“Harry?”



Hermione’s soft voice echoed through the bathroom. “Dinner’s half over, do you want me to get Sn—” She stopped short. “Madam Pomfrey, I mean?”



Harry sniffled and flicked his wrist over to check his watch.



Nausea cramped along his stomach and sweat dripped down his forehead again. His knees already ached from kneeling on the dusty stone floor. He didn’t know what he’d caught, or why he was so sick. He half wondered if Malfoy had somehow slipped him something, but he hadn’t even seen the ferret yet.



He’d been back to fifteen for all of two days and it was already going poorly. The pendant on his mum’s necklace swung forward and clinked against the porcelain.



“Or I could save you a plate?” Hermione said, her voice ringing with concern. “If you think it’s passing?”



He didn’t think he remembered her being this worried about him being sick in the toilet before, or, maybe he did. He’d thrown up when he’d arrived back in first year, but she hadn’t really known him at the time. She mothered him at the start of term since then, the only difference now was that Harry had Snape and Hermione sounded as if she was itching to get him.



Harry was nearly certain he’d just caught a stomach bug though. Snape couldn’t stop the flu.



“It’s fine,” He answered back, keeping his voice soft in case anyone else was in the bathroom. He couldn’t remember hearing anyone when he’d entered, but given the dirty looks he’d received upon entering the Great Hall, he wasn’t interested in making waves.



“Are you sure?” She asked before muttering something beneath her breath.



“Positive.” Harry said.



He wanted to add that she should go back to the Great Hall, but he sicked up again before he could say anything else.



“I’m getting you a stomach soother.” Hermione hissed.



The door slipped shut with a soft click and her footsteps faded, though Harry struggled to pay attention to them.



He wasn’t sick often. The last time he’d been truly ill might be when he’d been nine or ten and the entire house had caught flu. He vaguely remembered Dudley running a temperature and Aunt Petunia demanding he stay home. In an unsurprising turn of events, Dudley’d attempted to sneak out of the house to play with Piers Polkiss, but he tripped down the steps during his escape and landed so hard on his bottom that he sicked up right there in the hallway.



Harry remembered being concerned for a brief second before he’d been forced to clean it up.



As he leant over the toilet, he belatedly realized that he’d probably caught it because he’d cleaned it up.



Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon likely caught it by consistently kissing Dudley’s sweaty forehead. Maybe it was some form of karmic justice. He didn’t think that was necessarily true though, as it really was just the flu. It spread wherever it could.



Just as it had today with Harry.



The door opened with a bang and footsteps cracked over the stone as someone stepped closer.



“Madam Pomfrey says to stop by her after you take this.” Hermione whispered as she knocked on Harry’s stall. “She doesn’t want an outbreak on her hands first thing, but I have a feeling it’s not something she can really stop.” She added distractedly. “I wonder if she’ll have us keep an eye out for the younger students?”



Nausea spiked again as Harry remembered Hermione and Ron’s new prefect duties.



“Harry?”



Harry dipped his head low, unwilling to move until he was sure he could turn around without spewing anything on Hermione.



“I’ll slip it under the door for you,” She said quietly. “I’m sorry, this is a terrible start to the school year for you.”



A small vial scraped across the stone floor and Harry grabbed it quickly. He pulled the cork free and downed it without a thought. Once he’d made it into the bathroom, he hadn’t gone more than five minutes without getting sick and he was desperate for a reprieve.



“We’re missing a very interesting lecture from our new defense professor.” Hermione said as Harry leant away from the toilet. “Well, maybe not interesting. I asked Ron to pay attention for us, but we’re probably out of luck. Her name is Umbridge, the professor, I mean.” He could hear her arranging something in her book bag. “I wonder if we should ask her about those, erm, horses you saw pulling the carriages. I think we have her first thing tomorrow morning.”



Harry tried to reply, but only gurgled before clearing his throat.



“I’ll wait and ask—” He paused, catching himself.



Before Harry left for the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the Weasley’s, Snape had made a point of carefully informing him that their change of relationship couldn’t be openly noticed or discussed. Malfoy would go squealing to his father if he found out, to say nothing of the other Slytherin’s who had Death Eaters for relatives.



Harry’d initially been upset, though Snape also said he could visit his office whenever he wanted after classes. They just needed to be careful. Hermione and Ron understood once he’d warned them, as had Fred, George and Ginny.



“Feeling better?” Hermione asked as Harry unlocked the latch and stepped out. She smiled hopefully at him, though her wand was out as if she was prepared to cast a scouring charm.



“A bit.” Harry nodded, making sure not to move too quickly. “I think I’m alright now.” He added.



“Lovely, let’s go find Madam Pomfrey.” She said as she spun on her heel and led him out of the bathroom.



“The Ministry has proudly upheld this great institution. I am equally proud to be here, helping mould young minds—”



An overly sweet voice echoed around them as they slipped into the Great Hall. He wondered if their new Professor could hear her students whispering over her fluffy cardigan or pink Alice band. Harry tried to keep his eyes to himself, though he could feel the eyes of too many students on him as they walked. He wished they’d shove off and ogle someone else for once.



“—Though progress, for the sake of progress, should never fly in the face of tradition—”



Harry waved Hermione off as he stepped up to the matron, half wondering if he looked sicker than he felt. He couldn’t guess why else Hermione’d have walked with him.



“Potter,” Madam Pomfrey greeted after dismissing a flushed and sweating first year. “Let me have a look at you then, did you feel ill this morning, or did it come about on the train?” She asked, flicking her wand over Harry’s head. Whatever she’d cast must’ve shown him as being fine, as she nodded to herself over the results and folded her hands.



“On the train, I think.” Harry said. “Or maybe more once I got here.”



Madam Pomfrey nodded again and Harry glanced up at where he knew Snape sat, but couldn’t see him, as he was hidden behind McGonagall.



He cleared his throat against the uncomfortable clagginess that lingered. He didn’t want to be in the Great Hall, being glared and sneered at. Harry almost wished he could go back to Ms Eileen’s and sleep in his own bed tonight, but he tried to remind himself of how much he loved his bed in the Gryffindor tower. Snape had said he could come speak to him after dinner, though he had Head of House duties and several hundred other things to do.



Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to bother Snape if he was busy either. He didn’t have a fantastic grasp of how their relationship would work while they were at Hogwarts. Ron’s voice echoed in his ears, and he found himself worrying again over if Snape would think Harry was worth his time.



He shook his head gently and reminded himself that Snape had dealt with plenty of disasters and had yet to think of Harry as a nuisance.



The thought lingered nonetheless, though it was quieter now.



“Food poisoning, perhaps.” Madam Pomfrey said. “I’ll leave you with a second dose of stomach soother just in case and if you feel ill tonight, don’t hesitate to come by.”



Harry nodded and took the vial before stealing down the long aisle until he found Ron and Hermione.



“Alright then?” Ron asked as he licked his fingers.



“Just fine,” Harry said, chancing another look at Snape. He spotted him this time and shuddered as Snape sneered down at several second years. “What did I miss?”



“Nothing, Umbridge is mental.” Ron groaned.



“Ron!” Hermione started, cracking her dessert fork on the table. Lavender and Parvati glared at her before turning back to their conversation. “I asked you to listen for me!”



“And I did!” Ron argued. “She said a lot about the new term and about wanting to be—” His voice pitched high as he mimicked Umbridge’s tone. “A friend and confidant to her new students.”



Hermione’s eyes widened and she picked her fork up again. “She said she wants to be our friend?”



“Ron’s right, she sounds mental.” Harry said.



His stomach cramped, but the soother kept him from running to the toilet.



“I only caught the part where she spoke about stalling progress.” Hermione said. A thin line creased over her forehead. “It sounded ominous. Why would she want to step in the way of progress?” She asked.



“She reminds me of Percy. It’s probably all bollocks.” Ron said.



“It sounds like Ministry intervention.” Hermione said, leaning toward the two of them. “I don’t think it’s bollocks.”



“Doesn’t really matter though, does it?” Ron asked. “She’ll be gone by the end of the year anyway.” He said before crossing his arms.



Hermione grimaced.



Harry scratched at his forehead and tried to shake off a shiver. He wasn’t sure if he’d caught something particularly nasty or if his body just wasn’t used to fighting illness off. He’d have thought he’d be very skilled at fending off the flu, given how rarely he’d had it growing up.



“I don’t want to trust a jinx I’m not even sure exists.” Hermione whispered.



Harry grabbed a goblet and tried to swallow some water, though his stomach didn’t appreciate it. He wondered what he’d be doing if he’d been in Germany and gotten this sick.



“We’ve yet to have one last though, you’ve seen it yourself.” Harry said, turning back to their conversation.



“Right, see?” Ron nodded. “You’re over worrying."



Hermione looked as if she disagreed, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She turned their conversation toward Hagrid’s disappearance and Professor Grubbly-Plank’s reinstatement instead.



Harry managed to swallow a bit more water before Dumbledore stood and bade them a goodnight.



Despite Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s time honoured tradition of making their way to their dormitory together, they split so Ron and Hermione could fulfill their prefect duties.



Harry’d forgotten that they’d been selected as prefects again.



Ron looked particularly put out and Hermione seemed less interested in helping first years than she’d initially led Harry to believe. She gave Harry a stern look and eyed the small vial of stomach soother before disappearing into the crowd.



The curious looks and disgusted glares were almost getting to him. He didn’t love the idea of making his way to the common room alone.



He rounded the faded armoured knights and made his way toward the Grand Staircase before pausing and eyeing the entrance to the dungeons.



Cool air cut through his sweaty hair, making him shiver. He worried again about how Snape might react to his sudden appearance in his office, or around the Slytherin dormitory. He desperately wanted to escape the wave of students at that moment but before he could give it much thought, Colin Creevey appeared with a note in his hand.



Harry’s stomach almost seemed to settle at the sight of it. Maybe Snape had noticed Harry’s disappearance at dinner and would have something stronger to fight his flu.



Seamus pushed past them before Colin even spoke, nearly shoving him into Harry before he stormed up the staircase. He ignored Colin, though he found time to sneer at Harry before turning away. Dean followed quickly after and tossed them both an apologetic look.



“What’s up with Seamus?” Colin asked before passing the note over. “I thought he was an alright sort of bloke?



A cloying sweet perfume sailed out from the note and Harry’s stomach flipped from calm to nauseas again.



“I don’t know, maybe he ate something that didn’t agree with him?” Harry said distractedly.



“Why would he be angry with us if he ate something?” Colin asked. He climbed to his tip-toes and tried to catch Seamus’s eyes again, but failed. “Anyway, Professor Umbridge told me to give this to you,” He looked down and a faint flush cut across his cheeks. “Also I just wanted to say that I, er, well I—”



Harry blinked up and watched as Colin was caught in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long he could patiently stand here. His mouth had started watering and he had a feeling he was moments away from getting sick again.



“Well, I believe you.” Colin said with a firm nod. “I believe what you said about Cedric, I mean. And about You-Know-Who.”



Harry nodded and tried to smile. “Thanks, Colin.” He said lamely.



“My brother believes you too. We’re on your side.” He said.



“Thanks,” Harry said, feeling more awkward by the second. “I really, erm, appreciate it.” He added. “I’m gonna—” He held the sickeningly sweet-smelling note up and Colin nodded before turning and running headlong into a suit of armour.



It crashed to the ground and spilled over the stone floor. Several hufflepuffs shrieked as a shield slid into them and knocked them over.



“Sorry!” Colin shouted over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to-I’ll just—” He cut himself off and shoulders rose up around his ears as he dashed up the staircase.



Harry turned as gently as he could and stole into the boys lavatory, making his way to the toilet just in time to throw up what little water he’d tried to keep down. He wasn’t sure how long a stomach soother usually lasted for, but he felt the one he’d taken should’ve kept him from getting sick this quickly.



He rubbed his sleeve over his nose and tried to take measured breaths.



The note wasn’t helping. It’s perfume felt as if it were actually intentionally making him sick.



He flipped the note open and tried to dry his sweaty palms as he read the spidery slanted handwriting.



‘Dear Mr Potter, please find me in my office on the third floor this evening, I have a few concerns to discuss with you. Signed, Professor Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic.’



Something tightened around his heart as the pendant hummed softly against his chest.



Maybe Hermione’d been right to worry.



He debated his options and sniffled wetly. He could take the other stomach soother and try and get this meeting over with quickly, but if the soother only lasted ten or so minutes, he’d be throwing up in Umbridge’s office before long. That would be a dead awful first impression.



Madam Pomfrey hadn’t thought his nausea was anything serious either, so it didn’t seem likely that if he went to her, she’d give him anything other than an overnight stay in the Hospital Wing. Harry was very interested in avoiding that. He didn’t think he’d ever stayed overnight at the Hospital Wing on his first night back at Hogwarts and he wasn’t about to break that record.



He pulled the stopper on the second vial and swallowed it as quickly as he could before making his way up the Grand Staircase and through the connecting corridors.



Despite how sick he felt and how much this note worried him, being back in Hogwarts was a balm all on its own.



The high glass windows, winding passageways and curling staircases grew around him. It felt as if they'd been steeped in something older than Harry could fathom and their soft whispers echoed to whoever tread past them.



Harry wondered idly about the phrase ‘if walls could speak,’ and what Hogwarts might say if it could.



He stopped short in front of the heavy iron banded door guarding the Defense office and knocked. He hoped this meeting could be handled in under five minutes. His stomach was blissfully calm for the moment, though he knew it wouldn’t last.



Perhaps there was a jinx on Harry that prevented him from having a pleasant first week of term.



It wouldn’t have surprised him.



“Enter!” A girlish voice called from inside.



Harry swiped his sleeve over his brow again and cast a freshening charm on his robes. He hoped he got the wand movement correct, but given the sweat still dampening under his arms, he doubted he had.



He shoved the door open and nearly retched again as the cloying perfume wrapped around him.



“Ah, Mr Potter.” Professor Umbridge smiled as he stepped closer. Taffy pink ribbons lay end to end around a claw foot desk and several fluffy pink rugs covered the worn wooden floor. A yowling collection of China plates, each with a singularly painted cat, cried and hissed from the walls.



Harry had a sudden memory of the China plates he’d broken at Privet Drive and he forced himself to push his shudders away.



He coughed against the clogged feeling in his throat and tried to screw his face up to look as if he hadn’t spent most of his evening curled around a toilet.



“Good evening, Professor.” Harry said.



“You received my message, I’m so pleased.” Professor Umbridge said with a toothy smile. “I was unsure if we’d have time to chat before lessons started tomorrow, but I had a few concerns I wanted to discuss, like I mentioned in my note.”



Harry nodded and rocked awkwardly on his heels.



“Please, do have a seat,” She said as she flicked her wand, oddly short and pale in colour, and summoned an overstuffed pink armchair.



Harry hoped Umbridge’s preference for pink didn’t ruin his love for his mum’s flat.



He slowly sat on the edge of the seat and cast a quick look around for any rubbish bins in case he’d need it soon.



“Now,” Professor Umbridge started again. She waved her wand in several arcs and summoned a painted tea pot in a pink cozy. “I want you to feel comfortable with me, dear, I understand how difficult it is to be a young person growing into a well rounded adult.” She said as she charmed the teapot to pour two cups and sent one floating toward Harry and the other toward herself. “And I came across something that greatly concerned me this past summer and in the interest of your safety, I knew I needed to get to the bottom of it quickly.”



Harry blinked dumbly as she gestured for him to drink. He didn’t fancy throwing up the overly perfumed tea, but he forced himself to take a polite sip.



“The Ministry takes a vested interest in ensuring our young witches and wizards are as safe as we can make them and you, dear boy, are very important to Minister Fudge.” Professor Umbridge said, simpering in a self-satisfied way as she said Fudge’s name. “So I must ask you where you’ve been this last August?”



Harry coughed into his tea and nearly spilled it over himself.



Professor Umbridge’s smile went wooden at the mess, but brightened again seconds later.

“Mr Potter?”



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



Had he fallen asleep and dreamt this up?



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



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



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



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



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



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



Harry blinked and set his tea cup onto the desk.



“Erm, I don’t—”



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



“Harry, dear?”



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



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



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



He hadn’t even said anything.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



What had happened?



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Harry pressed his palm to his mouth.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Ron shuffled in place and sniffed.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Harry shrugged before twisting and splashing water over his face.



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



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



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



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



Ron gave him a forced smile.



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



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



Harry huffed.



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



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



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



Harry nodded.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



The muffling charm hummed around them.



