“I’ve been thinking on how to handle Umbridge for a while now.” Hermione whispered beneath her breath as she led them through the corridor. “I had thought we could put in an anonymous tip against her within the Ministry.”



“Good luck with that,” Ron said. “I doubt you could do much of anything against someone like her.”



“Well, yes.” Hermione nodded. “That was my conclusion.”



“I suppose you could write Fudge, but he’s useless as well.” Harry said with a sniff. A nauseous feeling began creeping up on him and he wondered if it was due to Umbridge’s behaviour or his messed up potion. He didn’t fancy shrinking in age after listening to Malfoy’s comments.



He reminded himself once more of how often Malfoy lied in the past.



“I’d considered that as well, you see.” Hermione said. “It still comes back to her behaviour though, well and truly.”



The three of them climbed several flights of stairs and made for the common room.



Ron gave Hermione a consoling look. “What did you expect, she’s ministry. They’re all like that.” He began ticking names off as he counted on his fingers. “Percy, Ludo Bagman, that bloke my dad works with who’s reported him, twice, you know the one. Barty Crouch even.”



“Senior.” Hermione corrected with a whisper. “Barty Crouch Snr.”



Harry shuddered as he thought of the two Barty’s and Winky. He hadn’t seen Winky yet and he wondered how she was getting on.



“Lucius Malfoy as well, someone we don’t really need evidence of being rotten,” Ron continued. “There’s Yaxley too. My dad’s mentioned him once or twice.” He said with a dark look.



“Who was it Fudge brought to handle Buckbeak?” Harry asked as he remembered the frighteningly excited man who’d been charged with putting Buckbeak to death.



“Macnair.” Ron said. “Another foul git.”



Hermione scrunched her nose and nodded. “Regardless, I’d thought we might be able to launch a school enquiry.”



“Good luck with that as well. I doubt Umbridge would let anything like that get off the ground.” Harry said as turned down the hallway towards the portrait hole.



“Which is why—” Hermione stressed, giving them both a firm look.



Harry was struck with an awkward pang as he realized how often he and Ron cut Hermione off when she was speaking.



“To say nothing of how quickly she’d find out it was you who launched the enquiry.” Ron continued, failing to come to the same conclusion as Harry. “Umbridge is easily nasty enough to keep you after class and pry the information out of you.”



“I had thought some media attention would be helpful.” Hermione said loudly.



Harry’s previous awkwardness evaporated. “No.”



He dreaded the idea of enlisting the help of anyone like Rita Skeeter. He didn’t need to imagine how terrible an interview with her would go given last year, and his thoughts spun unhelpfully toward what would happen if she somehow uncovered his potion issue. She’d never let something like that go unreported.



What if she put together what happened and guessed how Snape had helped Harry? Would she write about Dumbledore’s behaviour and the Dursley’s reactions?



His heart began to pound and he suddenly felt too warm, despite the cool castle around him.



They couldn’t possibly do an interview with her.



He shook his head after remembering how few people truly knew what had happened and it was increasingly unlikely that anyone would spill the truth to Skeeter.



Snape wouldn’t say anything, no matter what Malfoy’d sworn he’d done.



His worry lingered regardless of his reasoning. The determined look in Hermione’s eyes had Harry fearing how far she’d go to handle Umbridge.



“Harry, you haven’t even listened—”



“Even if you’ve got Skeeter on some tight leash, you can’t be sure she won’t decide to become legally registered and then print something about you attempting to blackmail her.” Harry said as they climbed through the portrait hole. “Just because she acts stupid doesn’t mean she isn’t dangerous.”



Hermione scoffed. “Informing the public will put pressure on Umbridge.”



“A front page like that would have to pass Fudge.” Ron said before glaring at several students who looked to be eavesdropping and lowering his voice. “And I doubt it would.”



“The Daily Prophet isn’t owned by the Ministry, it just slants favourably toward them.” Hermione’s voice tightened angrily. “I had thought of something to help further this, but now I’m not sure I want to say.”



