Harry flinched backwards and tightly scrunched his eyes closed. He crushed his face against Snape’s shoulder and mentally begged Dumbledore to stay away.



“Severus, please try and understand.”



“Explain your theory.” Snape demanded. Harry wished they’d come up with a signal to leave like the last time they’d needed to speak to Dumbledore. He tightened his eyes farther, despite having closed them as much as he could. “Explain what you think and why you believe it to be the case.”



“You, of all people, should know why that is inadvisable.”



“You cannot search a student’s mind without their consent.” Snape said tightly. “You must provide some reasonable explanation for your actions.”



Harry shuddered as an awful, slick feeling crept up his back.



Snape spoke as if he’d already accepted Dumbledore having to search Harry’s mind. Maybe he’d planned this all along? Maybe he was more frightened of Harry’d than he’d thought? Despite the confusing jumble of events, Harry starkly remembered the sickly pallor on Snape’s face when he’d entered his office.



Harry never wanted to see that expression on Snape’s face again.



Maybe this was punishment for Harry’s over complicated problems? Maybe Harry deserved to be frightened after having frightened Snape?



Something told Harry that wasn’t quite right, despite how much he believed otherwise. Aunt Petunia whispered in the back of his mind, reminding him of how his poor behaviour led to repercussions like these.



When he’d given her trouble, she’d thrown it straight back in his face.



Snape hadn’t been close with Harry for long enough to realize how much trouble he often found himself in, especially with regards to Voldemort. Harry never chose to have visions or hear Nagini though. He hadn’t wanted to help revive Voldemort last spring either, but he’d been chosen all the same.



Ribbons slipped across his jaw and over his lips.



If he hadn’t picked a fight with Seamus, he wouldn’t have gone looking for Snape. He should’ve paid more attention during his meeting with Umbridge as well, because if he had, he wouldn’t be suffering through ribbons. If he’d paid better attention, he could’ve escaped. He wouldn’t have needed Snape’s help earlier today and he could’ve handled Seamus on his own.



He wouldn’t be in Dumbledore’s office if he’d just kept his nose down and his mouth shut. He could admit to not having started several of his problems, but he certainly had a hand in what happened.



“Harry?” Snape asked in a soft voice. His footsteps echoed around the room as he moved. “Will you listen to what Dumbledore has to say?”



Harry shook his head ‘no’.



“Please?” Snape asked as he set Harry down, presumably on the chair he’d sat in previously. He gently pried Harry’s fingers from the fabric at his shoulder. “Albus, do you truly believe the Dark Lord would allow anyone to see him like this?” He asked after a moment.



Harry quickly shoved his hands over his eyes in case Dumbledore was closer than expected.



“I am unaware what level of control Tom may possess.”



Someone let out a long breath.



“This is no one’s preferred solution, Harry, but we can hear him out.” Snape said.



“Correction, Severus,” Dumbledore’s cracked and frail voice surrounded Harry. Harry tightened his fists. “I will ensure Tom is not present before we begin any discussion. Likewise, I cannot allow you to potentially implicate yourself by handing you sensitive information.”



“If the Dark Lord is present, then my role as a spy has already come to a close.” Snape reasoned. “If he isn’t, my role has already changed with my priorities.”



Harry tried to contain a shudder at the thought of Dumbledore forcing Snape to leave. He hadn’t considered having to face Dumbledore on his own, not after Snape had promised to always help him. Perhaps this was a punishment for Harry, for having been targeted and constantly coming out worse from those episodes.



“If Tom believes you have information he is unaware of—”



“I have come and gone from several meetings in the last two months. I have yet to be murdered despite the change in my life, which suggests the Dark Lord—”



“It suggests nothing. Tom will wait until you have what he needs.”



Harry couldn’t say how he knew, but was certain Dumbledore was speaking about the prophecy. There was something deeply malicious about hiding something so tied to Harry in plain sight, and only allowing it to exist in the unspoken spaces between words.



“He believes I am loyal.”



“He knows you’ve lied.” Dumbledore said in a damning tone. Fabric fluttered near Harry’s left ear and nearly had him peeking out, but he kept his hands tight around his eyes. “He knows you’ve lied before as well, doesn’t he? When it comes to having his way, there is no one more patient than Tom Riddle.”