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



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



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



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



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



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



If Voldemort knew, Lucius Malfoy must’ve known.



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



Harry fell forward and dropped his head into his palms.



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



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



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



“Two things?” Hermione asked quietly.



“Umbridge wants Harry dead.”



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



What if he thought Harry was overreacting or being clingy?



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



What would he even say?



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



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



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



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



Hermione scoffed and folded her arms.



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



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



Hermione nodded.



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



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



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



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



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



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



“Bat.” Ron said after a moment.



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



Ron raised his hands apologetically.



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



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



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



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



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



Wouldn’t he?



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



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



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



He shoved the dormitory door open and stepped inside.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



“Seamus!” Dean shouted.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Harry stopped short. “Ruffles?” He asked.



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



Ron snickered.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



He didn’t even like thinking about it.



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



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



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



Ron hummed a sour, but agreeable note.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



“Let’s wait.” Harry whispered quickly.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Harry groaned inwardly as he followed after them.

Ron and Hermione’s soft footsteps echoed as they made their way through the quiet corridor.



Harry skirted the bust of Hengist of Woodcroft and tried to keep up. He should have been delighted to be out in Hogwarts at night, as in the past, he’d loved sneaking about and discovering new passageways and rooms while most of the castle slept. Hogwarts had often seemed as excited to be explored as Harry was to explore it. He’d go so far as to say that the castle made escapes easier by lessening the chances of being caught, if snooping student’s paid close enough attention.



Ron dashed through bright blocks of moonlight and whispered at Hermione and Harry to keep up.



He wished he’d convinced them both to let him go alone. If he had, he could’ve been in an empty classroom right now, rather than chasing after his friends. He’d be sitting as still as possible and letting the cool, quiet space slow him down enough to rationalize Umbridge’s dreadful meeting.



Harry’s stomach ached and he tried to shake off the slippery feeling of ribbons around his mouth.



“Wait!” Hermione hissed as she paused and flipped over a fold on the map. “Filch is coming up the western staircase.” She added nervously. “Doesn’t he sleep!?”



“We can cut around the Transfiguration classroom and take the passageway behind the tapestry.” Ron whispered just a hair too loud as he picked up speed. Harry cursed his own sluggishness as he chased after him. “I don’t think Ruffles will cover for us—”



His voice was cut off when he dashed around the corner and down the corridor.



Harry’s heart clenched as he imagined what Snape would say when he found them out of bed after hours. He’d never failed to come down as hard as he could on Harry when he’d caught him before. Harry now understood why, given how his dad had snuck out more often than he stayed in. It wasn’t difficult to imagine James and Snape getting into midnight duels where Snape would be caught but James would somehow miraculously escape.



What would Snape say when he saw them? What if he compared Harry to his dad again?



What if he gave them detention and kicked Harry out?



Harry very nearly turned tail, before Ron’s fingers snagged his collar and tugged him into a dark alcove.



“Sorry.” He huffed in apology. He kept a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder, stopping him from tipping over as he wedged himself between Hermione and the brighter side of the alcove’s opening.



Once he seemed to think it was safe, he gestured to Hermione who in turn pointed at the map.



Harry squinted and spied Flitwick’s name making its way down a connected hallway. It rounded the corner and entered the corridor, nearing their hiding place.



What would Snape say if he heard about Flitwick catching them after hours? He’d probably slam the door in Harry’s face if he ever tried to visit again. He might take back everything he’d said throughout the summer. Harry’d gone to great lengths to prove he wasn’t a bullying, strutting, rule breaking, prat, but wasn’t that exactly what he was doing at the moment?



Well, maybe Harry wasn’t doing all of those things, but given that he was doing some of them, it wouldn’t be a stretch for Snape to lump them all together and compare him to his father.



The necklace beat a staccato into his chest.



Harry knew their changed relationship depended on him being different from his father and if Harry turned out to be just like James, Snape would despise him. Harry couldn’t lose Snape. If he lost Snape, he’d probably wind up back at the Dursleys come next summer. He might end up fighting Dumbledore alone. He’d most definitely wind up fighting Voldemort alone.



He’d need to handle the prophecy alone as well.



Hermione’s hand slipped upwards before jabbing Harry in his eye.



“Sorry!” She hissed as she inched backwards. “Flitwick’s gone.” Her wide eyes flashed over Harry’s face. “I saw Ruffles do it once when you weren’t responding.”



Harry blinked as he rubbed his eye. “What did he do?” He asked while Ron led them out of the alcove.



He spared a moment to worry over how long he hadn’t been able to hear them speaking, but he tried to tell himself that it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. He tried to guess when Snape jabbed him in the eye before as well.



“This—” Hermione waved her finger upward, but seemed to struggle to find the right word. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I was worried—am,” She paused before continuing. “Am worried.”



Ron took the map from her and carefully guided them down the remaining floors. They’d needed to double back around Mrs Norris once and twice past Peeves once they reached the second floor, but the poltergeist had thankfully been occupied with several stink-bombs.



It was a miracle they’d made it to the dungeons at all. The icy air now cooled over their sweaty skin and almost held the appearance of smoke as it sank around the stone.



Damp grass seemed to grow in the corner of Harry’s eyes. It climbed overtop broken tombstones and lingering just out of sight. He shuddered against the feeling and tried to remind himself that Hogwarts had no graveyards.



A dank and moldy smell whispered from the entrance, seeming to boldly ignore that claim. After all, dead people roamed freely through Hogwarts.



“It’s smooth sailing from here down, unless we run into any Slytherin’s, that is.” Ron said.



The doorway seemed to swallow the surrounding noise, as well as any light. Where their path had previously been lit by wide swathes of bright moonlight, it drifted into nothingness in the dark face of the dungeons.



“Let’s turn back.” Harry said, unsure if he could hear the soft snickers of Death Eaters, or if he was imagining it. He knew, logically, it had to be his imagination, as the only Death Eater in the castle was Snape and Snape wasn’t about to giggle at his fear, or tie him to a tombstone. Though, while he may not want to murder Harry, he might take back everything that’d changed between if he was under the impression that Harry hadn’t changed.



Every new thought seemed to stack onto the next, humming through Harry’s body and making him numb with worry.



“We’ve gotten this far,” Ron said, holding up the map. “And there’s no one about down there.”



Harry shook his head and tried to swallow around his dry throat. He wasn’t sure if he could explain his fear to Ron and Hermione, nor was he sure if he even wanted to tell them.



“If I was Ruffles, I would want to know if someone drugged my—my students.” Hermione said with a cough. “Especially if the offender was a co-worker.”



Ron nodded. “I mean, imagine if she just started drugging everyone’s tea.” He said before concern started spreading across his face. “We’re going to have to check our food tomorrow morning.” He added. The sweaty flush darkened for a moment and he twisted and whispered to Hermione and Harry. “Bloody hell, if I were her, I’d probably drug Ruffles first. He’s got to be good at guessing poisons.”



Harry forced away a panicked gasp and stole the map from Ron before checking Snape’s location. He knew they would’ve said something if Umbridge had left her office, but the thought of Snape coming across Umbridge and being unwittingly poisoned horrified him. He tried to remind himself that he still wasn’t sure if she was actually drugging people, as he had no proof of having been drugged.



He might just be sick. The longer he went without being ill in the toilet seemed to be proving that to him. Although, that span of time seemed equal to how much he’d eaten. He’d been less sick now that there was nothing in his stomach.



That hadn’t stopped the nausea from making him gag though.



He wondered if they could just leave Snape a note. They could explain their worries about Umbridge without Harry having to admit his confusion over whether or not anything had happened and that would ensure Snape gave his food and interactions with their new defense professor a watchful eye.



He couldn’t turn back now, not with Snape’s safety to worry about, but he desperately didn’t want for Snape to think of Harry as identical to his father.



“Let’s go.” Hermione said with a firm nod before taking the map back.



She slipped into the inky darkness without a second word and Ron followed her quickly. Harry took a moment to wonder when he’d stopped being the one to lead them into adventures before chasing after them.



Iron basket torches flared to life as they searched the winding hallways for Snape’s office. The dim light struggled against the oppressive darkness and hardly managed to brighten the space around them, to say nothing of the hallways. He didn’t fancy losing Ron and Hermione down here, though he supposed they’d find him quickly with the map. Harry stuck nearer to them in case as he internally composed the note.



He could slip it beneath the door and then Snape couldn’t say Harry was out after hours. He’d have no way of knowing when the note arrived there, especially if Harry said he’d woken early to write it. Then he’d just need to find concrete proof of Umbridge’s actions. His memory of the interaction could’ve served if Harry’d paid better attention, but that was over and done with.



He tossed a look around as he trailed Ron. Several narrow passageways spun off to his left and he was fairly sure the Slytherin Common Room was down the third crooked hallway.



Snape’s office was before the Common Room, wasn’t it?



He turned and stared back through the darkness. He belatedly realized they must’ve passed the hallway leading to his office and now were following the map directly to him. They were headed for his private chambers.



“Wait!” He cried in a strangled voice.



His heart thundered in his ears. Snape hadn’t given Harry permission to visit his private chambers. He’d said Harry could come to his office if he wanted or needed, but he’d never said anything about chambers. Harry had no way of knowing if this was appropriate or not, especially given that they were now at school and supposed to be discreet. Every hope he’d had of escaping this interaction died when he realized with utter surety that Snape would think he’d broken curfew and gallivanted through the castle without a second thought.



He was James in the flesh. He’d been back at Hogwarts for less than 24 hours and he’d already gone and cemented the impression that he was above school rules.



It was easy when he’d been six. Snape could see Harry as his own entity when he was in Germany and they played Gobstones or read, but at fifteen and back at Hogwarts, a place where he and Snape formed spectacularly bad impressions of each other, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that Snape might revert to tormenting him.



What if Snape thought Harry expected to get a free pass because of their new relationship? A pass that allowed Harry to abuse or break any school rule he liked, as though he was Malfoy?



Snape would be disgusted.



Usually Harry wouldn’t have cared whether or not he was the most well behaved, but now that Snape’s impression of him was on the line, he was hard pressed to ignore it.



To top it off, he still had no justifiable proof that Umbridge had done anything illegal. He couldn’t just give Snape an accusation, not against another professor. He knew how little his word had meant to Snape before August.



He never stood a chance.



Something soft brushed down his nose and he blinked through the gloom. A blurry, dark shape moved before him and he realized quickly that his glasses had disappeared at some point, though they were now set gently back onto his nose.



“Clever bit of magic, this.” Snape said as he held the map up for Harry to see.



He was still in his teaching robes. He didn’t look upset.



Harry blinked dumbly at him for a moment before turning toward the map. He couldn’t remember Snape having ever seen it in it’s full form before, as the last time Snape had been anywhere near it was in Harry’s third year and when pressed to reveal itself, it’d insulted him. Had he known it was a map then? He didn’t seem to have known before, though he supposed Snape was the sort to catch on quickly. He blinked several more times as Snape grasped his hand and gently tugged him from the dark hallway.



Hermione circled around Snape and stuck close by, having apparently been present the entire time, though Harry hadn’t been able to see her.



A sharp cramp bit into his stomach and he dreaded what had occurred in his panic.



“It was Umbridge.” Hermione began as they were shuffled into Snape’s Chambers. “Umbridge, you see. She’s done something, but I don’t know what and we’re very sorry, of course, very sorry, to disturb you so late at night, but we just weren’t sure about our next course of action, that is, I’m sure—”



“A moment, Miss Granger.” Snape said.



Harry could hear the slight annoyance at Hermione's too quick explanation.



He watched confusedly as he was led into a small sitting room, not unlike the one in Germany. He relaxed rather quickly when he saw one of Ms Eileen’s knit covers tossed over the back of a tufted black couch.



Snape sat him in the corner of the couch and handed him the knit cover before disappearing down a side hallway.



The three of them descended into an awkward silence, each as unsure as the last of what they should do.



Hermione slid slowly onto the couch next to Harry and cast a curious look around as she clasped her knees. Her eyes landed on the crammed bookshelves several times, though they always drifted away distractedly. Harry could almost see her mentally devising questions.



‘How do we safely accuse Umbridge? How do we avoid this happening a second time? Should we arrange a communication system?’



Harry shook his head and tried to push her voice from his head. He was sure they’d be on the receiving end of her thoughts when they returned to the Common Room.



“Erm.” Ron mumbled.



He fussed awkwardly with his sleeves and rocked back and forth on his heels. It looked as if he couldn’t decide if it was safe to look around Snape’s sitting room, so he chose instead to appear endlessly interested in the ceiling tiles. Harry vaguely remembered that neither Ron nor Hermione had been to Germany, or Spinner’s End and therefore hadn’t ever been around so many of Snape’s things. Although, Ron had been in Snape’s office enough times to recognize some of the mismatched bottles stuffed into the glass collections cabinets.



Harry had seen the vials as well, though he now thought of it as the medicine cabinet in Ms Eileen’s house.



“Never imagined we’d actually be in here, you know.” Ron said in a weak voice. “I sorta—” He coughed and his voice strengthened slightly. “Sorta imagined we’d have some, some meeting in the office.”



“He wasn’t there.” Hermione whispered as she shook her head. “I didn’t know what else to do.”



“We could’ve tried writing a note.” Harry said, silently berating himself for speaking at all. A note wouldn’t have solved anything and the dry look Hermione threw him told him she’d thought it was a stupid idea as well.



Snape swept back into the room, this time with a collection of vials sitting in a small try.



Harry eyed them and hoped his stomach wouldn’t interfere with anything they were meant to find. If he needed to drink them, that was. He wasn’t sure what any of them were either, despite the entire month he’d spent reading over potions catalogues and dusty tomes with Snape. Reading had been interesting enough at the time, though that was because Harry’d spent most of his time searching for increasingly ridiculous reactions to early iterations of brews and draughts. He wished he’d been paying more attention to the descriptors now that he faced a tray full of potions he couldn’t guess.



“From the beginning and with organized clarification.” Snape said with a dark look at Hermione as he sank onto a chair.



Hermione’s mouth opened and her voice cracked as she seemed to struggle to find the beginning.



“I wasn’t actually there,” She finally said after a moment and with an apologetic look at Harry. “I didn’t see anything.”



“Weasley?” Snape asked.



Ron flinched at the sound of his name, but shook his head ‘no’ as well.



Snape inhaled slowly before standing and heading toward a cluttered desk. He flicked his wand and summoned a scrap of parchment and ragged quill from the mess before giving Ron and Hermione an icy look. He scribbled something with a sharp movement and dried the ink with a wave of his wand.



“Do not abuse this.” He said silkily before passing Hermione the note and sitting again.



Ron looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head but he nodded. Hermione stood and looked twice at Harry, both times appearing to silently convey her hopes for him to be honest about what happened with Umbridge.



Harry blinked dumbly back. He still wasn’t sure what had happened in the meeting, so he couldn’t be very dishonest about something he wasn’t sure about, could he?



Hermione huffed and pushed Ron out the door.



Snape fell backwards against his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite all of Harry’s earlier worries, some more heart stopping than others which he didn’t fancy investigating at the moment, Snape didn’t seem angry.



Harry’d almost say Snape didn’t even look upset. He tugged at his cover and arranged it over himself, all the while wishing he could borrow it. He didn’t fancy returning to his dorm and sleeping with the burnt blanket. He wanted to know what Ron would tell the other boys about Harry’s disappearance, as well as what had happened between Ron and Seamus earlier in the evening.



“What did the pass say?” Harry asked after a moment.



He wondered if Ron would mention it to Neville or Dean.



“That the two of them had finished their prefect duties at a later hour than they’d anticipated.” Snape said. “It’s a standard pass given to students in leadership positions.”



Ron probably wouldn’t mention it.



“Merlin help them if they have any inclination toward abusing that privilege.”



Harry blanched as his earlier worries spun back to the forefront of his mind.



“We didn’t—I didn’t mean to break curfew.” Harry said quickly. “I’m not ignoring the rules and I don’t think I’m above them. I thought if I might leave a note instead but—”



Snape stood and circled the coffee table before settling next to Harry and tugging him into a hug.



Despite Harry’s growth in size, he consistently rediscovered that being hugged wasn’t radically different from when he’d been six. Snape’s long fingers slid over his back and slowly began pushing away the high strung tension thrumming through Harry.