Harry crossed his arms. “You think Skeeter’s going to go for some story about Umbridge’s poor teaching—”



“No. I do think Skeeter will write about a student having been attacked by a ministry official though.” Hermione snapped. “She’d jump at a story like that.”



“She’d jump at anything you give her in order to twist it how she likes.” Harry snapped back. “Remember all that foul stuff she wrote about you last year? Or what she wrote about Hagrid?”



“Hermione, come on.” Ron started as he dropped their library books on a table. “You can’t control Skeeter. She’s the one with the fans right now.”



Hermione’s cheeks darkened and her nose scrunched again. She looked to be debating Ron’s comment, but Harry was unwilling to give her the benefit of the doubt. She’d taken matters into her own hands whenever she’d felt it was necessary in the past. He’d often agreed with her before as well, but he couldn’t contain the sharp worry that beat down on him and whispered about what lengths she’d go to.



“I don’t see why you won’t consider it.” She finally said. “It’s a scandal—”



“I don’t need a scandal.” Harry hissed. “I have enough,” He paused and tried to remember to occlude as his anger rose. “I have enough to be getting on with. I’ll wait this out as long as I have to. It’s not like Umbridge is smart enough to have invented this,” He shoved a finger toward the phantom ribbons that seemed to wake at the thought of them. “This thing! There’s got to be a solution. I don’t need to be—”



“No!” Hermione said fiercely. “You don’t need help. You’re just fine!” Her voice rose and drew several eyes toward their conversation. “Aren’t you?”



Harry inhaled and tried to keep his temper from exploding. “Hermione, I don’t want to involve Rita Skeeter in my life. I don’t know why you want to—”



“Because Umbridge is endangering ours!” Hermione shrieked.



Ginny appeared quite suddenly to their right. Her fingers curled around Hermione’s arm and startled them both from their argument.



“I don’t mean to pry, really,” She started with a concerned sound before giving Hermione a carefully agreeable nod and asking, “But is this the best place to be having this?”



Hermione twisted and tossed a quick look through the common room and found more than a few eyes on her. A flush crept across her cheeks, though Harry didn’t think she looked very apologetic.



Thankfully, most of their house seemed to have the good sense to focus quite pointedly on their own conversations.



“Probably better without Skeeter, whatever it is.” Neville said weakly from the window seat.



“Shove off Longbottom, if it’s helpful against Umbridge, I say talk.” Seamus said with a sneer. “It’s the least you could do, Potter.”



“Bugger off Finnigan, no one asked for your opinion.” Ron said.



Harry debated twisting around and escaping to Snape’s office. He mentally tried to convince himself of how childish that would be, as Snape wouldn’t be able to do much aside from agree or disagree with Harry about Skeeter, but Harry wanted him all the same.



He idly reminded himself of every other thing he’d stacked onto Snape’s plate and begged himself to ignore the urge to go blabbing to Snape.



Malfoy’s comments rang in his ears once more.



“No.” Seamus said as he stood abruptly from his chair. It rocked on its legs and Dean looked as if he wanted to tug him back into his seat. “I think if you’ve got some plan to handle Umbridge, you can go ahead and tell all.”



Harry tried to picture the snitch and wondered if he could hear the hum of beating wings or if he was actually, successfully occluding. Snape spoke of successful occlusion as if it were a calming and oddly blank space. Harry worried he was somehow moving backwards though, as he felt himself only growing angrier. Maybe the beating sound was his heart, rather than any helpful snitch.



Phantom ribbons slipped over his lips at the thought of discussing his issue with Skeeter.



“I don’t have any plans.” Harry said as he clenched his fists and his mum’s necklace warmed. “Handle Umbridge however you’d like—”



“That’s just it though,” Seamus said. “She’s here because of you!”