Harry realized with a sudden lurch that if he couldn’t see Dumbledore’s face, he couldn’t tell who was speaking. There was no way of guessing if he acted as the kindly man Harry’d known for years, or whomever lived beneath.



“The Dark Lord has made no changes in his behaviour toward me.” Snape hissed. “I am safe in that he believes I am terrified of disobeying him ever again!”



“He isn’t here!” Harry said desperately. “If anyone would know it’d be me!”



Voldemort had never failed to make his presence known through unbelievable pain. Harry struggled to accept his own logic, as the thought of everything happening; his visions, accidental parseltongue and unknown magic, coming solely from himself, left terror clawing up his throat.



He far preferred being terrified to Snape being murdered though.



His mum’s necklace hummed warmly.



“You cast a spell you are unaware of and don’t remember doing so.” Dumbledore said. “I have no doubt you’ve experienced several instances lately, but you are either unaware of the damage that has truly been done, or are intentionally covering it up.”



Sharp red anger lodged deeply into Harry’s thoughts and he nearly spat a foul comment about what damage Dumbledore done, wittingly or otherwise.



“Albus,” Snape started after a deep breath. “You must—”



His voice disappeared with an odd sound as thin, knobby fingers grasped Harry’s upper arm in a careful, but unyielding hold. “Severus, I will explain myself momentarily. Until then, I apologize again.”



Bright light blinded Harry as his hand was pulled free from his left eye. He tried to blink against the sudden onslaught of colour, but found himself frozen in place. He couldn’t guess if Dumbledore’d cast a charm on him, but he knew he couldn’t look away from the frigid, blue eyes drilling into him. It was increasingly difficult to tell who it was watching him as well, as Harry couldn’t spy Dumbledore’s mask anywhere in his face.



A blunt ended spike dove through Harry’s thoughts at a frighteningly fast pace. Harry nearly choked as the last few hours flew past his mind’s eyes in a mad scramble. His conversation with Snape swung in his ears and echoed half dampened tones about legilimency and parseltongue.



He quickly came face to face with himself and watched as he hissed fierce, angry questions at Snape. A horrible feeling sank through him as he realized who he’d truly looked like at the time.



Tom Riddle’s handsome face drifted into existence alongside his own and parroted his gestures in an eerily similar way.



The memory tore out of the way and sank into a flood of colour before bringing up the cacophony of noise he’d heard while cursing Malfoy. Hermione’s sharp rebuttal followed, as did Unbridge’s taffy pink handbag slipping from one hand to the other as she argued with McGonagall.



Despite how he tried, Harry couldn’t picture the snitch, nor an open sky as he attempted to hide from Dumbledore.



He struggled to imagine how he’d get better at Occlumency, but he somehow promised himself to try.



Germany and Ms Eileen’s home flashed across his memories, followed by his time at Privet Drive and Sirius’s terrifying safe house. There seemed to be no stone unturned. He could hardly think of anything but the maddening rate with which Dumbledore tore through his memories.



How many did Dumbledore need before he was satisfied?



Nausea swooped through Harry’s stomach and set an icy chill up his throat. Dumbledore’s magic continued to wriggle as it dug deeper, exploring every hidden space in Harry’s thoughts. He left a deeply carved out feeling in his wake. It was hard to tell what Dumbledore searched for specifically, as there didn’t appear to be any pattern, aside from any and every interaction Harry had.



Harry inhaled with a choke as Dumbledore finally backed away.



He suddenly felt as if he couldn’t give enough attention to any one issue. His head rolled on his shoulders and tilted left and right in a nauseating rush. He didn’t have a terrible headache, but a weighted feeling throbbed through him and held his arms and legs down in an exhausted way. Memories spun in a mad tangle through his head and he couldn’t remember the correct order they’d happened in.



“I was,” Dumbledore began in a pained voice. “I was mistaken, Harry.” He said before dropping a hand onto his desk and leaning heavily over it. His pale face greyed further and almost became sickly. “I was deeply mistaken about Voldemort.”



Harry tried to catch his breath. He didn’t want to be in this room for a second longer and despite the threat of being seen while six, he needed to make an escape.



Dumbledore whispered to himself and his right hand floated near his front, miming aborted ideas in short gestures.



Harry leaned forward as gently as he could and tried to encourage himself to look for Snape.



His eyes ached in an uncomfortable and strange way as he searched the room. He didn’t know if Snape had left him or not, only that he’d stopped talking.