“You haven’t broken curfew, nor have your friends. Average rules apply, but if you fear a Professor has drugged you, then that isn’t average and you are allowed to break curfew. In fact I'd prefer you break curfew anytime you fear something illegal or dangerous has happened. I trust you’ll know when it’s inappropriate otherwise.” Snape said softly. “Your friends behaved exactly as prefects are meant to, though, for other students within their house they should inform Professor McGonagall.” He added before leaning back and tucking the blanket tighter around Harry.



Harry wondered what had happened to stop him from being able to come to that conclusion himself. It made complete sense. He was well aware that normally, he wouldn’t have needed to have that explained to him, as it was rather like having someone explain how jumping in the lake led to getting wet. All the same, his earlier logic lingered in his ears, wondering how long Harry could get away with claiming he needed help before it became rule breaking and he became a degenerate delinquent.



In the back of his mind he could distantly hear Snape’s voice mentioning Harry struggling to tell when he was allowed to ask for help.



“I have a feeling that may take time to adjust to.” Snape said before summoning several scrolls of ragged parchment. “Regardless, I will always be thankful you’ve sought help.”



Something tightened along Harry’s throat and though he was still nauseous, he couldn’t help but relax into the sofa and feel safe.



“Now, try and explain what happened between you and Dolores Umbridge.”



Harry nodded and rifled through his pocket. He found the note Colin had delivered and passed it over, thankful that the pungent perfume had yet to fade. He wasn’t sure why he wanted it to continue to smell, but it felt oddly as if that helped fortify Harry’s accusation.



Snape’s nose wrinkled as he read the thin writing.



“When I got to her office, she made tea, I took a sip and then she asked me where I was for August.” Harry explained. “I didn’t answer or anything, I panicked. I don’t know how she could know. I don’t think Aunt Petunia ever mentioned the Ministry, but I couldn’t remember if you’d actually spoken with her after everything.”



Snape’s eyes narrowed and he flicked his wand, summoning several vials from the medicine cabinet.



“I didn’t speak directly with your aunt. What did Umbridge ask, exactly?” He asked. “Repeat verbatim if you can. Ministry workers are bound by specific laws and she’d be well aware of potential illegality in her behaviour.” He said before performing a series of tasks in quick succession. He drew a small amount of Harry’s blood into a vial and added a few drops into the collection of potions in the tray.



Harry tried to think of the specifics, but he found himself much more interested in watching Snape work. He poured a murky green tincture over the note, but Harry found his curiosity dulling as the note dampened, but failed to change. He’d hoped for a more exciting reaction.



He shook his head and tried to focus on Umbridge’s conversation.



She’d asked Harry where he’d been, but she’d said she was asking because the Ministry took his safety seriously. She’d mentioned Aunt Petunia, but she hadn’t remembered her name. Had she asked if Harry lived with Aunt Petunia or had she just stated that he did in fact live with her?



“I don’t think I remember her exact words.” Harry said as he folded his fingers into the blanket.



Snape flipped the note over and dabbed the tincture on that side as well. He explored a number of tests, some involving smelling, licking, and burning the note while Harry chased Umbridge’s voice in his thoughts. The more he guessed at her statements, the more unsure he became. He couldn’t decide anymore if she’d said Fudge was concerned or the Ministry was concerned, or if the difference was important at all.



“I just remember her being,” He paused and tried to shove away a shudder at how uncomfortable she’d made him. “Awful. There were a lot of ribbons.” He added, rubbing at his mouth at the phantom whisper of ribbons over his lips.



Snape paused and looked up as concern flashed across his eyes. “Try and relay the encounter, regardless.” He said before setting the note aside. “There are several methods we might use to search your memory, but we need to be cautious and careful about it. If she has drugged you, your memory might not show that. She may have altered your perception of events, thereby ruining the memory if it were ever brought up in court. That wouldn’t be unusual, the ministry has used that tactic before when they didn’t want to be caught. If Umbridge is clever she’d utilize several skills at once in order to achieve her goal.”



Ice shot through Harry as his stomach cramped and his mouth watered. He hadn’t imagined more than a few things happening at this meeting, it’d hardly lasted ten minutes. Trelawney had arrived too soon for Umbridge to have really done something, hadn’t she? Harry'd only had a sip of that perfumed tea as well, could a sip actually do so much damage?



“It would be better if we knew her goal, though that could be any number of things.”



He shoved his palm over his mouth and Snape’s wand swung upwards as he summoned a rubbish bin seconds before Harry sicked up.



Harry kept his head firmly near the bin as the soft sounds of Snape’s movements whispered past him. A cool breeze drifted over his neck and through his fringe, helping to ease the uncomfortable sweating that broke out over him. He worried mildly about having spat up bile once more and promised to ask if that was a symptom of being drugged.



He mentally struck that promise after remembering having been sick before meeting with Umbridge.



When he finally felt safe enough to look up, Snape had a calming draught in his hand.



“The absence of evidence is not definitive evidence of absence.” He said, handing the vial over. “We know the instance occurred. Your perception of it may be altered, but we have proof of an illicit meeting, however legitimate it may sound from the note.” Snape added as he held up the note once more.



Harry rolled the vial between his fingers and smiled to himself at the vague memory of Snape warning him about going catatonic if he swallowed a full dose when he’d been six.



He hadn’t given much thought to how memories of events worked, though he knew they weren’t always the most trustworthy things. He’d sworn up and down how he’d seen his father cast a patronus when Dementors descended on Sirius in his third year, only to find out it was actually himself who’d done the casting. So memories weren’t always reliable. Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that thought when tied to Umbridge’s behaviour. He’d promised himself he’d be more careful around manipulators this term and he’d already been manipulated, less than a day in.



Manipulated by Umbridge no less. Her yowling China cats and fluffy pink rugs should’ve given him some advanced warning, but he’d been too thick to notice it and run away.



“The Ministry is well versed in covering its own tracks.” Snape added. “Much like Death Eaters, they’ll save their own necks first.”



Harry nodded and swallowed down the contents of the vial.



The anxiety tightening around his muscles released so suddenly that he dropped to the left and his last waking sight was of Snape blanching and shooting forward to catch him before he fell off of the couch.




——




Harry’s mouth was damp.



He tried to breathe, but found it strangely difficult. It felt as if he’d taken a bludger to the chest but had somehow avoided incurring any pain. He didn’t like it and prepared himself to shout about it, but before he could, his chest began expanding and he slowly inhaled, whisking away the uncomfortable out of breath feeling. He didn’t much like this either, but he supposed forced breathing was better than being unable to breathe.



He thought about sitting up to look around, but the pillow beneath him was too warm and comfortable for him to want to leave. Something began rumbling near his ear. Or maybe it rumbled near his face? He couldn’t guess where it was coming from and he felt a brief moment of panic until he realized it was Snape’s voice doing the rumbling.



If Snape was present, he was likely alright.



A different voice brushed over head, separating itself from the deeper one near Harry’s ear. Or face. He couldn’t place this second voice, nor could he fully tell it apart from Snape’s. It was softer, but it didn’t have the same ringing safety Snape’s voice had.



He wasn’t sure why it mattered if this second person was here, as he was quite comfortable where he was and everything seemed to be in hand.



Something smelling of lavender tickled along his nose and he thought of tipping off the couch in Snape’s Chambers. It was fairly hilarious after the fact, that Harry was so nervous he’d taken a bit of a calming draught and promptly tipped over. He laughed at the thought, or he tried to. It was especially difficult, given that he couldn’t very well force his lungs to do what he wanted when he wanted. He supposed it wasn’t awful though, he could wait his turn to laugh.



Did people usually wait turns when it came to laughing?



Long fingers carded through his hair and he realized with a bright feeling that he didn’t feel nauseous. He’d have thought he’d recognize not feeling ill sooner, but he guessed that if it wasn’t bothering him, it made sense for him not to bother with it.



“Rennervate!” The softer voice said.



A bright crimson light shot through Harry’s eyes and he jolted.



Dumbledore’s wizened face leant away from Harry’s, giving him ample time to flinch away, for all the good that it would do. He couldn’t seem to move very far.



Snape’s large hand slid over his back, soothing the sudden fright.



“Good evening, Harry.” Dumbledore said with what looked like a genuine smile. He didn’t seem to be planning to ship Harry back to the Dursleys that very second, but then, Harry’d never been good at guessing what Dumbledore was thinking. “You’re having a dreadful night, my boy. I’m very sorry for the mess.”



Harry huffed as he looked around for Snape and felt himself go numb after spotting the pillow he’d slept on and subsequently, Snape.



The reason he hadn’t been able to tell where Snape’s voice had come from, was because he was pressed against Snape’s chest. It’d come from all around him. He’d been bundled in Ms Eileen’s knit cover and his school jumper, which hadn’t been shrunk to fit his now far smaller frame and was loose enough to be entirely too vulnerable for any meeting with Dumbledore.



He wanted to go back to the foggy place and be blissfully unconscious.



This was a nightmare.



It couldn’t be real, it must’ve been a nightmare.



“It is my understanding that we can fix this on a temporary level.” Dumbledore said with a carefully calming gesture. “I know you are upset, Harry.”



“Upset!?” Harry shrieked.



His mum’s necklace hummed to life.



Upset scratched the surface of how he felt. Harry dearly wished to hurt Avery at that moment. He didn’t much care how he did it, he’d drown him in the lake or throw him from the high tower. If he could, he’d owl Charlie and ask him to bring back the Hungarian Horntail just to roast Avery alive. Harry couldn’t fathom being six years old again and at Hogwarts. He had bigger problems now, bigger problems like Ministry inquiries and women who looked like painted toads, Voldemort, Dumbledore himself, and Malfoy’s potential upcoming torment, which Harry could safely say was not going to be easy to ignore, given his current problem. A nearly imperceptible thought crept up the back of his mind, whispering that if Harry was six, Dudley was eleven.



“Perhaps, Albus, you can refrain from guessing how others feel without asking first.” Snape said as he ran a comforting hand over Harry’s back again.



Dumbledore folded his hands and nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry, Harry. Forgive me for assuming.”



“No.” Harry snapped.



“Harry,” Snape started softly as he tucked the knit cover tighter around Harry. Harry fell forwards before jerking back again as he realized with a humiliating curl that his mouth had been damp because he’d drooled over Snape’s shoulder. “This is only temporary. You were fifteen earlier today and you will be fifteen again soon.”



Harry couldn’t see how that was possible, given that he’d woken up six again.



“The important thing is that we’re aware of the issue.” Dumbledore said as he strolled past Snape’s bookshelves and toward the floo. “Both of the issues. I will take the matter with Dolores seriously and will be watching her carefully.”



The urge to spit something about how pathetic Dumbledore’s usual careful watches were raged in Harry, though he ignored it with herculean effort.



“Severus, do update me of any findings. I would stay and speak with you both, but I fear my presence will not facilitate a safe and calm environment. Good evening.” Dumbledore said before tossing a handful of floo powder in the fireplace and disappearing in a blaze of green fire.



Harry wanted more than anything to scream or throw something at that moment. He couldn’t decide which one might make him feel better. Screaming was certainly easier, but he felt throwing something and watching it break would be more cathartic. The small practice snitch Harry’d chased after in his mum’s flat and Germany fluttered from Snape’s pocket, reminding him, however distantly, that anger was a way for Voldemort to sneak into Harry’s thoughts. He didn’t think Voldemort would want to sneak into his thoughts at this particular moment, especially given the righteously, furious mess they were, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and re-evaluate the situation.



“This is temporary.” Snape said again, almost as if he were trying to convince himself more than Harry. “We have a method to bring you back to your correct age, it will just need to be administered routinely until a proper cure is brewed.”



“What about Dudley.” Harry asked, forcing himself to breathe slowly. “Won’t he wake up being eleven?” He asked. “He’s at Smeltings, they won’t know what to do about him.”



“Dumbledore is on his way to collect him. He’ll arrive before any muggles are made aware of your cousin’s condition.” Snape said with a quick look at his wristwatch. “He’ll have more time left at his appropriate age, given that he took the antidote several hours after you.”



Snape scrunched his eyes shut and he shook his head, seemingly at himself. A curtain of dark hair brushed over Harry’s ears.



“I thought it was just food poisoning.” Harry said miserably. He disliked the way he’d calmed upon hearing Dudley would be alright. He’d have liked to be angry about it for a while longer, however childish that may be. “I thought I’d eaten something and just couldn’t keep anything down.” The thought of Dudley likely having the same symptoms as Harry didn’t help either. He wasn’t cruel enough to want to keep food from Dudley. Afterall, Harry could go a lot longer without eating than him. “I went to Madam Pomfrey and she thought it was just an upset stomach, she waved her wand and checked and everything.” Harry added with a mimicked wave of his own.



“I’m glad you went to her, and that scan helps narrow down what might be occurring.” Snape said. “If her scan declared no obstructions then it may be your stomach having shrunk, closely followed by the surrounding organs.” He muttered beneath his breath before snatching the parchment and quill he’d been using previously and scratching out several bullet points. “Although, shrinking should’ve shown in a scan.”



Harry shoved his face into Snape’s shoulder, carefully avoiding the embarrassing damp patch.



“Will I be nauseous the entire time I’m fifteen then?” He asked.



Snape paused in his scribbling and dropped a hand over Harry’s head, steadily helping to push away his burning anger. Something that sounded curiously like himself at fifteen whispered persistently about keeping calm in the face of his bitter anger.



“There is a chance you might feel nauseous. You went two days without symptoms before this occurred, so the likelihood you’ll go two days again is high.” Snape said. “I have the antidote in my bag, though giving you it will be more akin to putting a plaster on a broken bone.”



Harry wished he had broken a bone. It’d be loads easier to fix.



“What now then?” He asked.



“Right now, I feel it would be best if we extracted the memories of your meeting with Umbridge and placed them in a Pensieve.”

Harry frowned at his shrunken top. He was glad Snape lent him pyjamas, as sleeping in a shrunken version of his school uniform would’ve been particularly uncomfortable, to say nothing of how he felt wandering around in it. It reminded him of the horrendous commemorative bears Dudley’d received after finishing the school year when he’d been younger. How Aunt Petunia always found the time to purchase and sew a miniature school uniform onto a stuffed animal, Harry would never know.



He did know Dudley hadn’t cared about the bears, as they littered the bookshelves in what would become Harry’s room for years afterwards.



“You were quite sick all evening, going by these memories.” Snape said as he dropped Harry’s silvery memory into a glass phial.



Harry looked up and watched as the watery blue glow emanating from the Pensieve washed over Snape. He’d been quite nervous to show Snape the meeting, but after convincing himself of Snape’s inability to hear how unsure his thoughts had been at the time, he decided it would be alright. He had never heard anyone’s thoughts in the memory he’d accidentally fallen into last year, so he couldn’t imagine his own memories would be different. There were only two to speak of anyway. One featured Colin delivering the note and the other was of Harry and Umbridge.



“You haven’t managed to keep anything down since after breakfast then?”



Harry nodded and turned back to his top. “I had a few chocolates on the train, but the nausea came on around then.”



“I suppose we should find you something to eat before you go to sleep, then.” Snape hummed and tucked Ms Eileen’s blanket tighter around Harry before hefting him off of the counter and onto his feet. Harry trailed lazily behind as they made their way through Snape’s chambers, in search of what Harry assumed would be the kitchen. He looked idly around, though nothing held his interest for longer than a moment. His usual curiosity dulled in the face of his too young age and Umbridge’s meeting.



“Why can’t I take the antidote now?” He asked as the question sizzled in the back of his mind.



Snape had already explained the answer to this question once, but Harry couldn’t seem to let it go. The anger he’d felt earlier had mellowed, though it was replaced by a needling, irritating voice, begging again and again to ask until he received the antidote. A corner in his mind worried if he could truly whinge like this, as Aunt Petunia had crushed any urge to whinge before.



“If you take the antidote tomorrow morning, you’ll be fifteen for longer than if you took it now. Prolonging the effects will allow you ample time to retake the antidote when you next require it.” Snape answered calmly.



Harry huffed and fought the urge to ask again.



“Well, what did you think of Umbridge’s meeting then?” He asked instead. Snape had to have noticed something peculiar from Harry’s meeting.



They came to a sparse kitchenette, similar to the one in his mum’s flat. Harry climbed atop a stool and wondered how often Snape spent time here, because from what he could see in the glass cabinets, it looked as if he only had a few mugs and the bare essentials. He supposed that made sense, as Snape took a lot of his meals in the Great Hall.