“You think I asked for her?” Harry asked with a shout. “What do you think, I strolled into the Ministry and said, ‘I don’t mean to pry, but’—” Ribbons began sliding over his jaw at an increasingly fast rate and Harry tried to breathe ahead of them. In spite of his building anger, an idea crept into the back of his mind. “A-a bloody mass-murdering m-megalomaniac crawled out from wherever he’d been hiding and now, if you bloody well please, send the worst person you can imagine to help!”



A bright feeling danced through him as the ribbons slid over his skin but didn’t constrict.



Something burnt tickled his nose and Harry belatedly realized he’d singed the table to their left. The brief euphoria of having spoken the truth without choking on his breath disappeared in a blink.



He darted backwards and shoved his wand in his back pocket.



“You’re a shite liar, Potter.” Seamus said. “You know what I’m—”



“Good on you to notice, Finnigan.” Harry said with a sharp nod. “Try using that logic on everything else I’ve said.” He added before storming out of the common room and making for Snape’s office.



“Harry!”



Someone shouted after him, but Harry ignored them as he sped down the stairs.



He knew, logically, Seamus wasn’t worth this level of anger. This was a compounded issue, one beginning with Malfoy and ending with Hermione. He shuddered and plucked at his school jumper as it clung to his sweaty back. Hermione knew how Harry felt about Skeeter. She knew how he felt about his life being plastered in the papers. He’d seen the articles dragging his experience from spring through the mud and he couldn’t bear the thought of dredging it all up for Skeeter.



What would she say if he suddenly stopped speaking and dropped into his thoughts?



She’d probably write about how cracked he was, in spite of how cracked being tied to a tombstone while Pettigrew brewed a potion to regrow Voldemort’s body, made a person.



If he brought the rat up, she’d likely write about Harry being even more delusional than he sounded.



Pettigrew’s beady eyes glittered from inside shadowed alcoves and his bloody stump of a hand drifted gruesomely in the forefront of Harry’s mind. He knew for certain that despite the soft snickers of Death Eaters tickling his ears, he was painfully alone. The bright castle faded into the corner of his eyes and he hoped his feet would lead him to Snape even if he did drop into his thoughts.



Seamus wouldn’t be constantly whinging if his friend had been killed in front of him and he’d been cut open and tortured. He probably would’ve been allowed to stay with his family immediately afterward, on top of having received some sort of help, rather than sent on his way with a dodgy story no one believed.



Ribbons whispered over Harry’s jaw and he wondered if he could hear an odd, strained breathing or if he was imagining it.



He could hardly remember what his own breathing had sounded like when Voldemort had begun dueling with him. It’d probably been much less strained and far more terrified. Maybe he hadn’t breathed at all.



Frigid air swept through his overheated hair and he belatedly noticed he’d made it into the dungeons. A dank, moldy smell folded around him.



He stopped short as the worry of whether or not Snape was busy rushed through him. He’d stormed down here so quickly he hadn’t even given a moment to consider it. He supposed that was due to how easy it was to fall into what had been habit when they’d been in Germany, but since classes had really begun picking up and aside from their first few days, Harry hadn’t had a pressing reason to find Snape outside of their after lessons meetings.



After twisting around and searching the winding hallways, Harry found a dark corner, which he slipped into and tried to slow his breathing. There was something itching and uncomfortable about turning up to Snape’s office in a condition Harry might’ve called panic, if he was being honest.



There were about a thousand things he hadn’t considered before coming down here either. In his anger, he’d forgotten about everything that’d occurred before his and Hermione’s argument.



Hermione had warned him about Snape’s addiction to the Dark Arts and his overwhelming list of duties blinked neatly into Harry’s mind. Malfoy’s nasty comments, comments which Harry couldn’t be sure were actually lies or not, added themselves below Hermione’s worries. Harry’s own fears about Dumbledore and the prophecy landed somewhere below, along with Voldemort and the increasingly concerning dreams he’d had about him joined in as well.



Umbridge’s simpering cough echoed from somewhere near Harry and he froze.