Snape wouldn’t have left him. He wouldn’t have.



Harry didn’t think he would, despite having been the one to bring Harry to Dumbledore, he wouldn’t have left him alone.



Late evening sunlight cast bright spots from the glittery instruments littering the shelves and forced Harry to fight the urge to shut his eyes once more.



“Here, my boy, this will help—”



Harry flinched and shoved outward as Dumbledore neared him again, accidentally knocking whatever he’d been holding to the ground.



He slammed his eyes shut as sharp fear cut though him, though Harry despised it and wished instead for anger. Anger, he could use. Anger was far better than fear and he couldn’t help feeling as if Dumbledore enjoyed his fear. He’d never led Harry to believe that in the past, and even now it was odd to consider, but Harry considered it all the same.



“Please,” Dumbledore said in a soft voice. “Try to understand, Harry.” He heard Dumbledore kneel and collect whatever had fallen. “I couldn’t risk Voldemort freely walking through Hogwarts, you must understand.”



Harry pressed his hands tight to his eyes.



He tried to focus on Dumbledore’s swap in names for Voldemort, rather than the persistent and unsolvable range of problems surging through him. It was a stupid swap, given how both names referred to the same person. He couldn’t decide whether Dumbledore truly believed Voldemort had been present, seeing as he rarely used ‘Tom’ around Harry before, and why he’d just changed after searching Harry.



“Nor could I allow him to possess you, Harry.” Dumbledore continued. “Not when it is within my power to help you.”



“Where’s Snape.” Harry said in a horrible, wobbly voice.



“He’s here,” Dumbledore said with a whisper. “He’s stunned, but otherwise safe.”



Harry leaned back in case Dumbledore was too close and tried to peer around his fingers in order to find Snape. His chest lightened when he finally spotted his cloak, which was a blessedly dark spot from within the burnt golden halo of sunlight. Seeing Snape draped lifelessly over a chair only set Harry’s nerves alight once more. He wondered if he could cast the counterspell to wake him before Dumbledore noticed.



“We need to discuss what’s happened.” Dumbledore said as the sound of something landing on the desk echoed in Harry’s ears. “And you and Severus, as well as what occurred and my actions.”



Harry sniffled and tried to organize his memories, but stopped short after a weak attempt led to a deep seated ache in his skull.



“Voldemort is not possessing you, despite your experiences and behaviour.”



“I told you that.” Harry snapped. “I know when he’s near me, even if he doesn’t have a body.” A discordant memory of Quirrell flickered in his mind and Harry thought of the way his scar burned after Defense lessons in his first year.



“You did.” Dumbledore said in a frail voice.



Harry blinked against his fists before fighting off an angered tremble as he lowered them slowly. His mum’s necklace warmed slowly and he couldn’t tell if it’d been active during Dumbledore’s search or not, as he hadn’t had a good grasp on much of anything at the time.



“You have always been able to sense when he is near, and your logic is sound.” Dumbledore said. “You haven’t been possessed.”



“Is that all then?” Harry asked as he pitched his voice in an insulting tone. “You’re not possessed, Harry, but if I ever think you might be again, I’ll do whatever I like to make sure I’m satisfied. I’ll take every bit of safety and security you have, even your bloody memories!” He finished with a deep breath. He’d begun to scream at some point but couldn’t tell when. “Who bloody well cares about a student’s privacy anyway?! Post it in the Prophet, why don’t you? I bet Skeeter will adore it!”



Dumbledore slowly sank into the chair behind his desk.



Harry inhaled heavily again, despite the faint weakness it brought about in his bones. He didn’t think he’d be able to keep this up, despite how comforted being able to express himself made him feel.



“Well go on then,” Harry said with a sneer. “Let me know your other grand assumptions.”



“You’re angry right now—”



“Well spotted.”



“When you are angry, your similarities with Tom are more prevalent.” Dumbledore said in a carefully calm voice.



“REALLY?!” Harry shouted. “You’re brilliant! I can see why we asked you for help.”



“Harry,” Dumbledore’s eyes flashed reproachfully. “I need you—”



“WHAT A SHOCK!” Harry screamed as he threw his hands in the air. “You need me to do something. Have you ever considered asking? Has it ever crossed your mind to ask how I feel? To ask what I want?”