“I have several thoughts, though I am unsure of what any of them could lead to.” Snape said. He turned quite suddenly and leant down, looking Harry firmly in the eye. “What I’m about to say is not a suggestion to invite yourself to tea with Umbridge, but without a sample of that tea, it’s unlikely I’ll be able to uncover its nature in a short amount of time. Your blood results will be useful. They may not yield much information though, given how quickly you expelled whatever may have been present. Contrarily, they may be quite useful, as some potions work from the moment they touch your lips.” Snape said with a quick flick of his wand. “What I find I am most alarmed by, is her phrasing.”



A banana sliced itself into pieces and dropped onto a plate, quickly followed by a small bowl of yoghurt and toast with cold cuts. A glass of water appeared and joined them seconds later.



Harry tucked in quickly, finding himself far more hungry than he’d realized at the sight of food.



“She stated that the Ministry ‘saw fit to check up on you’.” Snape said as he peeled a banana and ate as well. “As if the ministry had in fact checked on you. Tuney never mentioned it and if they had knocked on her door, we’d have known.”



Harry swung his feet back and forth as he debated Aunt Petunia speaking with the Ministry. She wouldn’t have bothered with lying about Harry’s whereabouts to officials, or he didn’t think she would, not if it meant getting a chance to hurt Harry or Dumbledore somehow. Snape had made a deal with her though, one that kept her silence in exchange for the fake of Lily’s necklace. She wouldn’t have gone back on their deal afterwards, would she?



He wasn’t sure if she’d actually found the necklace, he realized after a moment. Harry’d tossed it on the linoleum and ran without a second thought.



He’d been trying to escape Dumbledore though and had more pressing concerns to worry about.



“I’ll owl her and ask.” Snape said. “I’m not surprised she knew Tuney’s name, as the list of legal guardians is easily attainable for professors. I am left wondering who performed this welfare check and why you weren’t summoned with Tuney directly, if they had such good faith concerns.”



“Maybe they didn’t want to make a scandal?” Harry asked.



“Given your current defamation of character via the Daily Prophet, a scandal wouldn’t be unwelcome to them.” Snape said with a grimace.



Harry frowned and picked at his toast. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been the subject of multiple, vicious Daily Prophet scandals, but he wished all the same they left him alone. Why anyone would be interested in his life was beyond him. They snooped and snitched on anything they could, despite Harry feeling as if he led a fairly uninteresting life. He could admit some of his experiences were newsworthy, but usually those weren’t the adventures reported on.



Sirius’s innocence for one, Harry felt should’ve made the front page. As well as his and Cedric’s experience in the graveyard. Cedric deserved to have the truth of his death blasted into every news source available.



He’d been violently murdered.



If Harry’d been murdered, he’d want everyone alive to know who’d done it and how to best defend themselves if they were attacked. Cedric didn’t deserve to be sidelined as a ‘sorry accident’. There’d been nothing accidental about his murder.



“Harry,” Snape’s soft voice broke through his thoughts. “I know yoghurt isn’t your favourite, but please try a few bites.”



Harry blinked upwards and spotted Snape holding a spoon out to him.



In truth, Harry rarely ate yoghurt. He hadn’t ever considered it to be something he either liked or disliked.



“Let’s turn our attention to a related issue.” Snape added as Harry took the spoon. “You’re attending a Defense lesson tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken, and we need a plan to ensure you are safe before, during and afterwards.”



Harry nodded. “I can stick close to Ron and Hermione and hopefully avoid attention?”



“Umbridge will likely attempt to coerce you into staying behind after class, as she may not have completed her goals with the last meeting.” Snape said with a raised eyebrow. “Your friends may be roped in.”



That stopped Harry cold. He despised the thought of Umbridge potentially drugging Ron and Hermione. They shouldn’t have to go through the same trapped, uncomfortable feeling Harry had experienced.



He imagined the phantom ribbons slipping around Ron and Hermione and shuddered.



“She may say any number of things to keep you after class. It may be a plea to assist her by collecting class materials or pass a note to another Professor. As it stands, she holds far more power over you than we can contend with currently.” Snape said. “Even if she retains you, we have no knowledge of her goals and therefore cannot begin to guess at what she will do afterwards.”



Harry nodded.



“What if you gave me a note, one that said I needed to do something directly after class?”



“She will negate it if she finds her own needs more pressing and she will find her needs more pressing.” Snape said.



“How’s that fair?” Harry asked, frustrated with the petty injustice.



“It isn’t. She’s shown herself as someone willing to use any means necessary to achieve her goal though.”



The Sorting Hat’s comments echoed in Harry’s ears. He supposed it made sense for Snape to be more skilled when handling the sort of ruthless person Umbridge was turning out to be, but Harry had these qualities as well, didn’t he? Why else would the hat have wanted to place him in Slytherin?



“What should I do then? Skip class?” Harry asked with a shrug.



“That wouldn’t be a good idea either, as she would have a reason to call you to another individual meeting.” Snape said as his eyes slipped upward and searched silently in thought.



Harry dropped his head onto the counter and lamented his life. He had a feeling nothing would work and it looked more and more like he’d be sitting in on another horrible meeting sometime soon. At least this time he’d know better than to drink the tea. He felt very much like wallowing in pity at the moment and quite possibly crying about it.



Snape carded a hand through his hair.



“Your Godfather addressed this issue rather succinctly, the last time we came to it.” He sighed. “I believe he said something to the effect of, ‘it is difficult to keep you safe, though that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try’.” Snape whispered before sweeping an arm beneath Harry and tugging him carefully up against chest.



“It feels impossible.” Harry said in a small voice. He pushed his face into the fabric at Snape’s neck.



They lingered in the kitchenette, letting the quiet space surround them.



Every mess Harry’d gone through today seemed to compound on top of each other and sink into his bones, leaving him more exhausted by the second. He wished fervently to return to Germany again, though he realized he couldn’t continue wishing to escape back there at every ounce of trouble. That mindset wouldn’t help him find solutions. If anything, it might hide solutions by holding him in more pleasant memories, rather than pushing him to solve the problem.



He desperately wanted the problem with Umbridge to disappear on its own though.



Why had the Ministry chosen to intervene now? Why hadn’t they checked on him in the ten years before he’d received his Hogwarts letter?



The necklace warmed, though it didn’t help.



Harry scoffed internally and answered his own question in a bitter voice. His childhood had not been worth Ministry intervention because Harry wasn’t a problem at the time. Now that he was a problem, and a loud one at that, they’d found the time to check in on him. It made for a ridiculous double standard.



He had the sudden urge to scream at Umbridge or threaten to tie her to a tombstone. She wouldn’t be denying his story if she’d experienced even half of it.



He only sank further into Snape at that thought and tried to tell himself she wasn’t worth this level of anger. He didn’t like Umbridge, but no one should have to go through what Harry had last spring.



A cold voice argued at the back of his mind, whispering contrarily.



She had trapped him in a false meeting. That was obvious, even more so with the unpleasant feeling of ribbons slipping persistently over his lips. She deserved to pay for that, didn’t she?



Harry shook his accusations off and forcibly reminded himself that, aside from potentially drugging him, something they still had no proof of, all she’d really done was sit him down for an incredibly uncomfortable meeting.



If he’d suffered any dangerous after effects, they hadn’t appeared. Harry assumed after effects were the sort of thing to appear quite quickly as well and was sure he’d been largely fine. He seemed fine at least.



“Even if it feels impossible, it may not actually be so. You’ve performed several previously entitled impossible feats.” Snape said softly. “Thereby proving that the impossible, is not always so.” His hand curled over the back of Harry’s head. “I believe a convenient distraction will be useful enough for our immediate needs, in this case.” He gently nudged Harry from his hiding place. “You may thank the elder two Weasley’s, for their synonymous relation to the word ‘difficult’.” He added, pulling a small purple fire-cracker from his pocket.



Harry blinked dumbly at it before swinging his head to look up at Snape.



“You’re giving me permission to throw a fire-cracker?” He asked in shock.



“I’m allowing you to return it to the elder two Weasley’s.” Snape said. “You’ve already been targeted and don’t need a second investigation. Instruct them to throw it just before the bell rings and to aim for a window in the hallway near the Defense classroom.”



Harry shook his head as the urge to laugh bubbled in him.



“I thought you hated this sort of thing!”



“During a potion’s lesson, yes,” Snape said as his eyes darkened warningly causing Harry to quickly swallow his laughter. “It can cause cauldrons to explode and dangerous fumes to erupt, fumes which will corrode anything they come in contact with.” He said. “Whether that is the precious throats of those present or the expensive ingredients they’re using, it destroys indiscriminately.



“I—I haven’t—”



“I’m not in a position to be punishing previously dangerous behaviour. If it happens again, there will be consequences.” Snape said silkily. “However,” He held up the fire-cracker again. “In a hallway with no potentially reactive substances, aside from your dim-witted classmates, this is not deadly. It serves to both distance you and allow the perpetrators to slip into the crowd that will no doubt be summoned by the sound. You in turn, must flee the instant the fire-cracker goes off. Umbridge may attempt to retain you regardless, and you mustn’t let her.”



Harry supposed he could see the logic in this idea, though he also wondered if it was more in line with Sirius’s style of thinking rather than Snape’s.



There was something inherently childish about tossing fire-crackers as a distraction, but Harry guessed that only helped strengthen their argument. No one would track it back to Snape and none of the students within Umbridge’s classroom could be accused.



“You stole this from Fred and George?” Harry asked as he took it from Snape.



“I confiscated it from them this afternoon.” Snape replied. “Along with several other contraband items. You’d think they’d never experienced a raid on their person with how they carried on.” He added before taking Harry down a hallway.



Harry took a brief moment to silently apologize to Fred and George for Snape’s raid, but realized they’d already exacted their revenge by giving Snape his nickname.



He couldn’t take ‘Ruffles’ from them now.



“What if they don’t want to throw it? What if they do throw it and get in trouble?”



“I’ll request their services for any potential detention. Umbridge will likely grant it.”



“Why?” Harry asked as they came to a small bedroom. “Why don’t you just come and distract Umbridge? Or Dumbledore, since he knows about it.”



He recognized Snape’s dressing gown as well as the stack of books he often kept by his bedside. His bedroom was a fair bit neater than the sitting room, but seemed less lived in. Harry wondered if house elves cleaned private chambers or if professors thought of that as an invasion of privacy?



“Umbridge believes I will be a great source of assistance in the future and I, in turn, aspire to be so.” Snape said with a sneer before slowly setting Harry on the bed. “I would rather she think of me as useful, as that may encourage her to listen when I speak.” He added quickly at Harry’s shock.



Harry shook his head on principle. He didn’t enjoy the thought of Umbridge liking Snape’s company.



“I cannot distract her without raising her suspicions. Should I appear at the end of your first class and request you, she may surmise that I have been informed of her actions, specifically as the Professor who would most likely be able to identify what potions she used. Equally so with Dumbledore. We don’t have much room to maneuver against the Ministry at the moment. With evidence, we will have something substantial.”



Harry huffed and threw himself into the pillow.



The urge to cry hit him again when he realized his word wouldn’t be taken seriously on the basis of his recent ‘lies’ about Voldemort. He just couldn’t avoid being deemed a liar, could he?



“These problems, while important, are not world ending. They will be here in the morning, as will you. Now, help me clear my mind.” Snape whispered and pulled Ms Eileen’s knit up around Harry’s shoulders. The urge to complain and remind Snape of how much better he was at Occlumency than Harry was washed over him, but he inhaled slowly and forced himself to relax.



This had been routine in Germany and it was easy for Harry to fall into the steps.



“You have to lay down first.” Harry grumbled from where he’d shoved his face into the pillow. “And then shut your eyes, it doesn’t work unless you’ve done those.”



Snape hummed. “Yes, and then?”



“Picture yourself flying,” Harry said as he imagined himself on his firebolt almost against his will. “Through calm skies. Nothing else should matter.” He added. He could feel himself sinking into the mattress. He hadn’t ever considered falling asleep in the dungeon’s before, but he found it wasn’t so different from the tower.



There were no stars to see, but it felt safe and warm, in spite of its location.




——




“Harry!” Hermione’s voice echoed excitedly as she hurried closer to where he sat. A dreadful looking Ron followed behind at a far more sleepy pace.



The Great Hall bustled happily, if quietly around them. Only the truly early risers were awake yet, which normally wouldn’t have included Harry, or Ron for that matter, but Snape hadn’t wanted Harry caught wandering the dungeons by any roaming Slytherins. He woken, been returned to his proper age and sent to the Great Hall in a prompt way that reminded Harry almost of how Aunt Petunia used to prepare Dudley for primary school when they’d been younger.



“There you are,” Hermione said with a smile before sitting and tugging Ron into a seat next to her and throwing up the privacy spell they’d learnt. “We were so worried, Ron and I. What happened after we left last night? Ron says you never made it back to the dormitory. I checked all over for you this morning as well, which may have alarmed Neville, though I did apologize.” She said very quickly. “Do you have time to visit the library before class? I wanted the three of us to check out some books after we had a bit of breakfast, so we’re well informed of any unpleasant reactions from Umbridge’s tea.” She said, miming for Harry to pass her some milk. “Of course, without anything to go off of it’ll be rather like a needle and haystack I presume, but at least it’s something.”



Harry smiled and passed her the cream. Several yawning Ravenclaws filed in and gave them a wide berth and a dirty look.



“Sure,” He said as he leant over a tepid mug of tea. “You don’t have any idea of what you’re looking for?”



“Well, I had thought to ask Ruffles, seeing as it's their area of expertise, but I hadn’t composed a list at the time and I know how they hate disorganized questioning. I have one now though, if you think they’re available.” She said, looking longingly at the doorway before turning back to Harry. “Speaking of, did you find anything out last night?”



Harry nodded and grimaced. Hermione grimaced sympathetically and Ron slumped forwards with a groan.



“The antidote I took over the summer failed.” Harry whispered, feeling he wanted to get that over and done with quickly.



Hermione coughed around her coffee and waved at her burnt tongue.



“Merlin’s balls.” Ron moaned as his head hit the table. “What’s that make it then, three things to watch out for? Four? We’re gonna need a bloody list before the day is out.”



“But you’re alright now, aren’t you?” Hermione asked as her eyes flashed over Harry’s face.



“I’m fine, just frustrated.” Harry said, waving off her concerned look. “Dumbledore knows as well, though he said it had a temporary fix. That’s what all the nausea was.” He added before pulling the fire-cracker from his pocket. Ron perked up at the sight and looked curiously at Harry. “And I showed Ruffles the memory, but they weren’t sure of anything concrete that happened. They’re looking into it.”



“So, what’s that got to do with the fire-cracker?” Ron asked. “Are we celebrating something good having happened?”



Harry shook his head ‘no’. “Ruffles said we’d need a distraction before the end of Defense in case she tries to keep me after class. They said to give it to Fred and George and ask them to throw it at a window just as the bell rings.”



“Wicked.” Ron said before snatching it up.



“Is that,” Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. “Is that wise?”



“Don’t second guess the man Hermione, he knows what he’s on about.” Ron said as he pocketed the fire-cracker. “I’m on it, aim it at a window you say?”



Harry nodded.



“But they said Fred and George should be the ones to do it, probably on account of you being in the classroom with me.”



Ron frowned, but nodded and turned toward a pile of pancakes.



“Do you suppose we should begin investigating now, rather than later?” Hermione asked with a worried look. “Seeing as we have a few more pressing things that have been added to our growing list of concerns for this term?”



“You—” Ron paused around a mouthful. “You said we could eat breakfast first.”



“Well yes, but,” Hermione glanced at Harry before her shoulders dropped and she grabbed a bowl of oatmeal. “I guess you’re right. We should eat first.”



Owls soared in overhead and dropped packages and bundled newspapers to students throughout the Great Hall. Hermione tossed a look at them, seeming to wait for her own copy of the Daily Prophet, though Harry dearly wished she’d end her subscription. He didn’t want to see whatever they saw fit to print for the day, as it only stressed him out. He didn’t even like the news near him, as he knew he’d end up peeking over to read what was written.



He supposed Hermione liked to keep Rita Skeeter on her toes though.



A fluffy grey owl with a wrapped package clutched in its claws, sailed toward them and dropped a box just beneath Harry’s nose as a larger barn owl threw the Prophet at Hermione.



He watched Hermione quickly set to work untying the news and shaking it out before turning and staring dumbly at the package before him.



Harry realized with a sudden jerk that he’d yet to write Sirius about everything that’d happened. He didn’t think Snape would have written Sirius, nor did he think Aunt Petunia would have received Snape’s owl or mailed anything to Harry in the short time that occurred between yesterday and this morning. He untied the butchers paper with nervous fingers and found a small box with mini treacle tarts stacked one on top of the other inside. A note accompanied it, which Harry snatched quickly.