He knew he was well hidden and students were allowed to roam the halls still, it was hardly even dinner time yet.



It was Friday as well and they often had extended hours on the weekends.



Harry turned in place and tried to peer through the ever present gloom, but he could hardly see anything. He half wondered if he’d imagined Umbridge’s grating throat cough amongst his list of problems, but before he turned away, he heard it again.



A soft voice joined it and Harry knew immediately who the second voice belonged to, as it was the same voice that brought him out of his nightmares and panicking thoughts.



Though, in this particular instance, there was something far more steely lingering within than Harry was used to.



“Thank you very much, Severus,” Umbridge said. Her voice washed through the thin hallways and Harry struggled to parse through the sounds. He wondered what she’d done in between arguing with McGonagall and speaking with Snape, as hardly any time had passed between the two conversations. “Lucius informed me of how helpful you’d be. He was quite right, as usual.”



“Mr Malfoy is rarely wrong.” Snape answered back.



Harry’s first instinct was to rush out and scream a barrage of questions, but he tucked himself tighter into his dark corner and stoutly ignored the dark, beady eyes sparkling above a severed hand to his left.



The hand was imagined, entirely so. He tried to convince his heart of that, though it seemed deaf to his reasoning.



Lucius Malfoy was wrong far too often and Snape knew that. Harry knew that as well, as he was used to smelling it on his stinking, overly polished boots. Lucius shook and shivered and Harry’d flicked his tongue near the man enough to know how confident he appeared, but how frail he truly was.



A bitter taste brushed across the back of Harry’s tongue, and he couldn’t shake the angered feeling that came from listening to Snape speak with Umbridge. It was wrong. A selfish urge wormed around Harry’s thoughts at the idea of the two interacting. He knew it was an illogical feeling, as they were both professors, co-workers actually, and they’d likely spoken before, but this selfish feeling didn’t agree with what Harry somehow decided was the fact of the matter.



Snape was Harry’s. Umbridge was taking something that wasn’t hers.



Harry shuddered as something cold and slippery slowly began to circle around his ankles and he forced himself not to look down. He dreaded what it might be, as the last time he’d felt something slick there, it’d been Nagini.



She couldn’t be in the castle though. It’d have been impossible for her to both break through the enchantments surrounding the entrances, and to then make it across the grounds and into the dungeons without being seen. She was massive. She was massive and there were students wandering everywhere. Harry’d passed several on his way down to see Snape.



“I shall keep you informed then.” Umbridge’s voice drifted off and the heavy sound of an iron banded door slammed after it.



Snape was likely safe in his office and free to speak with Harry by the sounds of it.



If he wasn’t, Harry didn’t know what he’d do. Or, he did know what he’d do, as something told him Snape would listen whether or not he wanted to.



Harry shook his head and tried to push that thought away as his earlier list of worries struggled to overtake the oppressive confidence informing him that Snape would do exactly what Harry told him to.



He fled the dark corner and idly ignored the blood dripping down his elbow as he wound his way toward Snape’s office.



A soft, almost humorous thought blinked in the back of his mind and asked him if he should pay better attention to where he was going, but Harry answered back in a wry tone and reminded himself of all of the detentions he’d served in there.



He came upon the door quickly and shoved it open without a second thought.



Snape’s head flew upwards and several emotions flickered across his eyes, though Harry wasn’t sure if he had names for all of them.



“Harry?” He asked softly.



He held a large, black feather quill in one hand and it looked as if Harry’d caught him in the middle of marking essays, though Harry knew better, as he’d just heard him speaking with Umbridge.



“What did Umbridge want?” Harry asked suddenly.



Snape’s face drained to a truly unhealthy looking colour and he became almost still enough to where Harry couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.



He glided from the doorway and neared Snape’s desk. He wasn’t sure why that question was the first to spring into his mind, but he wanted to know why she’d been so pleased with Snape now more than ever.