He was starkly reminded of the conversation he and Sirius, Lupin and Snape had in Sirius’s safehouse. Though the image was fractured in his head, Snape’s voice was clear.



Snape had said Harry struggled to tell what was too much to ask of a person.



“What would you like Harry?” Dumbledore asked.



Harry seethed and he breathed heavily twice more before pointing at Snape. “I want you to wake Snape up and I want to leave with him.”



Dumbledore flicked his wand in a sharp wave and Snape’s eyes fluttered open.



Snape sat up with an almost imperceptible shudder and his dark eyes narrowed as they swept over Harry and Dumbledore with a blank, searching look.



Harry struggled to tell what was on Snape’s mind most days. He doubted today would be any different, though he wondered if he spied a nervous look pinching his eyebrows. He’d slowly learnt a few of Snape’s genuine expressions when they’d lived in Germany and he knew if Snape didn’t want others seeing how he felt, they wouldn’t. The likelihood anyone would ever be able to truly read him was laughably low, but Ms Eileen sometimes spotted some knowing tell that gave him away. Harry wanted to be able to do that as well.



Snape’s lips flattened into a distasteful thin line in a way Harry hadn’t seen since before their relationship changed and he was quickly reminded of how Snape never failed to communicate when he wanted others to see how he felt.



“Severus, I apologize, again.” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort has not possessed Harry, your position remains what you assume it to be.” Snape twitched faintly as Dumbledore leaned forward and pushed a battered looking goblet in his direction. “Harry will likely want something for the effects he experienced, though given my actions, he wouldn’t accept something from me. My actions, while necessary, were neither pleasant nor condoned. I apologize for how you’ve suffered, Harry.” He added with a remorseful look at Harry.



Snape’s eyes flashed over the goblet and Dumbledore’s face before he turned to look at Harry.



Whatever flat interest had been lingering within them darkened.



Harry tried to contain a shudder, but it broke over him regardless of his attempt. He didn’t know if Snape was disappointed in Harry, frightened of him, or angry with him.



“I will ask that the two of you listen, please. You may leave momentarily, and I won’t stop you. I understand your disapproval of my actions, but you cannot have expected for me to sit idly by if Voldemort had possession of Harry. The threat was too great to leave unchecked.” Dumbledore’s face aged as he spoke. “I can only speak to the connection between Voldemort and Harry, as that is the only theory I have some measure of definite proof of.”



“The connection?” Snape asked in a cautious voice.



Dumbledore’s head tilted to the right. “There is a difference between your dreams, Harry, and when you inhabit Voldemort’s characteristics. One is intentional and the other, not.”



“Which is intentional?” Snape asked as he leant forward slowly and snatched the goblet from the desk before sniffing the potion inside carefully.



Harry dreaded the thought of swallowing anything given to him by Dumbledore. Likewise, he dreaded the thought of Voldemort sending him anything in his dreams. He couldn’t seem to avoid any invasion on his person, mentally or physically.



“The dreams.” Dumbledore said. “Voldemort is intentionally casting them. Occlumency is assisting in dampening their effects, though it isn’t a foolproof method and you aren’t a master in the art, Harry.” He added before looking toward Snape again. “It was wise to begin teaching that subject, though against Voldemort, there is no sure answer toward its success.”



“And the other?” Snape asked.



Dumbledore was silent for a long moment before his eyes slowly slid toward Harry’s scar and he distractedly remarked, “Magic leaves traces.”



The room darkened as the sun slipped further beneath the horizon. A faint light touched along the back of Dumbledore as it cast a long shadow over Harry, making Harry curious if Dumbledore’d intentionally chosen to seat himself in such an imposing way. He wondered distractedly why he’d never thought of this office having been arranged that way before, as it felt like an obvious sort of decision.



Snape stood with a sharp move and dropped the goblet on the table.



“You are determined to keep silent?” He asked as he turned his back on Harry and neared Dumbledore’s desk. “Are you unaware of what is happening or are you intentionally misleading us?”



Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened as they flickered away from Harry’s scar. “Neither, Severus.” He said. “Rest assured, I shall inform you.”



Snape spun sharply on his heel and Harry caught sight of a bitter twist on his lips before he held his hand out to Harry. An uncomfortable niggling feeling wormed through the caverns Dumbledore’s search left behind and he worried about what vulnerability he’d show Dumbledore by holding Snape’s hand.