H,



The first day back can be tough. Things might look a little sweeter with these.



The unofficial Gobstones Champion of 1995.



Harry stared at the note as a warmed feeling stole through him. He wondered if Snape had owled Ms Eileen and explained what’d happened, but he didn’t know how she could’ve prepared this in the time it would’ve taken for Snape’s owl to arrive and her’s to depart.



To say nothing of the late hour everything had happened at.



“Who are these from?” Hermione asked after lowering the paper and blinking curiously at the tarts. “I hope not some admirer, I worry about people sending you—”



“They’re from Ms Eileen.” Harry answered softly.



Hermione paused before brightening. “That’s lovely of her, I wonder if she’s made them herself?”



Harry shrugged and plucked one out. “She didn’t say, do you want to share one with me?”



The three of them cut into the tart and slowly made their way through the rest of breakfast. Despite Hermione’s persistent urging, they hadn’t managed to make it to the library before their first lesson began. McGonagall came around with their schedules and hummed ‘good mornings’ up and down the long tables.



She gave a rare smile to Hermione, though Harry wasn’t sure why that was until he saw her crammed timetable.



They collected their bags and made for where Fred and George lolled near the far end of the Great Hall. The two groused a ‘hello’ as Harry quickly relayed the instructions Snape had asked of them, to which Harry was at once both shocked but unsurprised to discover how seriously they took their appointed task. They looked delighted at the prospect of detention with Snape in the event it occurred, though Harry half worried their excitement was directly related to how much they could torment him with his new nickname.



He almost asked them not to tease Snape too much, as he wasn’t sure how much Snape would put up with for Harry’s sake.



Harry loved Fred and George and it wasn’t a stretch for him to easily accept their joking nature. Snape had never mentioned having any fondness toward them though, unlike Dumbledore, who’d previously alluded to having a soft spot for their antics.



This line of thinking only led to confusion over Dumbledore’s true alliances though and Harry had more immediate worries to think on.



They navigated the castle and attended their early morning classes, splitting with Hermione whenever her electives required. Harry and Ron were distraught to discover that their usual pastime of exploring the castle or visiting Hagrid on their downtime was quickly nipped in the bud by the steadily amassing amount of homework. They nearly managed to make a break for the Quidditch Pitch, but Flitwick spotted them and questioned their upcoming essay topics just before Trelawney remarked about dream journals coming due and they realized, with a horrible feeling, that their fifth year at Hogwarts was going to be far more involved than their previous years.



It wasn’t until they met back with Hermione that they’d found the time to discuss Umbridge once more.



“I really wish you would’ve let me throw the fire-cracker.” Ron said as they made their way toward the Defense classroom. He shouldered through waves of rushing students and cut a narrow path for Hermione and Harry to trail. “It’s unfair, that is. Teacher sanctioned misbehaviour and I’m not allowed in. That could’ve been a bloody dream come true.”



“It isn’t unfair. I think it’s much safer for you to avoid the trouble.” Hermione reasoned. “I’m not sure we should be encouraging Fred and George to get involved either.”



“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Ron said. “We’re only a day in and look at what Umbridge has already accomplished. I reckon she deserves to have a bit of trouble and I want to cause her some.”



Hermione shook her head as Harry nodded a silent agreement with Ron. He didn’t fancy landing a second meeting with Umbridge in the event he was caught, but a quiet voice asked if it might be useful to their investigation. Snape had told Harry quite specifically not to invite himself to tea, but the opportunity to collect whatever she might’ve used to drug him was almost too good to pass up.



He didn’t want to directly disobey Snape though. He needed to remember Snape’s good opinion of Harry was on the line in any potentially troublesome situation, so Harry would endeavor to be as well behaved as he could.



They turned right and entered the Defense classroom and Harry almost did a double take at the state of the room. While there were no taffy-pink ribbons or fluffy rugs to be seen, it somehow managed to shout that Umbridge had been and gone and taken absolute control of the classroom. The walls lay bare around them and the desks sat in rigid, impossibly neat rows, each looking picture perfect and as if they’d just been built. Only the ornate desk at the head of the classroom and on a short platform, held any signs of life, though Harry couldn’t tell what all she’d displayed.



He clearly spied two neat stacks of the textbook they’d been assigned. Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard, an author who Hermione had railed against on the train ride yesterday.



He swallowed heavily and made his way toward one of the perfect rows of desks.



It wasn’t that all of Hogwarts’s desks were damaged or shabby, but there had always been an element of who had come before carved into the worn wood. Old signatures or burn marks peppered the desks, as had hearts with the initials of students in love, or scratched out lists of nasty insults. Harry’d searched religiously for signs of James and Sirius in many of the desks he’d sat in. He’d even searched for Lily, though he doubted she’d have defaced furniture.



Ron’s favourite desk had been one with several exam answers carved into the frame, though if Harry remembered rightly, the false Mad-Eye Moody blasted those off just before they’d sat an exam.



“You don’t suppose she’ll tailor the classroom to what she’s teaching, do you?” Hermione whispered. “I’m just—there’s hardly anything in here. We’re in the right classroom, right?” She rifled through her book bag and drew out her schedule to make sure.



Ron didn’t bother checking, he pointed toward the stack of books on the desk with raised eyebrows.



Their initial reactions were echoed by most everyone else who entered, though some of them managed to keep their confusion quiet. Whispers broke out and guesses were made about what sort of person Umbridge would be. A sense of dread washed over Harry as the school bell rang and the door behind them slid shut. Despite no evidence of anything having happened at the meeting he’d attended yesterday evening, he wasn’t keen to be trapped in another room with Umbridge.



He wondered if the classroom door locked.



Umbridge appeared shortly after from a small connected doorway and gave a small smile to the whispering class.



She wore the same fluffy pink cardigan as she had the evening before. Harry almost felt nauseous at the sight. He wondered what she thought of him and what she’d taken away from their meeting. She hadn’t tried to keep Harry after he’d been sick in her office and Harry now wondered if that meant she’d somehow succeeded with what she’d tried to do.



“Hem hem.” Umbridge coughed, seeming to expect the class to silence their hissed conversations, though that was unlikely. She didn’t have the same sternness McGonagall carried herself with, nor the terror Snape instilled. She folded her hands around her stubby wand and stepped neatly toward the black board. “Hem hem.” She coughed again.



This time the whispers faded, though Harry couldn’t guess if it was out of curiosity or annoyance.



“I must say, it is quite pleasant you’re all so prompt. I have found myself more and more delighted at this student body’s etiquette today.” She said as she tapped the board with her wand and made several bullet points appear. “We shall address some of our course aims for this next term today as well as begin our lesson, but I would be remiss if I didn’t introduce myself first.”



Ron tossed Harry a miserable look as Umbridge strolled around to the front of her desk and gave them the same small smile she had when she entered. Harry wondered uncomfortably if she had pins in her cheeks that held the expression in place, as it looked at once both highly forced but as if it was constantly present.



He couldn’t guess why she’d want to have that look on her face all the time. It didn’t seem to offer any comfort to those around her.



“I am Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. You may call my Professor Umbridge. I have walked the same halls as you, when I was a student. I experienced both an enjoyable and very orderly education and am delighted to be a shining example of what a well rounded individual can achieve, when they are properly educated and safely monitored.”



She waved her wand in a short, aborted movement and sent the textbooks sailing from her desk.



“I want to stress this aspect of safety, as I am aware that your education in this subject has been, shall we say, tumultuous?” She asked and stepped nearer to them as she made her way down the middle aisle.



Harry watched the book as it landed on his desk. It didn’t look dangerous, nor did it look very inviting though. It reminded him of the cheap catalogues he’d seen in Diagon Alley. The ones professing to teach readers with no previous experience, how to become dueling champions in a short 30 to 40 pages.



This one looked no different, though it had a smiling wizard on the cover who appeared to be deeply embroiled in his reading.



“Now, who would like to read our first course aim written on the board?” She asked.



Most of Harry’s classmates stared blankly, as if they wondered if she truly wanted them to parrot the bullet points, but Umbridge only asked again.



“Come now, someone amongst you should have a bit of courage to speak up on your first day.”



Hermione’s hand slipped into the air.



“Ah,” Umbridge gave her the small smile. “And you are, dear?”



“Hermione Granger, Professor. I have a question actually, if you don’t mind—”



“We’re reading from our course aims at the moment Miss Granger, you will have time to ask questions later. Now, since you so kindly raised your hand, why don’t you read our first goal here.”



Ron’s eyes met Harry’s again.



Hermione’s jaw clicked audibly, but she put her nose in the air and said in a clear voice. “Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.”



“Well done, Miss Granger, I think that display of courage is worth five points to Gryffindor, don’t you.”



Hermione coloured in embarrassment and Harry felt a distinct urge to defend her. If he thought she’d appreciate it, he likely would have.



By the look Ron gave her, he’d thought of that well.



“Now, why don’t you describe to me what you think these principles might be.” Umbridge said as her pink heels cracked across the floor and she made her way toward the desk once more.



“According to Mr Slinkhard?” Hermione asked.



“Why, who else would we concern ourselves with?” Umbridge asked. She climbed the small step onto the platform and stood over them before giving Hermione an expectant look.



Hermione inhaled deeply and looked to have compartmentalized several things at once. “According to Slinkhard, there’s never an instance when one should be forced to enact potential harm on another when an Auror can be summoned.”



“Well done Miss Granger, now—”



“Wait, does this mean we won’t be practicing defensive spells?” Dean asked suddenly. “Is this a law class, or a defense class?”



Professor Umbridge turned toward Dean and gave him a sweet look. “Please raise your hand when you’d like to speak and don’t forget to give me your name, we will be studying defensive magic this term, never fear—”



“But will we be practicing it?” Lavender asked with a suspicious look.



Her eyes flashed to meet Parvati’s and they shared a look of horror.



“We have O.W.L’s at the end of the school year! Not everyone here can get it all from the book!” Parvati hissed with a sour look at Hermione.



“Hem hem.” Umbridge coughed and pulled the class attention back to her. “Now, I do not answer questions without raised hands. I thought this year had better manners, but I am finding myself very disappointed in you. You girls, your names?”



“Brown and Patil.” Lavender groused as she pointed toward herself and Parvati as she said their last names.



“Well, Misses Brown and Patil, we will be studying defense. This wouldn’t be much of a class without that all important word, would it?” Umbridge asked. “Now, who would like to read our second course aim?”



“I disagree with your first aim, Professor.” Hermione said with a determined look.



“You disagree with Mr Slinkhard’s foundational principles?” Umbridge asked as her eyes flashed toward Hermione and a small glint of steel seemed to appear behind them. “You disagree with summoning an Auror when someone has committed a crime?



“I didn’t say that.” Hermione said. “Rather, I meant that there are plenty of Aurors who are unable to be obtained at a reasonable time—”



“Have you ever summoned an Auror, Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked with a determined sweetness. “They have an unparalleled arrival time. In fact, the Ministry keeps a tight standard of—”



“Yes I have, Professor.” Hermione said firmly, speaking over Umbridge. “I have summoned Aurors before, unfortunately the one I summoned happened to be a De—”



Umbridge laughed a clear, sharp note, silencing Hermione. Harry didn’t need to hear her thoughts to know Hermione was discussing the false Mad-Eye Moody, or Barty Crouch Jr. He wasn’t sure when Hermione had attempted to get him, but he was all the more worried about what had happened with it now.



“You must be referring to the mix up that occurred last term, dear girl.”



“Mix up? I don’t think there was a mix up,” Ron said with a dark look. “Professor.” He added belatedly.



Umbridge’s eyes flashed toward him. “And you are?”



“Weasley.” Ron said as he stuffed his clenched fists into his pockets. His ears burned a bright red and his back went rigid the longer Umbridge cast her small smile to him.



“Well Mr Weasley, do you think you’re more informed than a Ministry official?” She asked. “Do you have official credentials? Do you receive official updates?”



“I don’t need an official update to know a De—”



“Ah, but you do.” Umbridge said as she swept nearer to Ron and leant over his desk. “If you don’t know all of the facts—”



“Ask me then,” Harry snapped. “I’m pretty well aware of all of the facts.”



His heart dropped out as his mouth ran ahead of him. The necklace flared to life and felt nearly as if it could burn a hole through Harry’s uniform. He wasn’t meant to make waves in this class. Snape had made that fairly obvious by all of their planning the night before and Harry’d gone and ruined it in a split second with his mouth.



“Ah, Mr Potter, I do believe we have discussed this, haven’t we?” Umbridge asked. “You informed me quite clearly, though I can’t remember how you phrased it, help me out, dear. From what you told me, there’s nothing to fear.”



Exhaustion blanketed over Harry’s body, coming out of nowhere. The ribbons he’d felt before slipped over his jaw and fought to push past his lips. They rushed over his skin, steadily growing hotter and moving quicker the longer he kept his mouth shut.



“I just—” He whispered as the classroom went hazy for a brief second. He tried to deny what she said and shake his head ‘no’, but his head lolled on his shoulders.



Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked terrifiedly between Harry and Umbridge.



“I—”



“Yes, dear?” Umbridge asked from atop the platform.



Harry rocked forward and finally managed to shake his head ‘no’ as sweat ran down his neck.



“Oh come now, no need to be shy.” Umbridge said as she turned her horrible small smile on him. “Do tell the class.”



“I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t, haven’t f-found—”



Harry’s jaw was forced open and the ribbons careened inside. They slid into every available space and Harry worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he didn’t get them out. He knew innately what he needed to say in order to be able to breathe again, though he didn’t know how he knew that and he tried to swallow the words down instead. He pushed himself to pass out before he said another word, but the longer he waited, the more he realized the ribbons let up every few seconds, allowing in a small amount of air to ensure he wouldn’t faint.



“I just haven’t found my feet.” He croaked.



Umbridge gave a joyous wiggle and giggled. “You see?” She asked the class. “There is nothing to fear and no facts to worry about, because nothing happened last term.”

Horror flooded Harry as the classroom shrank in on him.



His heart hammered in his chest and he inhaled greedily, though he despised every desperate breath. The ribbons receded from his throat and mouth in slow, slippery movements until they hardly brushed his skin at all. The last he felt of them was a soft sweep over his jaw and then they drifted away entirely.



“Now, these distractions can’t be allowed to come in the way of our lesson. Who would like to read the second course aim?” Umbridge asked.



Her voice faded into murky sounds until Harry could no longer hear anything beyond a blurred murmur.



The oppressive buzzing he’d experienced before in Umbridge’s office seemed to swing into full force. The sound rattled over his skull and Harry wasn’t sure if this was Umbridge’s doing as well, or if he was actually mad and losing it. He’d have to be mad to have given into what Umbridge wanted.



He’d never given in like that before, certainly not of his own free will. He’d gotten himself into trouble with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or any awful person who felt they could force Harry into saying or doing something and no matter how many times they’d threatened him or done exactly as they’d threatened to, Harry’d never given in. He hadn’t given in even when subjected to the Imperious curse, despite the curses controlling nature.



He’d never given in.



Sweat dripped down his back and soaked uncomfortably into his button down. His head still rolled over his shoulders, though the exhaustion blanketing through him seemed to be letting up.



A thought split in two in his head, diverging in one direction and whispering angrily about Cedric’s murder and the callous, cruel cover up Umbridge was engaging in, while the other remained entrenched in Harry’s bitterness and hissed about his treatment at Umbridge’s hands. Harry struggled to give his full attention to either of them, as they warred in his ears and argued about their shared injustice.



At once, both opinions swung back and collided in a tangled web of confusing, righteous and selfish complaints.



Cedric’s death was being side-lined again, despite Harry’s desperation that his murder be announced and action be taken. His own hopes were being thrown aside again as well, as Umbridge seemed far more concerned with Harry’s loud pleas than any action by the government. That shouldn’t have come as such a shock, no matter how disgusted Harry felt about it. He knew intimately how incompetent the Ministry was, given their behaviour in the last few years surrounding the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and it’s bloody history, Sirius’s escape and innocence and Harry’s involvement in a deadly tournament, followed by his and Cedric’s kidnapping.



The statute of underage wizardry should’ve alerted the Ministry to Harry’s whereabouts that night in the graveyard, shouldn’t it? Harry had clearly been off school grounds and performed magic, so why hadn’t anyone come leaping to his rescue? He’d illegally performed magic in a muggle graveyard. The last time he’d illegally performed magic in a muggle area, he’d received a howler shortly after the fact.



