everything that occurred already today, and Snape’s meeting with Umbridge and Malfoy.

“Wait, about your meeting,” Harry said as he was guided into Snape’s bedroom. “Am I in trouble?” He asked. He twisted to look at Snape and watched as he cast several spells in succession until a small, bright trail of light fell to the ground and looped Harry. It looked similar to the trail of light he’d seen racing over Snape’s shoulder after Tom snuck through his thoughts.

“You’ll serve detention with me and write a letter, apologizing to Mr Malfoy, but following that, the matter is closed.” Snape said as Harry watched the light circle the bed posts and dash atop the covers.

“That’s it?” Harry asked.

Snape raised his eyebrows. “The curse cast on Mr Malfoy was dark but given your lack of knowledge in that branch of magic, and the fact that there are no books in the library where you could’ve discovered it by accident, Dumbledore argued that Mr Malfoy’s affliction was more accidental than intentional, which coincides with witness reports. You haven’t yet learnt nonverbals, nor was any professor able to explain where you would’ve learnt a dark curse that fell out of style over a decade ago.”

Harry blinked stupidly as he dropped onto the bed.

“Umbridge felt your punishment was lacking, however, as the Head of House for the injured party, my opinion takes precedence.”

“Did she ask you anything about my, erm, my age, or?” Harry asked as he tried to bring his thoughts up to speed. They seemed intentionally slow and refused to fully grasp what Snape said. He idly wondered if that had to do with how stressed he’d been today, but he disliked thinking about that.

“After Mr Malfoy left, she asked me if I knew where your student file had gone off to.” Snape said as he set Harry’s bag beside the bed. “She believes Dumbledore removed it from the Staffroom after your interaction with Mr Malfoy.”

“It’s missing?” Harry asked.

He doubted it would be an interesting read, but he felt Malfoy could easily find something nasty to do with it.

“No.” Snape said as he leant against the dresser. “I have it.”

“Oh.” Harry said dully.

“How are you feeling?”

Harry blinked upwards. His head ached with a thick, uncomfortable pressure but the antidote he’d swallowed didn’t seem to bother him beyond leaving a foul taste in his mouth. He half wondered if the bed’s presence was making him tired or if he was just exhausted himself?

“Tired.” He answered.

Snape nodded and helped Harry transfigure his uniform into something more comfortable before helping him settle into bed.

Harry’s last waking sight was of Snape running long fingers through his fringe and whispering, “Sleep well.”


——


A busy work week followed that stressful Monday, made partially worse by the essay set by Umbridge and several students who felt Harry deserved bitter looks for having been, in their opinion, the cause of their extra work. Harry, Ron, and Hermione each managed to turn the essay in, and in Harry’s opinion, it was as Ministry approved as he and Hermione could make it. He still felt Umbridge would find some reason or another to pull him into her office though.

It wasn’t until Friday, when Hermione began tugging Harry and Ron from their cozy spot in the common room near the fire that Harry even remembered their plan to form a study group.

Heavy rain pounded over tall glass windowpanes as they stepped casually past them.

“I’ve put together a list,” Hermione said as she led them through winding, washed out corridors. “Just, erm, several spells, a bit of theory, I spoke with Professor McGonagall as well, who gave me a pass into the Restricted Section, where I was able to pull a few books in preparation.”

Ron nodded. “Right, right, did either of you write to Lupin, or Snuffles maybe?”

“Not about this.” Harry said as Hermione shook her head ‘no’.

Both Sirius and Ms Eileen found time to write Harry back, though their letters weren’t of much use toward the study group. Sirius tried to keep his letter light and happy, but it was clear he was hardly sleeping after he mentioned researching Harry’s gagging curse around the clock. He also wrote about Lupin being an annoying shadow, but that he far preferred his company to Kreacher’s.

Ms Eileen’s letter had been a bit more informative. She mentioned the argument in Snape’s office, as well as Harry’s meltdown.

Dumbledore hadn’t wanted Snape to involve himself with Umbridge unless it was to help her. She spoke about Snape’s response as if it were something he wasn’t proud of, though she neglected to go into more detail, and Harry couldn’t tell if she meant he was embarrassed about throwing something, angry about having accepted Dumbledore’s decision, or both. She had some inkling as to why Harry went to Snape’s chambers directly after his horrendous meeting, opposed to Madam Pomfrey’s though, because she mentioned Snape warning her to be prepared for them to return home, should they need to.

She hadn’t known as much as she would’ve liked, as she’d only been contacted after Harry melted down, but she felt Snape’s reaction had been concerning, even then. Apparently, he’d struggled to maintain a train of thought, and been horrified with himself.

Her letter mostly spoke about her and Snape’s worry for Harry though.

Harry read it several times after he’d received it, and several more times again in bed before he fell asleep.

‘S always struggles when those they care for are hurting.’

Harry hadn’t shared the letter with Snape, or anyone else. He couldn’t remember if anyone had ever mentioned openly caring for Harry in writing. Of course, they showed it in other ways. Sirius made his care and love for Harry clear in his intentions, as had Ron and Hermione, and Mrs Weasley was always kind as well, as she’d opened her house to him for summers and holidays.