Snape’s hand faltered for less than a second as it hung in the air before Harry realized that he may need assurance as much as Harry did. He tried to rationalize how Snape felt, as he didn’t know what Dumbledore had done, only that he’d woken up after the fact.



He quickly reached out and grabbed hold before being helped from the chair and over to the fireplace. He almost wished Snape had offered to carry him, as every inch of him ached.



“Severus,” Dumbledore called out as they stepped into the fireplace. “I won’t stop Harry from staying in Germany, however, I request the opportunity to protect your mother’s house further, in the event it may need it.”



Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach.



“Write to her and ask for permission.” Snape hissed. He threw a handful of floo powder down and shouted the address for his chambers.



They spun in a mad twirl and were spat out onto the dirty mat. Harry avoided tumbling over solely due to Snape’s careful grip on him, making him wish again he’d just been carried. He silently cursed whoever invented the awful means of travel and hoped they’d died poor. He knew it wasn’t whoever invented floo travel’s fault for Harry’s sorry condition, but he felt better wishing they’re success failed.



“Harry,” Snape started as he led him toward the tufted couch and pulled down his mum’s knit cover. He gently threw it over Harry before kneeling down in front of him. “How do you feel?” He asked.



Harry shivered against the rush of anger blistering through him. He couldn’t pin his anger on any one sorry victim, as it was whoever invented floo travel’s fault for his head spinning and the nausea building through him. It was Dumbledore’s fault for the largest aches in Harry’s head, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell if it was pain he felt in the deep wells he’d left behind, or discomfort, and frankly, Harry was struggling to care about the difference. A half remembered thought drifted to the forefront of his mind and echoed in his ears, reminding him that Snape had been the one to bring him to Dumbledore in the first place. He’d wanted answers the same as Harry, only they apparently had differing assumptions of how helpful Dumbledore could be.



It could all be Harry’s fault as well. He’d been the one to worry Snape.



“If you feel up to explaining, please try to.” Snape’s voice cracked in a way Harry hadn’t heard since he’d screamed at him in Spinner’s End ages ago.



Harry breathed heavily against the throbbing lump crawling up his throat. An overwhelming sense of misery overtook his anger in quick stride.



“I don’t want to talk with Dumbledore again, ever. He just—” Harry’s voice tilted upwards and he felt tears burn in his already sore eyes. “I don’t like him and I don’t think he cares about me, so why should I listen to what he says when he does things like that?”



Snape held himself with an almost awkward stillness and looked carefully on as Harry spoke. The quiet, dark room was worlds away from Dumbledore’s office, but it didn’t make him feel any better.



He slipped his hands toward the pendant on his mum’s necklace and wished it’d take him to Germany. A sob tore from his throat when he realized Dumbledore now knew where Harry’d stayed over the summer.



“And now he knows.” He whinged. “He knows now.”



Snape nodded.



“It was just-it was awful.” Harry said with a shudder. “I’m not going to him again.” He sniffled wetly. “I’ll floo anywhere else! Why did you make me go?”



“I believed he’d be able to help—”



“But you knew what he was like over the summer!” Harry shouted against his aching head. “You knew how he treated me before! Why did you think he’d help!?” He asked. “He just-he takes everything! Why can’t I have just one thing!? Why can’t I have one safe spot where he won’t touch!” His throat tightened around another sob.



Snape twitched and he looked as if he wanted to reach out, but he remained still instead. Harry almost wished he would move, as he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit him for encouraging him to visit Dumbledore or ask for a hug in the face of every impossible problem rushing through Harry.



A nasty thought hissed in the back of his mind and pushed him to find a cupboard instead. One he could lock from the inside in order to keep them all out. He could crawl into the farthest corner and curl up until either Voldemort or Dumbledore won the war. He wouldn’t deal with anyone else attempting to kill him, or tear through his mind, or report on how he was completely cracked and needed to be institutionalized. He’d wait, just as he’d done when he’d been actually six.



He only cried harder at that thought.



“I don’t want my cupboard.” He whinged aloud. “But I don’t wanna be out here either.”



Snape flinched and his hands clenched before he cautiously reached out. He stopped a hair’s width from Harry, allowing him to be the one to decide whether or not to come closer, but Harry wasn’t sure of what he wanted.



He curled his arms around his front as Snape’s frightened face flashed behind his eyes.