Voldemort had attempted to murder him as well, which should’ve been taken seriously.



If they had any inclination to help him, they’d have taken his memories, given him Veritaserum, or inspected Cedric’s own body to help corroborate Harry’s story. Instead, they’d cried foul and hidden within self-imposed blindness, hoping against hope that Harry’d been wrong. When Harry’s ridiculous fame led to his story’s presence and they couldn’t afford to ignore it, they’d responded with Umbridge.



‘She succeeded in silencing the truth, no matter what her goal had been,’ Hissed the bitter voice. ‘She spun a web and ensnared the one person loud and stupid enough to fall into it.’



Harry no longer worried about her keeping him after class. If she did, it would likely be to gloat and he’d sooner fall over and suffer through the choking ribbons than speak to her again. In fact, he’d prefer to choke to death, rather than endure her nastiness for a moment longer. He couldn’t decide if she’d enjoy him dying by choking on his breath, or if she’d prefer to watch him suffer, as she seemed the type to enjoy watching people break.



‘That’s just it though, isn’t it?’ Whispered the angry voice. ‘Whether or not she’d prefer death or suffering, she’d acted.’



Harry hardly understood this second voice and he couldn’t fathom what it guessed at. He wondered belatedly about his inability to fully understand his own thoughts when the angry voice whispered again.



‘Proof.’



A thunderous explosion shuddered through the classroom and forced Harry sluggishly from his thoughts.



Discordant confusion erupted in him and he felt as if he couldn’t tell left from right. His eyelids drooped despite his desperation to look around and figure out what was happening. He nearly worried he wouldn’t be able to avoid being crushed beneath what was surely the ceiling caving in, but a bushy head of hair flew past him and ensnared his arm, wrenching him from his seat and onto his feet.



“Out!” Hermione shouted over the noise. “Out now!”



He twisted his head with a weak tilt and spotted Ron, whipping his wand in a neat twirl and sending parchment in every direction.



“They brought down a bloody wall!?” Ron bellowed as they bolted from the classroom. “You’d think they were being intentionally thick!”



“It doesn’t matter!” Hermione answered over her shoulder.



Her tight grip on Harry’s sleeve never faltered and she led them on a mad race through the winding passageways and connecting hallways. Their shoes cracked over the stone floor and a high-pitched sound whistled in Harry’s ear, making him worry he wouldn’t be able to keep up with Hermione’s quick movements. He was struggling to stay upright, to say nothing of keeping his feet moving beneath him. Harry belatedly realized she was avoiding wide corridors and stairways by taking an increasingly complicated route.



“In here!” Hermione hissed breathlessly, guiding them toward a dusty, unused classroom and throwing herself and Harry inside. “I don’t—” She inhaled desperately. “I don’t think we were followed, but check the door, will you?”



“Looks clear,” Ron said, equally out of breath. “I thought I saw Neville chase after us for a while, but I think we lost him on the second floor.” He added before tugging the door shut and locking it with a whisper and wave of his wand. He dropped his and Harry’s bags on the floor and fell forward, holding his knees as he tried to catch his breath.



Harry twisted and dropped weakly into a chair.



He’d lost time again. He’d fallen into his thoughts and been forced out in a deeply uncomfortable way, as his brain still seemed to be firing into a foggy and stupid part of himself. Snape hadn’t ever given a name to this phenomenon Harry experienced, but he’d been able to draw Harry out in ways that didn’t involve feeling like he was packed full of mud afterwards.



“Alright.” Ron started, anger colouring his voice as he caught his breath.



“Wait.” Hermione said, holding up a hand.



“I want to know—”



“Ron! That wasn’t normal, it wasn’t—”



“Obviously it wasn’t normal! We’ve spent months telling the truth about what happened and you just turn around and apologize for it! How do you explain that?!” Ron shouted as he rounded on Harry.



“Ronald!” Hermione’s wand cracked through the air and sent several desks careening toward the walls. “There was something else wrong.”



Harry nodded as he tried to catch his own breath. “I couldn’t breathe when she spoke. I don’t know what happened, it was,” He paused and his hand slipped upwards, rubbing at his throat as phantom ribbons slipped over his skin. “I couldn’t say anything, I don’t understand,” He wasn’t sure how to describe it. It wasn’t Umbridge’s voice in Harry’s head that’d given him the phrase required to make the ribbons go away. Harry’d just known innately what to say, though he still didn’t know how. “I don’t understand, I couldn’t breathe.” He repeated.



Hermione nodded as a worried look magnified in her eyes. “I know.” She said. “It was awful, we couldn’t tell what was happening, you sort of just leant over—”



“And bloody well apologized.” Ron argued.



“It was Umbridge.” Hermione said fiercely. “You saw that disgusting display of hers, you saw that, that cow by her desk.” Her eyes glittered wildly and her voice pitched into a girlish mimicry of Umbridge’s simpering. “You see? Nothing to fear.” Hermione said, parroting Umbridge’s earlier comments and giving an unerringly similar giggle. “And that self-satisfied smile, ergh!” She snarled before swinging left and storming down the long end of the classroom. She paced back and forth over the worn wooden floor and spun her wand in her hand. Harry couldn’t guess where her thoughts had gone, only that they’d bolted far ahead of his own. He still felt as if he were full of mud. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to come up with a single intelligent thought at the moment, no matter how hard he tried.



That feeling had slowly begun to fade since leaving the Defense classroom, but the entire process was highly uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure how long it would take either, as he’d never been wrenched from his thoughts so abruptly before.



Ron at least seemed to have calmed down. His eyes had widened and followed Hermione’s angered path as he lingered almost nervously at the door. He blinked over at Harry momentarily and looked as if he wanted to apologize, but couldn’t quite bring himself to speak. Harry supposed that was better than nothing, but he hoped Ron wouldn’t yell at him again. He already felt dreadful and adding Ron’s anger on top, especially in the face of Harry’s new found issue, wasn’t helping.



Soft, clipped sounds escaped from Hermione as she paced. Her hands crept upwards and she plucked at the shirt sleeves of her button down while a multitude of emotions flashed across her eyes.



Harry wished he knew where her thoughts had spun off to. He nearly thought back to the awful encounter himself in search for any evidence, but he didn’t fancy the awful slippery ribbons brushing over his face again. He knew they now had proof though. Hermione knew that as well, because Harry would never have denied Cedric’s death so blatantly and no matter how Umbridge tried to hide her actions, she couldn’t hide the fact that Harry now felt ribbons where he hadn’t before. Nearly choking to death on them must've been evidence of Umbridge’s actions, but Harry wasn’t sure how that would look in any sort of formal investigation.



What if Umbridge could choose when Harry lied and when he told the truth?



An icy stone dropped into his belly at that thought. The urge to escape to the dungeons and find Snape stole through him, but before he could run, Hermione whirled in place and ran closer, shoving him back into the chair with a rough push.



“Hermione!” Ron’s tight-strung voice echoed around the room.



The tip of Hermione’s wand darkened as red smoke began to billow outward. “What toy was Harry Potter given this summer?” She asked.



The chair dug into Harry’s back as Hermione leant closer.



“Erm.” He stuttered, suddenly worrying about everything he’d so much as touched over the summer. He couldn’t remember if he’d actually been given any toys, nor could he guess why Hermione was interested in them. He hadn’t realized she’d known about any of them either.



“Hermione what’s wrong with you!” Ron asked, trying to come nearer before Hermione’s wand flashed in his direction.



“Harry Potter would have told Umbridge the truth about Cedric.” Hermione said.



Harry shook his head and desperately tried to scrounge up his memories. “A, erm, Ms Eileen found me a—a football.” He said finally, relieved to have come up with anything in spite of his cloudy thoughts.



Hermione’s eyes hardened and her wand slid closer still. “Anything else?” She asked.



Snapshots of his time in Germany filtered through his confusion. He had never truly considered Hermione turning her wand on him and now that she had, he felt a sudden empathy for the fear Malfoy likely experienced anytime it turned on him.



“A stuffed dog!” Harry shouted as the image of the stuffed animal flew into his mind. “It looks like Padfoot!”



Hermione’s wand dropped and she fell forward, giving Harry a tight hug. “That’s correct. I’m so sorry, I was worried. Once I’d thought you might be an imposter, I couldn’t let it go. What if you were and we’d taken you to see Ruffles and then ruined their cover, I was, I was horrified Harry. I’m so sorry.” She said.



“I’ve been with you for two days now, don’t you think you’d have picked up on it sooner?” Harry asked.



“Well, I had thought so, but after Professor Moody and Avery’s impersonation, I couldn’t leave it to chance.” Hermione said as she pulled back and shrugged.



“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said weakly. “Bit overkill, but alright. What was all the smoke? How did you make that?”



Harry’s eyes flashed between Ron and Hermione as they spoke. His heart had yet to stop pounding and he was wondering at what point he’d pass out from it.



“It’s actually nothing, but I didn’t know what else to do. The smoke I did create is from a smokescreen spell. The actual screen won’t appear unless you say the incantation. I’d thought it would look intimidating enough to an imposter though.” Hermione said.



Harry nodded. “It worked on me, I didn’t know what it was though.” He wasn’t sure how it would work against an actual Death Eater, or whoever else might be masquerading as others, but he didn’t know any spells to give Hermione to use instead. They’d have to ask Snape. “How did you know about the stuffed dog?” He asked suddenly as embarrassment trickled through him. He hadn’t shown either Ron or Hermione the dog, nor did he mention it, having thought it was too childish to bring up.



Hermione blushed and wrung her hands together. “I did a bit of spying on you over the summer, just to make sure you were alright!” She added when Harry dropped his head into his hands.



Ron made an uncomfortable sound.



“Er, right.” He said. “Let’s get back to Umbridge.”



“Of course, yes.” Hermione coughed. “We should try and remember everything Umbridge said. I don’t know what happened, but I’m certain what she said caused the effects. We should explain to Ruffles the next time we see them and try and tell Dumbledore immediately.”



Harry looked upwards and nodded before climbing shakily to his feet. “We have to get to potions soon, we might want to start making our way now.”



“Actually.” Hermione paused offhandedly as she blinked at the floor. “Actually, no. Sit back down, Harry.”



“What? Why? You want us to be late? For potions?” Ron asked as shock spread across his face.



“No, not at all, certainly not on our first day.” Hermione said. A thin crease of worry cut between her eyebrows. “That would be terrible—but what I mean to say is, I had a thought and I didn’t want Harry to be hurt if it turned out to be true, since you didn’t look very well after, whatever it was, happened in class.” She said, waving her hands as she spoke.



“Well, how could I look well?” Harry snapped. “I couldn’t breathe.”



“Exactly.” Hermione said with a sharp look. “That was my point. What I want to ask is, what happened last spring?”



“You know what happened.” Harry said as he crossed arms and sat. “What do you want me to say?”



“No. I mean, tell me what happened. What happened after you and Cedric grabbed the trophy.”



Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before a word could slip out, ribbons tore over his jaw and burned hotly as they careened into his mouth and down his throat. He choked and tried to tug them out but he couldn’t force his body to do what he wanted. He couldn’t even tell if they were real or not, or if Ron and Hermione could see them.



“I’m sorry!” Hermione shouted. “I’m so sorry! Ron, help!”



“Say what you did last time Harry! It was something about speaking out!”



Harry tried to shake his head, but he could hardly move. He couldn’t tell if it was his recent, near constant oxygen deprivation or his intense urge to fight back against Umbridge’s actions, but he refused to give in without at least attempting to fight.



“Harry, please!” Hermione begged.



The ribbons loosened momentarily, allowing him a thin gasp. Harry knew immediately what he’d need to say to make it stop, thought he wondered again how. The phrase had changed though, seeming to take Hermione’s word choice into question similar to the way it’d tailored itself for Umbridge.



“It was a—a,” He began, unable to even begin to say the next word. Every piece of him railed against it.



“Make it stop.” Hermione said again. “Make it stop!” Her wand whipped back and forth over Harry’s head, but nothing seemed to change. He didn’t know why he’d thought anything might, but put it down to Hermione’s usual logic and skill saving him at the last second.



“It was a t-t-tragic accident.” Harry choked as he slumped to the right and hung over the chair. “I shouldn’t have spoke—spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet!”



The ribbons receded slowly, just as they had earlier. Harry dropped forward and would’ve tipped out of the chair had Ron not darted closer and caught his shoulder. He helped push him back into the chair as air rushed through his lungs once more.



The three of them stood for a long moment as the sounds of Harry trying to breathe past the awful ribbons and exhaustion that sank through him. He wanted this day to be done already. He wanted to hide in his dormitory until he could rationalize everything this changed.



Did it change much? Not many people had asked him about Voldemort’s return yet, but Harry had glared down anyone who’d been brave enough to approach him. The ribbons slipped over his jaw, reminding him unnecessarily of his inability to speak on the topic. He shuddered against the feeling. Everyone in Defense knew what he’d said. They couldn't have missed it, with how Umbridge carried on during and after they’d spoken. Seamus was going to pick a fight with him soon and a burnt blanket was going to be the least of his worries.



He wondered how quickly it was spreading through the school. Maybe Snape already knew about what happened in Harry’s dreadful Defense class? He wasn’t looking forward to potions, not when Snape would probably put on a good show for the Slytherin’s who took that lesson with them, nor was he looking forward to Malfoy.



Malfoy, who already knew Harry’d been six for a month and now would have even more to torment Harry about.



He blinked upward after finally beginning to feel more normal.



Hermione’s hands were caught tightly around her mouth.



“Right, reckon we’re done asking that question from now on.” Ron said quietly. “You know,” He turned in place and grabbed his and Harry’s bags once more. “We might be able to fix things a bit, I think?”



Harry stood and gave him a sour look. “How’s that, d’you suppose?” He asked. “I can just release an official statement on paper maybe? Or I could, I dunno, write the Daily Prophet and retract what other people are saying about me?”



“No, none of that.” Ron said as he pulled Hermione from her stupor. “But Hermione or I can answer for you. We can say you’re mental about talking about it and You-Know-Who did something?” He passed Harry his bag and led them from the classroom, making sure to keep them each walking with sturdy tugs when they lagged. “Not that you are mental mate, just, you know.”



“Harry, I’m so sorry.” Hermione apologized softly. “I knew that might happen, but I felt we’d need to know for sure.”



“No, it’s fine.” Harry said through clenched teeth. “You’re probably right to figure it out. I just never, ever want to feel like that again.” He added as they descended several sets of stairs and swept into the dungeons. They hardly passed any other students, for which Harry was thankful for. He wasn’t surprised though, given they were very nearly late and passing time was coming to a close. “I don’t want to deal with Snape right now either.” Snape wouldn’t love it if the three of them were late for his first class.



What if he was angry with Harry about it?



Maybe Harry could pass it off as trying to maintain their secrecy by acting how he typically had?



Hermione nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure he’ll give us a show. I hate the idea of us saying you’re mental though, you’ve already gone through enough. We can try and keep them at bay instead. I’m sure we’ll think of something if that doesn’t work.”



Harry didn’t want to consider being forced to rely on Ron and Hermione to keep his story alive. What if Umbridge targeted them next?



They slipped into their potions classroom with seconds to spare and found what followed to be surprisingly similar to the usual first days in years past. While Snape rarely looked their way, on the off chance he did, it was usually to snap something helpful at Harry. He mentioned twice that the direction Harry sliced his newt’s eyes in was abysmal, but neglected to say anything to Ron despite the two sharing the ingredient. Harry half wondered if all of Snape’s comments throughout the last four years had been meant to steer him toward becoming a better potions master, but scratched that thought after remembering Snape’s particular preference for neglecting to tell Harry how to counteract any poisons he came in contact after last year.



“Remain behind, Potter.” Snape drawled as the bell rang.



Harry gave him a look and tried to convey thankfulness behind what he hoped appeared to be anger. He shoved his books and parchment into his bag and tried to pretend like he was cleaning as he waited for the rest of the class to leave. Hermione patted him comfortingly on the shoulder and hurried away to her Arithmancy class, leaving Ron to handle what Slytherin’s came his way.



“Weasel, how fortuitous—”



He could already see Ron’s ears colouring as Malfoy’s snide voice echoed quietly through the room.



“To class, Mr Malfoy.” Snape said with a lazy wave of his wand. “We wouldn’t want to be caught misbehaving now, would we?”