“Why did she think you’d be so helpful?” Harry asked.



Snape’s dark eyes drilled into Harry’s and Harry had the sudden feeling of trying to interrogate a brick wall.



“Professor Snape,” A nervous voice that reminded Harry of Crabbe Snr preceded a child running into the office. Harry’s brain seemed to misfire for a moment and he couldn’t guess how he’d known what Crabbe Snr sounded like, or why he would be anywhere near the dungeons, or Snape for that matter before a sudden, horrible weakness rattled his knees. “Draco—”



“Stupefy!” A bright red light shot out from Snape’s wand and slammed into Crabbe, dropping him solidly to the ground.



Harry fell as well, though it had nothing to do with Snape’s spell. His head felt full of wool and he couldn’t seem to keep a solid thought for longer than a moment. He half debated if he should cast something to soften the floor, but he didn’t think he could move fast enough.



All of his worrying ended up in vain, as Snape’s hands appeared under Harry’s arms seconds before he’d have landed.



Snape moved quicker than Harry thought he’d ever seen him act before.



He watched as Snape half carried him toward his desk and set him into a chair before disappearing, likely to deal with whatever had happened to Crabbe.



Crabbe had only been stunned as far as Harry could tell, but then, Harry wasn’t very sure of much of anything at the moment. He knew he disliked the chair Snape had sat him in, as it was the one he’d often found himself forced into before he’d served detention in years past. The wooden backing dug into his back and did nothing for the soreness bleeding into every inch of his body.



Sounds quickly filtered into his ears and before he knew it, Snape’s dark eyes were drilling once more into his own.



Harry blinked confusedly back and nearly asked for Snape to transfigure the wooden chair into a soft armchair like he often did during their meetings, but before he could speak, Snape’s arms slipped around him in a careful, gentle hug.



He couldn’t tell who was trembling, as he didn’t have the best grasp of himself at the moment, but he thought it might be Snape.



“What,” Harry started before coughing against his oddly sore throat. “Why did you do that? Why did you stun Crabbe?”



Snape backed away and inhaled slowly. “Did you curse Draco Malfoy?” He asked instead of answering Harry.



Harry shook his head ‘no’. “No.” He added. “Did you?”



Snape’s hands lingered near Harry as if he worried he would topple over at any second, but he didn’t move beyond that.



“Several students have made statements claiming you did.” Snape said. “Though no one seems to know what you cursed him with.”



“I didn’t.” Harry said. “I mean, he,” He paused as the fogginess clinging to his thoughts lingered in a frustratingly persistent way. Harry could still remember something he’d promised to either do or not do, but he couldn’t very well remember what it was at the moment. “He was being awful. Hermione said we should report him.”



Snape nodded. “Did you?”



Harry shook his head ‘no’ again. “McGongall got into a fight with Umbridge and I didn’t think she'd listen to what I said. But, I wanted to know, what did Umbridge want?” Harry asked again. “Just a few minutes ago?”



“Wait.” Snape said as he held a hand up. “Did anything else happen between you and Mr Malfoy.”



“No. I mean, he was being awful and Hermione told him to go away.”



Snape was quiet for a long moment and Harry worried briefly about Malfoy’s health. The office seemed to only grow quieter as their silence filled the room.



“May I see your wand?” Snape finally asked.



“Why?”



Snape stared at him and a sinking feeling slammed into Harry.



“You think I’m lying.” He said.



“No.” Snape said firmly.



“I’m not a liar.” Harry said. A fierce urge to scream cut through him despite his soreness and he very nearly gave in. Malfoy’s earlier comments echoed in his ears and Harry suddenly found himself hoping that whatever had happened to him, hurt.



“I do not think you’re lying, Harry.” Snape said softly. “I’m worried you’re telling the truth.”



Harry blinked dumbly as his anger whorled into confusion once more.