He couldn’t remember any other specific comments from her letter, but that line was written into him now, and he found himself often struggling to think of much else since reading it.

“Maybe we ought to?” Ron asked, pulling Harry from his thoughts.

They rounded a tall bannister and made their way down several flights of stairs before coming out near the library.

Harry felt the cold day would’ve chased away most students, seeing as common rooms and dormitories were far more pleasant to work on homework in, but an unusual cluster of students lingered throughout the stacks.

“Professor Lupin said that probably wouldn’t work though, remember?” Hermione said before lowering her voice as they slipped through the doorway. She nodded and smiled weakly at Dean but swallowed it after spying Seamus before finding a desk near a secluded corner in the back of the room. “They specifically told Ruffles to be prepared.”

Several heads turned their way as they settled in and sent a small thrill of nervousness up Harry’s back. “Exactly how many people did you tell about the study group?” He asked.

He spotted Cho, lingering near a tall girl he vaguely recognized, but couldn’t name.

“A fair few,” Ron said as he fell into a seat across from Harry. “Word’s just been growing really, I told Fred and George and they asked if they could mention it around and, well,” He shrugged before looking up and turned increasingly slowly as he realized how many people were starting to surround their small table. “Word, er, gets around?” He finished with a croak.

Hermione gave a nervous laugh before waving her wand with an artful twirl and muttering a quiet, “Muffliato.”

“How are you three?” Fred asked as he slid into a seat beside Ron. “Excited?”

“Elated?” George asked as he appeared behind Hermione.

“Ecstatic?” Fred asked before giving George a welcoming gesture.

“Enthu—”

Hermione shook her head and waved at them as she set her bookbag on her chair and tugged out several ragged rolls of parchment. “Yes, yes all of those, all of the above!”

“Goodness, you don’t seem so,” George said as he wrinkled his nose. “We’re only trying to lighten the tension. We’ve bravely waited here for nearly an hour without anything fun to do, and believe me, we tried. Snape gave us several very dirty looks.”

“What?” Harry asked as he gave them a confused look. “Why was Snape here?”

“Well, it may come as a surprise to you, Harry,” Fred said as he folded his hands neatly atop the table and looked down his nose at Harry. “But a library is a public place. This one happens to be well known for its charming staff.”

Hermione tossed Fred an unimpressed look before glancing over their now crowded table and swallowing at the amount of people who’d gathered in a short time. “Erm,” She started as her fingers worried along the feathering on her quill. “Well, erm, well, hello.”

Several people Harry recognized nodded a greeting while others smiled or rudely, gave no reaction at all.

“This idea, erm, came about because, erm, well Slinkhard just isn’t a very good teacher, is he?” Hermione asked with a thin smile. “Well, I suppose if we wanted to learn about how to write a poor Defense book, he’d be great.”

“I don’t know, I think he has several smart ideas,” Luna Lovegood said as she squeezed between Cho and the tall girl. “He advises running away from our enemies, and I find that to be quite reasonable.”

Hermione’s jaw clicked as she twisted to look at Luna. “But that’s not always an option, is it?”

“No, I suppose not.” Luna said in an airy voice. “But that’s why we’re here, right?” She asked before looking over the odd collection of students. “To figure out what to do when running away isn’t an option.”

“Right,” Hermione nodded. “I checked out several books in preparation—”

“Wait, this isn’t going to be practical?” Someone behind Harry asked quietly. “We’re really never going to learn how to cast real shields or stunners?”

Hermione tossed a nervous look around as a disappointed slump echoed through the crowd. She gave Harry and Ron a quiet, panicked glance and Harry realized quite suddenly how out of their league they were. When Hermione described her expectations for a study group, Harry pictured a few students centered around a table, whispering about which spells held up on the run and which needed to be more stationary. That wouldn’t truly prepare anyone for Death Eaters or Voldemort though.

Ribbons whispered over Harry’s lips and sent static humming faintly through his hair.

In hindsight, being entered in a deadly tournament and spending the summer reading through magical theory texts with Snape gave Harry more of a leg up than he realized.

“Well, I had said we’d meet in the library,” Hermione said as a flush darkened her cheeks. “It’d be hard to hold a practical lesson here.”

“So, we will be practicing then?” Harry twisted around in time to catch Justin Finch-Fletchley finish speaking. He gave a friendly nod when he caught Harry’s eye, leaving Harry confused for it Justin felt their study group was meant to replace what Umbridge should’ve been teaching them, or if he understood what Hermione had meant when she’d said, ‘study group’.

“I’m not actually sure.” Hermione said. “I have a few resources that may be able to help us, but I’m not, I’m not actually a teacher.”

“Bollocks, Hermione,” Ron said as he shook his head. “You’ve taught Harry and I loads of things.”

“Well, not really,” Hermione said. “I just used the book, that’s not a replacement for a competent teacher.” Her jaw tightened again as her eyes swept over the curious crowd. “I, I don’t know if I could teach you all, more, I had in mind that, erm.”

Hermione’s eyes landed on Harry, and she gave him a shaky smile.