Malfoy smirked and stepped from the room while Harry tried to recall what Snape’s usual interactions with Malfoy looked like. Any thought he’d given their relationship in the past revolved around how much Snape let Malfoy get away with, but now he was less sure if that was the truth. He wondered if it had more to do with Lucius Malfoy and how much Snape could say to Draco without having Lucius owl him. Snape’s emphasis on the word ‘caught’ had Harry worrying for Ron, but he wasn’t sure if he could leave the potion’s classroom to forewarn him.



Once the room had cleared, Snape flicked his wand once more and forced the doors to slam shut as a fuzzy spell coated over them. He dropped into the chair behind his desk and gestured for Harry to come closer.



“How was Umbridge?” Snape asked.



“Horrible.” Harry said as he dragged a stool closer to Snape’s desk. He moved to fall into the seat and found it’d been transfigured seconds before he landed. Rather than the hard topped stool, it was now an oversized, plush armchair. “I don’t,” Harry tried to start, though he couldn’t tell where to begin. “I don’t know where to begin, but she asked and I couldn’t breathe.” He tried to explain. The ribbons brushed over his lips once more and this time Harry asked. “Can you see them?”



Snape blinked at Harry and raised his eyebrows.



“The ribbons.” Harry said. “Hermione and Ron acted like they couldn’t see them.”



“Harry, you aren’t making much sense at the moment.” Snape said. “You couldn’t breathe?” He asked.



“No, I couldn’t—there were ribbons!” Harry said, stumbling over his words. He could hardly keep track of them now that he’d begun trying to explain how he’d felt when Umbridge had spoken with him. He’d thought his earlier confusion had more to do with his falling into his thoughts, but he was becoming increasingly worried that whatever Umbridge had done, it’d trickled into his ability to explain what he was experiencing.



“Occlude for a moment with me.” Snape said. “You have a break period between now and your next class, correct?”



Harry nodded but couldn’t restrain his steadily growing panic.



“Then occlude for a moment. Close your eyes and picture the snitch.”



“I don’t see how this will help.”



“Humour me. You’re distressed and will benefit.” Snape gave him an encouraging look.



Harry whinged and shoved his hands into his hair before taking a deep breath. The snitch flickered in his thoughts and swooped left and right as he attempted to catch it. It darted just out of reach each time he so much as grazed a wing. After what felt like countless attempts, he changed tack and turned to drawing lazy arcs through low hanging clouds.



“Alright,” Snape’s soft voice surrounded him. “Now, don’t open your eyes. Tell me what happened on your way to Defense class.”



Harry nodded. “Ron was upset that he couldn’t throw the fire-cracker. Fred and George brought down a wall, by the way, not a window.”



“I’ll handle any repercussions should they appear. What happened next?”



“We saw the books on Umbridge’s desk and Hermione checked to make sure we were in the right classroom, because there wasn’t much else around.” Harry said as he sank farther into the armchair and imagined himself arcing upwards over the clouds and towards a starry night sky. “Umbridge came in, introduced herself and started talking about the course aims, which Hermione had a question about, and Umbridge was nasty to her.”



“I’m sure Miss Granger had several questions.” Snape said as the scratch of a quill echoed in Harry’s ears. He wondered if Snape had begun grading summer essays yet, as he’d told Harry it was one of his least enjoyable tasks, though every once in a while a student would manage to surprise him with a clever suggestion.



“Well, yeah, the class is more of a law class. Dean pointed that out. Umbridge started asking us if we knew how fast Aurors could arrive at crime scenes.”



“Most are remarkably slow, in case you were curious.” Snape said.



Harry snickered before remembering Snape’s wisdom likely came from personal experience with his background as a Death Eater.



“Proceed.” Snape said.



“Right,” Harry said. “Well, Hermione made a point about that, she said she’d summoned an Auror and I think she meant Professor Moody, or I guess, Barty Crouch Jr.”



“Not someone she’d willingly choose to summon in her hour of need, I’d imagine.”



“No. Probably not.” Maybe Harry was more stressed than he’d imagined, but he found himself almost falling asleep. He often used Occlumency to fall asleep though, so that made sense. “Well, Umbridge didn’t like Hermione’s comment and told her it was all a mix up, but Ron backed Hermione up. Umbridge asked him if he was a Ministry employee, and Ron said no, to which she’d said he was mixed up.”



Snape hummed and Harry realized they’d come to the point when he’d need to admit to having ruined their plans by intentionally baiting Umbridge.



“Harry?”



“Well,” Harry started. The night sky faded in his imagination and Umbridge’s taffy-pink ribbons shot toward him, hurdling around his body and sending him plummeting to the ground. His eyes flashed open before he could hit the ground and he looked at Snape, trying to head off any anger quickly. “I said she should ask me about it.”



Snape blinked at him with a blank stare and Harry wondered if he should begin apologizing. He’d never done something downright wrong in Germany and Snape had nothing in line for punishment for Harry, not that Harry knew of at least.



“And she said I’d already explained myself last night.” Harry said weakly.



Snape’s eyebrows rose.



“But I hadn’t!” Harry said in a high-strung voice. “And then there were ribbons.” Phantom ribbons slipped over his lips again though this time far less intensely. He despised the soft caress and began attributing it to Umbridge’s nasty, small smile. “Ribbons, can you see them now? They’re here.”



“What did you say to Umbridge?” Snape asked.



“I can’t say what I said. I won’t be able to breathe if I do.”



“I think you will.” Snape stood and his dark wand appeared in his hand. “Take a deep breath and repeat it for me, please.”



Harry shook his head and a small trickle of worry dripped down his back. He’d already endured the ribbons twice today and in a short amount of time.



Snape dropped into a crouch before Harry’s armchair and flicked his wand upwards, sending a cool draft over Harry’s sweaty form. The quill continued to scratch despite Snape having left his desk.



“I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet.” Harry whispered and flinched as he prepared to choke. He blinked dumbly at his own voice and clear throat after the fact. “That’s not what happened last time I spoke, Hermione even checked.” He quickly said as horror replaced his worry. This only made him seem even more like a liar and as if he whinged about Umbridge’s actions with no just cause. “It changed, inbetween, I promise it did. Hermione tried again in an empty classroom, the second time I’d said ‘it was a tragic accident, I shouldn’t have spoken out, I just haven’t found my feet’, it—I, I had to, because Hermione asked—”



“I don’t doubt it.” Snape said softly. “Umbridge said you’d explained yourself and you felt, how?”



“Ribbons.” Harry said, aghast at his own quick answer. He tried to explain again. “I mean, I didn’t, I couldn’t breathe, I feel—there are—”



“Ribbons.” Snape repeated. “You can’t explain how you feel. Only that there are ribbons.” He added before twisting on his heel and pulling up a roll of parchment and showing Harry. Written on it was every word he and Snape had said, the entire story Harry’d just told, laid out clearly. “You provided me with a solid, coherent explanation for the entirety of this conversation, the only instance where you babble, is with how you described the effects you experience.”



Harry had the oddest urge to cry and he put it down to frustration. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the babbling or the choking. He’d almost choose to go endure the choking because at least those around him wouldn’t think of him as mad.



“I didn’t babble intentionally.”



“No,” Snape shook his head and leant against his desk. “That’s part of the issue. I will not subject you to the more violent effect of this malady,” He said slowly. “Though there are several potions I know of that can incept the imbiber and tailor the effects like what you’re experiencing, though they’re obscure and I wouldn’t have imagined Umbridge would come into contact with one of them without a tremendous amount of research. That is to say if it even is a potion.”



“It might not be a potion?” Harry asked.



“There are too many things it might be.” Snape said.



Harry fell back into the armchair and lamented his life. “You don’t have any ideas, or thoughts about it?” He asked, wonderingly somewhat morbidly if Snape had ever encountered something similar while in Voldemort’s service.



“I have several.” Snape flicked his wand, somehow making Harry’s armchair soften farther. “Dolores Umbridge is labouring under the delusion that she is the only person able to step into the Dark Arts in order to succeed at her task.”



Harry blinked confusedly. “Why would she think that?”



“Because she is unaware that whatever she has done to you, has left traces.” Snape said as he held the parchment up once more.

“I really think we should owl Snuffles.” Hermione said as her finger grazed over the spines of several Charms books. “I don’t think we’ll be able to find what we need within our library.”

Harry thumbed through his own thick and dusty charms book and debated what Sirius would do when he heard of Umbridge’s actions. It’d been several weeks since he and Snape had spoken in his classroom about Harry’s choking problem and they hadn’t managed to uncover anything yet. He scanned over the pages in front of him at random and eyed counter-charms and preventative spells, but he didn’t see much in the way of stemming symptoms of what he experienced. Hermione seemed confident they’d be able to alleviate Harry’s babbling, though Harry couldn’t say he felt the same. She’d had a distinctly uncomfortable look in her eyes when he mentioned Snape’s Dark Arts theory though, and that, Harry was sure they felt the same way about.

He almost wished Ron were here, as Harry was sure he’d have something funny to help ease the tension brought on by this subject, but he was distantly glad he wasn’t. Ron had never liked researching in the library and there was no amount of bribery that could’ve kept him from reading when he could be out flying.

Harry didn’t love researching either, but he didn’t have much choice.

He belatedly remembered Ron and Hermione’s course loads hardly allowed for flying this year and that he shouldn’t be taking any free time from either of them. That was especially true given the watchful guard duty they’d kept up around Harry. No one other than Ginny and Neville had managed to ask Harry about Umbridge’s first day of class, for which Harry was endlessly thankful for.

Seamus, on the other hand, had found even more time to sneer at him.

“The library at Snuffles’s house might even include whatever it is Umbridge has done, given the content of some of the books.”

Harry blinked as he looked up. “Mrs Weasley let you snoop in that library?”

“Hardly.” Hermione said. “But Ron kept a look out while I snuck in and grabbed what I could. We made a daily job of it. When I was researching what had happened to you, I came across several books I’d never seen before and couldn’t resist perusing, though I wish I hadn’t.”

“And?” Harry asked with morbid curiosity.

“They were revolting.” Hermione grimaced. “They were so much older and darker than what I’ve read before, and written in an increasingly disorganized fashion. I think Snuffles’s relatives wrote several of them and from what I read, they weren’t in their right minds.”

“Snuffles has mentioned part of his family is mad.”

“This wasn’t madness, Harry.” Hermione said with a concerned frown. “Or, not mad in the way I think you or I would see it. It was all intentional, truly intentional.” She said. “They built off of one another as well, which I hadn’t anticipated, though I really should have. If one person wrote about an idea and the potential incantations and logic behind it, another would add on with outcomes they’d witnessed or what bedlam ensued.”

Harry shoved his book back onto the shelf as Hermione’s arms folded around her stomach.

“I don’t think a library like that has any business in a school of course, but if we’re meant to be researching something that equally has no business in a school, it’d be an invaluable source.” Hermione added. “I also think Snuffles may have some ideas about this anyway. He talked a bit about the sort of person his mother was and from the sound of her, she’d have loved the type of magic you’re going through.”

Harry shuddered at the thought of phantom ribbons cascading softly across his face. “Well, I haven’t owled him yet. I feel like when he learns about what happened, he’ll come storming in.”

Hermione nodded tightly as she whispered a spell and made several charms books leap from the higher shelves.

“It’s entirely possible. We’ll have to be much more careful with how we bring it up to him, given how much Umbridge seems to want a scandal.” She said making her way through the aisle as her steadily growing stack of books and Harry trailed behind her. “I have a feeling he’ll have some sort of background knowledge about combatting your symptoms at least. Of course, well.” Her voice trailed off as she paused and blinked at the floor.

“Well?” Harry asked as he helped neaten the bobbing stack.

“Well, that’s not the only thing we’ve got to worry about is it?” She said. “We need to combat your symptoms of course, but we can’t really combat what we don’t know and I’m not sure if Snuffles will be able to detect the exact problem. I hadn’t really thought of a detection process until recently, because we’ve been more focused with the ways this permeates in your day to day experiences.”

“Right,” Harry said slowly. “Some warning before I go choking on ribbons would be pleasant.” He added in an obvious tone.

Hermione huffed and twisted on her heel. “If we’re going to try detecting something though, don’t you think we should owl someone with more knowledge in that?”

“Who did you have in mind?” Harry asked. “Not Mad-Eye Moody?”

He didn’t fancy owling Moody. What would he even say? ‘I know we’ve never formally met, but I let myself be captured by a taffy-pink toad and made to choke on ribbons, what should I do?’ Harry shook his head and tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his own stupidity washing over him.

“Actually, I had thought Bill Wealsey might be more helpful.” Hermione said. “He is a curse breaker and he’s skilled with detection. Ruffles said this could be any number of things, didn’t he?”

“Ruffles also said there were potions that could be the cause and I definitely drank something.” Harry said as the idea that he probably would need to inform others of his current problems curled unpleasantly along his uneasy stomach. There was something innately mortifying about it. Informing others of how he’d stumbled into a blatant attack without even attempting to defend himself rankled him and he wished all the more fervently he’d caught on to Umbridge’s actions sooner.

Hermione paused again before snagging a book near her knee. “Part of the reason I want to owl Bill is because I’m worried about Ruffles researching this.”

Harry felt his eyes widen as Hermione turned and looked at him as she inhaled deeply.

Harry’s first post-class potions visit had turned into something of a ritual for the two of them, where Harry’d either disappear with most of the other students before doubling back or just linger until the last student left. Snape hadn’t mentioned anyone catching on to them yet, so he figured it was safe. They’d spent most of the time discussing Harry’s symptoms and it was for that reason he couldn’t imagine someone more perfect to research Harry’s problem than Snape. Especially given just how much research Snape did in his down time. Snape had a book in hand more often than he didn’t and when he wasn’t actively learning about potions, he was leaving scathing reviews on Potions magazines. He never seemed interested in any other sort of literature.

He genuinely enjoyed research.

“Why?” Harry asked. “They’re probably more qualified than anyone else we know—”

“That’s exactly why.” Hermione whispered as she crept closer to Harry. “The Dark Arts can be addictive. I know I don’t know all of what you’ve learnt about Ruffles, but from what you have told me and what we’ve eavesdropped on, this wouldn’t be their first time researching the subject.”

A sense of dread began to tighten along Harry’s muscles as the memory of their first night in Lily’s flat echoed in his ears. Snape had said Lily sent her necklace to him in an attempt to push him from his interest in the Dark Arts. He’d also been painfully honest about his time as a genuine Death Eater and what lengths he’d gone to in his work beneath Voldemort.

Harry shivered against the phantom ribbons brushing across his lips. The necklace bloomed to life almost as if it knew it was being thought of.

“This has been on my mind for a few days now, I’m just, I’m worried. I trust Ruffles to solve the problem, I just also worry what diving into this might do to them.” Hermione added.

Sirius had mentioned Snape’s interest with the subject as well, when he’d frightened Harry before kidnapping him. He’d given a clear warning about Snape and Avery’s old friendship and Harry didn’t need to know the particulars to know Snape had likely created gruesome magic in his pursuit to please Voldemort. He certainly didn’t need to see Voldemort in action to know of his own unparalleled fascination with the Dark Arts and how it spiralled and infected everyone who came into contact with him.

Sirius’s voice hissed in his ear, reminding him that the dark mark on Snape’s arm wasn’t just for show.

“I—I, I’m not,” Harry stammered. Shame trickled through him and he suddenly found his earlier needy actions intolerable. He’d gone running to Snape so quickly that he never considered the consequences this could cause him. He’d gone and given a recovered addict their drug of choice. “What—”

“We’ll write Bill and Snuffles.” Hermione said with a firm nod and held one of the books up. “And we’ll research ways to alleviate your symptoms and hopefully, try and keep Ruffles from doing too much of their own research.”

“They’ve already begun researching though.” Harry said as he tried to swallow back his shame.

“I doubt we can just stop them at the moment, but we’ll think of something.” Hermione said beneath her breath. “Let’s go find Ron and ask about Bill for right now. I think Ginny mentioned he was with Dean earlier, though I do hope he hasn’t gone and gotten into another row with Seamus.”

Harry found himself unable to care about Seamus’s poor attempts at bullying in the face of his own recent stupidity. He should’ve been more aware of Snape’s past.

They’d discussed it more than once and Snape had never hidden from it. The bitter gift of hindsight only screamed louder at Harry about thick-headed actions. He should’ve been well aware of Snape’s previous addiction, given how quickly he’d seen through Harry’s choking problem and been able to show him his own symptoms.

A quiet voice in the back of his mind asked whether or not they should ask Snape how he felt, but Harry felt that was a stupid question. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.