He couldn’t guess why Snape would look so worried unless something truly dreadful had happened. Harry silently berated himself for having wished anything other than a bit of minor inconvenience on Malfoy. Maybe he wished for something a bit more than minor, but Harry certainly didn’t wish he was dead or anything of that sort.



“Please give me your wand. I’ll give it back in a moment.”



Harry fumbled with thick feeling fingers as he passed it over.



Snape made a quick movement as he whispered “Priori Incantato.” Harry was reminded of Amos Diggory having cast the same spell after the Quidditch World Cup.



A hazy green colour began billowing like smoke from the tip of Harry's wand. Snape flicked it several times as he shook it away. Harry watched with a deepening sense of confusion. He hadn’t remembered grabbing his wand and casting anything at Malloy, and he had a horrible realization that what he’d decided was accidental might’ve been a bit more intentional.



“That is a relative of the jelly legs curse.” Snape said before handing Harry’s wand back. “Cast accio, please.”



“On what?” Harry asked dumbly.



Snape pointed toward his black feather quill and Harry did as asked with a whisper. The quill sailed toward him and Harry caught it easily. He spun it idly as he questioned his own afternoon. He couldn’t understand how he’d cast anything at Malfoy given his anger, or when he’d have found the time to learn, remember and nonverbally cast a relative of the curse.



“Do you remember what you said to me?” Snape asked.



Harry blinked upwards. “When?”



“A moment ago, when you walked in the door.” He said. “You spoke in parseltongue.” Snape began slowly.



“I did?”



Snape nodded. “You don’t remember?”



“Well, I, erm—” Harry stammered.



He suddenly wasn’t very sure of anything after having heard he spoke parseltongue and he was fairly certain he’d never been able to unintentionally speak that language unless a snake had been present, though he supposed he’d never realized when he’d spoken it before.



Had Nagini been present then?



He flinched backwards and tried to jump to his feet, but Snape caught him.



“Nagini!” Harry said in a strained voice. “I’d—she’d been, or I thought I’d felt her but I didn’t look down! I thought it—she was the same as Pettigrew!”



Snape sat him carefully back into the chair and stepped away as he searched over the room with a critical eye. He turned his wand in a jab like movement, but nothing appeared. He repeated the movement several more times before returning to Harry.



“We’re alone.” He said in a quiet voice.



Harry struggled to understand when he’d missed what’d happened. His mum’s necklace warmed in a comforting way, but it didn’t seem to help. In the past, he’d usually been aware of when things turned and went horribly wrong, but he couldn’t guess when it happened this time.



He’d been fine for weeks.



It’d been a rough few weeks, but he hadn’t been stuffed in any cupboards, nor did he uncover anything so emotionally exhausting as Dumbledore’s true expectations. He’d gone to class and just tried to push through everything going on.



Harry’s glasses slipped from his face and Snape’s pressed a long finger down his nose.



“Try and relax, we’ll circle back. Do you have any blank spots, or anything missing from your memory.” Snape asked slowly. “Anything at all that doesn’t add up.”



“I don’t know.” Harry whinged. “Maybe, maybe one when I was mad at Malfoy, but it was for less than a second.” He added as he combed over his memories with a panicked fervor. “I thought I remembered everything.” He said in a small voice.



“One spot, when you were angry with Mr Malfoy.”



“But,” Harry began. “But it was only for a second, because he sent that pacifier at me.”



Snape’s finger continued sweeping slowly along his nose as Harry tried to think back on when else he might’ve had a blank spot. He wasn’t even sure he’d blanked when Malfoy’d been taunting him, as Harry’s furious reaction had been almost ironically typical of their previous interactions.



“Did you keep the pacifier?” Snape asked. “It could serve as evidence.”



Harry shook his head ‘no’.



“I will ensure Mr Malfoy’s bullying doesn’t end up causing you expulsion, but I need more information about what happened. You don’t have any other blank spots?” Snape asked as he pulled away and gave Harry a questioning look.