“I don’t want you to be scared of me either.” Harry said. “I don’t want to scare people. I don’t want you or Dumbledore to think I’m—”



“You are not the Dark Lord.” Snape said in a soft but firm voice. “You pale in comparison, despite how you may appear in certain circumstances. I am not afraid of you, Harry. I am worried for you.”



His hands lowered to rest on his lap, though Harry noticed he kept them facing upwards, as if he was waiting until Harry was ready.



“I thought you wanted him to do it,” Harry said as he rubbed at his damp face, though it didn’t help as more tears slipped down his cheeks and ruined his effort. “You made it sound inevitable.”



Snape shook his head ‘no’ and his eyebrows pinched with a pained look. “There are many methods to discover whether or not someone is possessed. You experienced one of the most thorough methods, but it is highly invasive, and not what I had in mind when I recommended we see Dumbledore. Had I known, I’d have spoken with him in advance and chosen something less brutal.”



He stood slowly and stepped over to the medicine cabinet. The sounds of several glass and pewter jars rattled as Snape summoned a small red bottle from within.



“This will help tremendously, though it tastes foul.” He said as he knelt before Harry once more.



Harry hiccoughed and reached a nervous hand out.



He thought suddenly of the way Aunt Petunia had dangled cough medicine before him once. She’d wanted to host a luncheon with one of her clubs and given Harry a list of tasks to ensure the sitting room and hor d'oeuvres were perfect. Harry’d come down with a cold though, and instead of polishing already polished silver or dusting a clean room, he’d begged her to let him stay in his cupboard.



She’d let him stay there as well, in a surprising turn. For some mad reason, he’d thought she’d started caring for him, if just a little, and he’d eagerly hoped for the tea she used to brew for Dudley when he’d been ill, but he knew enough to keep his expectations low.



He’d known better than to ask for anything so nice as tea, but he’d never forget how she’d withheld cough medicine.



‘You can take this and clean, or recuperate.’



The glass bottle brushed over Harry’s palm and he blinked at the cool feeling.



“Only a sip,” Snape said. “More won’t hurt, but you may feel a bit woozy later on this evening.”



Harry nodded and pulled the stopper. He half expected for Snape to snatch it away, but he received an encouraging nod instead. He swallowed back a small sip and handed it back quickly as his nerves hummed over his skin.



The tunnels Dumbledore’d carved began to close up as his memories ordered themselves into something more identifiable. The odd soreness eased as well, for which Harry was grateful, though he now realized how emotionally hurt he felt.



He hiccoughed again at the extent Dumbledore had searched his thoughts.



“He’s going to make me go back to Privet Drive.” Harry said thickly. “He’s going to talk to Ms Eileen and convince her to never let me back.”



Snape’s hands came out again and this time, Harry stepped closer. He wasn’t sure he was quite prepared for a lot of attention at the moment, as his skin still crawled with the echoes of Dumbledore’s magic, but he wanted to be close to Snape, if just to feel a fair bit safer. Snape seemed to understand that as well, as he was painfully gentle.



“Would you like to visit Grimmauld Place for a little while?” Snape asked as one of his long fingers swept away several tears from Harry’s cheeks. “We’d need to be back before curfew, but there's quite a bit of time yet.”



Harry blinked blurrily as he considered what Sirius and Lupin might think of his sudden appearance, but couldn’t deny the way his heart leapt at the thought of leaving Hogwarts, Dumbledore and Umbridge aside. He’d have liked to change before he saw them, as he felt too much like one of Dudley’s commemorative stuffed bears, but he doubted he’d have the chance.



“Dumbledore will be aware you're no longer in the school, but given his abuse of school rules, I believe he can tolerate our own disregard for what is considered appropriate.”



Harry sniffled and debated the idea again.



He felt overwrought and betrayed. He’d frightened Snape and Dumbledore, which, while he didn’t much care if Dumbledore was frightened, he did care if he, himself was frightening. There was only so much a person could handle in a day and Harry was very nearly at his limit.



There was also the issue with Malfoy and what sort of punishment Harry’d incur. He didn’t fancy being punished for retaliating to bullying. Sirius would probably have loads of insights to offer him about any of these issues. He’d likely be helpful with Harry’s ribbon problem and Umbridge as well, though he faintly remembered how he and Hermione had agreed to ask Sirius rather than Snape.



He nodded slowly and rubbed at his face once more.