Harry blinked stupidly at her before giving her a curious nod.

“Harry knows a few spells!” Hermione said brightly. “Ruf—Lupin taught him. We could write to him, and ask him questions?”

Horror flooded Harry. In less than a second, he found what felt like hundreds of faults in her logic. He was already working on his own aging issue, Tom, the doorway he kept seeing in his dreams, Umbridge’s essay, Malfoy’s apology note and even more. He had no time to plan supplemental lessons, he hardly knew how to teach!

He hadn’t known Hermione meant to offer him up!

“You think Professor Lupin would still be willing to help us?” Lavender asked as she peeked out from behind Parvati.

“Did you get private lessons or something?” Seamus asked. “A bit of special treatment, while he was here?”

“No!” Harry hissed beneath his breath as he glared at Hermione. “I don’t write to him.”

“But he’s written to us.” Hermione said with a confused look. “So, it wouldn’t be so strange for us to write back.”

“And you think Potter knows enough spells to help us get through our OWL year?” Seamus asked. “Some of us can’t get by with big names. We’d need to do real magic at these exams, not just show off.”

Harry gripped the table and pictured the snitch as he reigned in an angered response.

A dampened sense of success trickled through his thoughts. The snitch left him just distracted enough to ignore the mess of humiliation and dread bubbling in his stomach, and he tried to distract himself further by imagining all the ways he could go about snatching it, with endless twirls, dives, feints, and rings, but they hardly held his attention.

“That sounds like a personal problem, Finnigan.” Hermione said with a dark look. “I’ve checked over study guides for previous OWL exams and made a list of spells and theory—”

“Some of us are taking our NEWT’s though,” Angelina Johnson said before looking toward Harry. “You’re lovely Harry, but I don’t know if you’d be able to perform magic that far out of your league.” She said with a consoling look.

“You’d at least need to do more than summon a broomstick or breathe underwater.” Seamus said as he crossed his arms.

“Come off it Finnigan!” Ron hissed. “You can’t even do that! How about you show us a stunner, or a shield charm!” He said as he jerked in his seat. Fred dropped a hand over his arm, keeping him from moving much closer. “Which would you rather, Harry showing you how to cast those, or reading more of Slinkhard’s bloody theory!”

The snitch hummed through Harry’s thoughts and kept him centered, but he somehow doubted he’d be able to keep this up long term. He almost wished Ron would’ve started something, because at least then they could’ve shut Seamus up for a short while.

He doubted they’d have been allowed into the library anytime soon, afterwards.

“You-Know-Who isn’t going to let you practice a few times before he attacks you, you know.” Ron added in a vaguely calmer voice. “He doesn't really give you any notice, does he, Harry?”

Harry felt his cheeks light up. If he felt inclined to honesty, which he didn’t, he’d say Voldemort often gave Harry a heads-up. Harry’s scar lit up in agony whenever Voldemort was nearby. It lit up in agony whenever he was far away too though, as well as when Harry dreamt of him, or saw visions of him.

Perhaps it wasn’t the catchall signal Harry sometimes considered it to be.

“No.” Harry said quietly.

He glanced over the crowd and tried to swallow back his worry for them as several faces paled and a few more gave their friends worried looks. Umbridge may have intended to leave them defenseless to avoid an attack on the Ministry, but she’d succeeded in leaving them defenseless against Voldemort instead.

“It’d probably help if we knew what he was like.” Cormac McLaggen said with a self-important nod. “So we’re able to prepare, of course. I doubt he would expect for so many students to know his tricks, we could probably catch him by surprise.”

Harry stared at Cormac.

“Yeah,” George said with wide eyes. “Loads of us pop out of the bushes and scream so you’ll have a chance to run away.”

Several people snickered as Harry felt a small laugh climb up his throat.

“Does he, though?” Neville asked quietly. “Have tricks, I mean.” He added as he looked toward Harry.

Harry swallowed heavily as the smell of burnt ozone flickered through the air. He tried to inhale slowly but pinched his mouth closed after the burnt smell grew too strong. He wished he was back in Snape’s chambers, or the common room writing half cracked dream journals.

“He’s a liar.” Ginny said, tearing the attention away from Harry.

Ron, Fred, and George’s heads each swung sharply toward where Ginny sat. Ron turned again and worriedly searched Harry and Hermione’s faces before he looked back toward his sister.

“He’ll say he’ll give you anything, but he’s a liar.” Ginny said again.

“Noted.” George said with a serious look in his eyes.

“Well, how do you know, first off, and second, that’s not really useful against him in, say, a combat—” Cormac said before letting out an odd wheeze.

Harry twisted around and spotted Ron’s fist disappearing beneath their table. He wondered how much Ron and his brothers knew about his and Ginny’s meeting with Tom in the Chamber of Secrets. He hadn’t ever spoken with Ginny about it afterwards, not after Ron mentioned her needing space to be on her own.

“We won’t listen to him when he speaks.” Fred clarified with a casual nod.

Ginny nodded with him. “I’m not sure about actual tricks though.” She added as she looked toward Neville.

Eyes landed on Harry again, this time feeling more ravenous than before.