“I’m not sure the one with Malfoy even is one.” Harry said. “I don’t think I have any blank spots. I knew what I was doing, I mean, aside from when I apparently cursed Malfoy.” He twisted and tried to spot Crabbe as he mentally ran through the last few hours. He wondered what Snape would do with him, or what Crabbe had wanted. “What did you do with Crabbe.”



“He’s safe.” Snape said. “He’s lost a moment of his memory, but he believes he told me his portion of the events between you and Mr Malfoy.”



Snape’s use of the word ‘safe’ sank sickly through Harry. He couldn’t rationalize himself as the one who warranted that level of worry.



He knew it was a logical leap. He’d spoken in parseltongue and given Snape a clear warning of something being horribly wrong, but he despised having put that fear into both himself and Snape.



“I am not in the business of stunning students.” Snape’s hands appeared under Harry’s and he helped him to stand. “Nor would I ever condone removing pieces of student’s memories, however, in light of what may have happened, it appeared to be the safest route for all involved.”



“I didn’t-I mean, I just wanted to know.” Harry said as they made their way toward Snape’s chambers. The uncomfortable darkness swallowing the passageways felt almost safe at the moment, despite how much Harry usually disliked it. “I thought he was Crabbe Snr.” Harry added.



Snape’s hand tightened for a brief second.



“I didn’t know why he’d be here though,” Harry whispered. “Or why you’d trust Lucius Malfoy. He’s a liar.”



“He is.” Snape said before giving a password to a grim looking painted knight and leading Harry into the sitting room. “He always has been.”



“What did Umbridge want with you?” Harry asked as he dropped onto the couch. “That’s what I’d asked you when I walked in, but I-I didn’t realize it was in parseltongue.” He added and grabbed Ms Eileen’s knit cover. A distinctly uncomfortable sensation wormed under his skin and left him feeling worse than when the ribbons choked him. He hadn’t thought anything could get much worse than the ribbons, but he’d been laughably wrong.



“This has happened before.” Snape said. He sat next to him and seemed to want to pull Harry into another hug, though Harry was unsure of how helpful that would be. He wanted it all the same. “Perhaps not exactly this, but a version of it.”



Harry shook his head ‘no’ and wished to throw the cover over his eyes. “I don’t think this has ever happened before.”



“You told me you saw the Dark Lord in your cupboard.” Snape said in a soft voice. “And again before you escaped Privet Drive.”



“That was different. I knew it was him, I couldn’t ignore it.”



“Did you ignore something this time?”



“Nagini. I ignored her because I thought she was the same as Pettigrew and I thought Pettigrew was just,” Harry paused as nausea built in his stomach and crept coldly up his throat. “It wasn’t real, but I knew it wasn’t real.”



Snape breathed slowly several times before finally gathering Harry into a hug. “I don’t think we can put off speaking to Dumbledore about this for much longer.” He whispered. “We need more information.”



Harry shook his head in a wild movement and shoved his face into the corner of Snape’s neck.



“He’s going to say I’m cracked and send me to the Dursleys.”



“He can’t send you away while you’re in school. It’d bring questions down on him and he doesn’t have much room to maneuver beneath Umbridge's watch.” Snape said. “Umbridge is here to ensure Dumbledore doesn’t amass some ridiculous student army.”



Harry’s thoughts stalled at Snape’s comment. “A student army?”



“The Ministry is expending quite a lot of manpower on a fear that has very little reason to exist. They’re terrified Dumbledore will overtake the Ministry.”



“With a student army.” Harry repeated. “An army of students.”



“They’re more driven than they look, but yes.” Snape said. “Umbridge is present to ensure you aren’t battle ready, despite the obvious need for it, due to politics. Regardless, Dumbledore cannot remove you without drawing mass suspicion. I’m sure he knows more than either of us are aware of, but we can’t put off meeting with him.” He added in a dry tone. “Not after what just happened.”



“Should we meet with him now?” Harry asked as nausea roiled through him again.