They passed by Madam Pince and checked their selection out before attempting to stuff everything into Hermione’s already overfilled bag. Madam Pince clicked her tongue, but neglected to say anything as Hermione gave a sheepish smile and collected what wouldn’t fit and split it between herself and Harry to carry.

“Oh! I bet we could distract them!” Hermione said excitedly as they made their way down the corridor. “See, I don’t think solely removing the source of the addiction will stop the urge, as it isn’t the most helpful course of action with breaking addiction. Removing the behavioural pattern and waiting it out doesn’t always work, you have to provide an adjacent pattern to focus on instead. Though, they already have quite a bit on their plate, don’t they?”

“Well.” Harry started as more of his troubles spun into his thoughts.

Snape was already researching and attempting to brew a cure for Avery’s incorrectly made aging potion, spying on Voldemort, spying on Dumbledore, teaching Harry Occlumency, teaching seven years worth of students a core subject and researching a way to break Harry’s current choking problem.

“I have to stop bringing my problems to them.” Harry said dully.

“I don’t think that’s quite right.” Hermione shook her head wildly. “They’re a multitasker, we’ve already seen that. What we need is to keep them more focused on a tangentially related research issue rather than Umbridge. We even have the perfect distraction, the first troublesome problem.”

They slipped into the courtyard and past the stone bridge where several groups of students were talking and joking with one another. Hermione climbed to her tip toes and peered around, searching for Ron or Dean, but didn’t seem to spot them.

“That has an immediate fix, despite how temporary it is.” Harry said as he shook his own head as he looked around as well.

It was frustrating to wait for nausea to roil in his stomach before he was able to take the temporary antidote, but it kept him from appearing as a six year old for at least two days. Harry knew Snape was working on both issues, despite not having any time, it was very likely he’d prioritized the infinitely more painful problem over the mildly inconveniencing one. Harry felt they were both horrible, but he knew which one he’d rather handle first.

“No, I really don’t think—”

“Oh, has daycare finished, then?” Malfoy’s snide tone cut across the courtyard and silenced the idle chatter nearest them.

His mum’s necklace warmed as Harry’s hands tightened around his books. A distant voice in the back of his mind tried to judge how much trouble he and Hermione would be in if he damaged everything in his arms by dropping it all to the ground and grabbing his wand. He’d been wildly lucky to have avoided Malfoy for the last few weeks, but he had a feeling that luck had only given Malfoy more time to prepare.

“I must say, being out without a nanny to hold your hand,” Malfoy added before hopping down from the stone balustrade. “I’m impressed, Potter.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Harry snapped back. “Given that you’ve never done an impressive thing in your life.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he reached into his pocket as he stepped closer to them.

“Harry.” Hermione whispered. “Let’s just go, he’s only going to—”

“When my father told me what’d happened,” Malfoy clicked his tongue. “We thought we might want to help, what with you already being a charity case.”

“Oh, do tell us, Malfoy.” Harry began as an idea spun into thoughts. He couldn’t tell if it was a horrible idea or not, but at the moment, that didn’t matter. “Why would your father think anything happened to me, Malfoy?” He asked innocently. “You’ll have to enlighten us. Where would he have come up with this?”

Hermione inhaled slowly and her fingers tightened around her own collection of books.

Malfoy paled, though it was hardly noticeable. Harry dearly hoped he would give himself away, as no one but Death Eaters or Order members had known of Harry’s previous condition.

‘Ongoing,’ his mind supplied quietly. ‘His ongoing condition.’

Malfoy’s grey eyes flashed and an oily smile slid across his lips. “He heard it from Professor Snape, of course. They spoke over the summer, as friends—”

A buzzing took over in Harry’s ears as his heart dropped into an icy bath. Snape would never have said something so dangerous to Lucius. Snape wouldn’t. The crack in Harry’s soul that he’d thought had begun to mend, splintered as it broke open once more.

It had to be a lie. It must’ve been. Snape wouldn’t have said anything to Lucius that could come back to hurt Harry.

Malfoy’s voice loomed over the buzzing, as did Hermione’s, though Harry wasn’t sure what she was saying. It was likely something about how much of a liar Malfoy was.

Lucius heard it from Voldemort, Harry was positive of that. Draco was lying.

It had to be a lie.

Malfoy’s cruel smile’s during Potions blinked in the back of Harry’s mind. Had Snape and Malfoy discussed something behind Harry’s back? Why would Malfoy act as if he had permission to torment Harry if Snape hadn’t spoken with him?

Malfoy acted like this, because he’d always acted like this, Harry tried to remind himself. Whether or not he had permission, Malfoy bullied people.

It had to be a lie.

“We were all so sorry to hear, but,” Malfoy said as he broke through Harry’s thoughts with a crooning voice. “Father, in his unending kindness toward the lesser among us, asked me to present you with a gift.” Malfoy withdrew his hand from his pocket and a small blue infant’s pacifier appeared in his palm. He hissed a spell and flicked his wand, sending it rocketing towards Harry.

Harry struggled to move.

His thoughts circled viciously around Malfoy’s comment and no amount of logic could stop it from tunneling deeper into his thoughts. The only vision where he’d seen Lucius and Snape speaking, had been when they’d discussed Avery.

Snape hadn’t brought up Harry’s condition.

If he had, Harry hadn’t seen it happen.

It had to be a lie.

“ARRESTO MOMENTUM!” Hermione shouted as her books fell to the ground and her wand flew into her hand.

Blood rushed to Harry’s face as the pacifier shivered to a stop a hair's width from his lips.

“Suck on it, Potter.”

Something wickedly sharp tore across Harry’s thoughts and began making violent cacophony of sounds. A fierce heat spread over his chest and flew down his fingers, quickly overtaking the warm feeling from his mum’s pendant with a burning fury. Before Harry realized what happened, Malfoy was flat on the ground. The books Harry’d been holding were scattered alongside Hermione’s and the small blue pacifier lay just to the left of Malfoy’s foot, though Harry couldn’t tell if he’d sent it back at him or not.

His fingers tightened around his wand in a poor attempt to stem the anger trembling through his body.

He blinked down, realizing belatedly he must’ve grabbed it some point.

“You utter cockroach!” Hermione shouted as she jerked closer and sent Malfoy scrabbling to his feet. She chased him farther from Harry and back toward the balustrade where Crabbe and Goyle looked to be nervously debating whether or not to run away. Pansy Parkinson’s wand had dropped into her hand, though she didn’t seem inclined to use it. “You go around bullying brighter and better people than you could ever be, all because you’re an empty—”

“Bloody hell!” Ron’s shocked voice appeared at Harry’s shoulder. “What’ve I missed?” He asked.

The enraged, burning anger hadn’t quite abated, nor had Harry’s panic and worry. He wasn’t sure he could string a sentence together, to say nothing of how he would explain what happened between Malfoy, Harry and Hermione.

“Erm.” Harry started in a poor attempt. His heart had yet to stop pounding and whatever had shot through his brain was turning any useful thoughts to mush. A voice who sounded suspiciously like Snape, whispered at Harry to occlude in the face of this much anger, but Harry could hardly picture the snitch, nor could he think of anything as pleasant as flying.

Had Snape told Lucius Malfoy about Harry?

If it had happened, it would’ve happened before his and Harry’s relationship had changed. Did that change how Harry should feel about this?

He couldn’t tell.

Malfoy had lied, why he even bothered with this line of thinking was beyond him. Malfoy had always been a liar.

Had Snape told Lucius Malfoy though?

No, Voldemort told Lucius Malfoy.

“Harry, mate, let’s get Hermione before she’s expelled.” Ron said with a firm shoulder pat. He dodged around the fallen books and snagged Hermione’s sleeve. He tried twice to tug her away before finally succeeding on his third attempt.

“—Vile, bullying,” Hermione breathed heavily as she neared Harry. “Ferret! How—how dare he?” She asked as she kneeled shakily and collected their fallen books. Harry began to kneel to join her, but she held her hand out, keeping him standing. “I’ll report him for this, just wait and see.” She stacked the books into Ron’s waiting arms before climbing to her feet and wrapping Harry in a warm hug.

“Right.” Ron said. “Right, of course we’ll report him, report him for what exactly, though?”

Harry wished he’d realized how nice hugs were sooner in his life, as Hermione’s was doing wonders for his panic. He tightened his grip on her and wished it would push away all of his fear in the same way Snape’s hugs often did.

His heart clenched at that thought and he tried to convince himself once more that Malfoy was a liar. Harry knew he had been lying because he knew how the story had come to Voldemort. Snape had been the one to tell him about what had happened when they’d been in Lily’s flat. Snape had been honest and explained all about his and Avery’s deal and he tried to explain how Death Eaters apparently accepted lies for lies in order to save their own necks.

Harry still struggled with some of Snape’s logic, but that logic didn’t change how Draco had come to learn about Harry’s previous—ongoing condition.

He wasn’t sure why his heart still hurt despite his reasoning.

Maybe Snape thought of him as too childish at the time, but that had been typical of their previous interactions. Snape had always assumed Harry was immature and spoiled.

Snape had told Harry, quite specifically, he’d been mistaken. This was just Malfoy.

“I don’t know where to start.” Hermione said as she pulled back and rubbed at her misty eyes. “It was horrid. He’s horrid.”

“Well that’s Malfoy in one, isn’t it?” Ron asked.

“He gets worse every year.” Hermione said. “Are you alright, Harry? That was dreadful.” She asked as she began to lead them back into Hogwarts and toward their common room.

“It’s just Malfoy.” Harry said with a weak nod and wished he felt more confident in his answer. “I reckon he hasn’t got anything on V-Voldemort.” He stammered as the ribbons cascaded across his face, but didn’t restrict his breathing.

He’d slowly tried to accommodate around them, but found that each time they brushed across his face felt as horrible as the first time. He’d begun categorizing what he could say without feeling ribbons as well, despite Snape’s firm warning not to go messing about with whatever was wrong with him. He needed to know if he could speak Voldemort’s name though, as well as what he could think, as the ribbons danced down his jaw at the very thought of Voldemort, but didn’t wake for You-Know-who, or Tom Riddle for that matter.

While Harry wasn’t very interested in why Umbridge chose one moniker over another, he was curious as to why she wanted him suddenly fearful of saying Voldemort’s name. It didn’t make much sense for the Ministry to deny Harry’s story and turn around and make Harry visibly nervous of the megalomaniac. If he was truly gone, Harry should feel free to say what he liked.

There should’ve been no need to fear at all.

“Just Malfoy being a bullying prat.” Hermione repeated with a sneer. “He was dreadful, Ron. I can’t believe no one went to get a teacher during that horrible display of his.”

“I reckon they probably didn’t because you’re both prefects.” Ron said.

Hermione huffed before beginning to relay the story. She derailed several times to bring up additional crimes Malfoy had committed and the insults he’d said during previous prefect meetings when she finally came to what happened after Harry’d let his anger get the better of him.

“And I didn’t know Ruffles taught you non-verbal spells!” She said with a curious look. “Malfoy was just,” She clapped her hands and sent one sailing ahead of the other. “He didn’t know what hit him. I was so surprised at the time that I forgot to ask, what was the spell?”

Harry shrugged. “I think it was a bit less non-verbal and a bit more accidental.”

“Are you sure?” Hermione blinked. “I swear I saw your wand move, but then, you had grabbed it rather sharply.”

“For good reason. Ruffles doesn’t have the time to teach me non-verbals, and you know how awful Snuffles is at teaching.” Harry said with a strained laugh.

“He jumps across topics,” Ron moaned. “The last time I asked him to explain some of the political effects of Binns’s Goblin War of 1752 reading for my essay, I wound up learning about blackmarket trading on Ukranian Ironbelly’s.”

Hermione tossed an interested look at Ron but he waved her off. “It wasn’t relevant, Binns had been looking for political effects.”

“Do you remember when he taught us how to quick-draw our wands though?” Harry asked and Ron nodded with a snort. Harry’d been six at the time and struggled to fit his wand up his sleeve, but it’d made for a pleasant memory.

Sirius’s surprising niche talents made up for all of his odd tangents.

“Let’s get back on topic. I want us to remember the encounter so we can relay it to Professor McGonagall. I do wonder if we might tell Professor Snape as well, seeing as Malfoy is in his house.” Hermione’s forehead wrinkled as she thought. “There’s also the matter of witnesses, they may tell a different story than we do.”

Harry couldn’t bear hearing Snape’s tailored uncaring persona discussing Malfoy’s behaviour, especially not while he was still unable to let go of Malfoy’s comment. He knew Snape wouldn’t have told Lucius Malfoy.

He wouldn’t. Snape wasn’t in the business of humiliating Harry any longer.

Malfoy seemed to think he was, though.

Malfoy was a liar.

“Well go on anyway, Harry knocked Malfoy on his arse. Then what happened?” Ron asked.

Hermione jumped back into the story and relayed all of what she’d shouted at Malfoy, as well as Malfoy’s following expressions. He’d apparently been terrified to let her close and couldn’t seem to keep his feet beneath him. She managed to split the story again then, discussing future and past crimes before remembering why she and Harry had been in the courtyard in the first place.

“Bill! Oh, Ron, we need to owl Bill. Will you write to him?” She asked. “Because he’s a curse breaker, you see.”

They skipped up the Grand Staircase and attempted to push past the rush of flowing students but ultimately ended up swerving down the fifth floor corridor when the rush became too strong.

“No Hermione, I don’t see, you’ve gone every which way during this story.” Ron said as he juggled the books in his arms. “I can’t tell your left from your right, but sure, yeah, I’ll owl Bill.” He said before beginning a mimed conversation. “Dear Bill, Hermione’s gone mental and asked me to write to you. Oh, about what you ask? I dunno, she hasn’t said. Suppose I’ll get back to you about that. Lemme ask her when she’s less likely to hex me.”

Hermione blew a frizzy curl from her forehead. “I’ll explain of course, though maybe not at present given the company.” Her eyes flashed over the other student’s loitering in the corridor. “I also want to discuss our new plan for Ruffles.”

Ron twisted and looked as if he was about to ask, but his eyes widened and he quickly nudged Hermione and Harry into an alcove. Hermione nearly complained but shut her mouth when Umbridge’s girlish voice echoed down the corridor. The sound sent uncomfortable shudders through Harry and likely whoever else was nearby, as footsteps pounded past their hiding space, likely in an attempt to escape Umbridge’s eyes.

He remembered idly that Umbridge had yet to request Harry return for another awful meeting.

“So you see my point, Professor McGonagall.” Umbridge said once the corridor seemed suitably empty.

“Professor Umbridge,” Professor McGonagall started. “I’m afraid that no matter how I see your point, it does not sit with Hogwarts curriculum standards.” Her voice lilted, nearly rolling into her Scottish accent, but refraining despite the frustration evident in her tone. “Every student deserves the finest education we, as educators, can give them.”

“Yes, Professor. I hear you,” Umbridge said. “I am not asking to deliver a subpar education to my students.”

Hermione’s hand slipped around Harry’s and she pushed closer to Ron as the two professor’s neared their alcove.

“In fact, I think you’ll find that I’m hardly asking anything at all. I am treating this more as a courtesy to you. Consider it an official notice.” Umbridge said. “Despite the student’s who’ve informed you of their displeasure with how I run my classroom, I simply won’t be bullied—”

“Bullied!? Dolores—”

“Yes, dear, bullied into conforming to your unrealistic expectations.” The sound of Umbridge’s self-satisfied cough rang around them and Harry silently thanked McGonagall for walking on the right, as she neatly covered Harry, Ron and Hermione from Umbridge’s view. “The ministry has seen a concerning outcome from your previous educators, some of which, I’d like to remind you, were half-breeds—”

“Remus Lupin is not half of anything Dolores. He was a fine educator. He knew his subject and the student’s adored him.”

“Then why was a tracking charm placed on him this past summer, hmm?” Umbridge asked. “Do you know what that charm signals within the Ministry?” She asked as they moved farther from the alcove. “A dangerous, often wild animal we need to be aware of, for the safety of all who we work so diligently for, Minerva.”

“Dolores, I will not allow you to—”

“You have no power to allow or disallow me anything, Minerva.” Umbridge said as her heels clicked down the corridor. “Any students who find my subject is not being taught to their expectations can take it up with me from now on. Do direct them accordingly.”

McGonagall whirled around and stormed down the other side of the corridor. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen her in such a fierce mood and he was suddenly very worried for whoever had complained to her about Umbridge’s class.

“Who do you suppose complained?” Ron asked, echoing Harry’s thoughts as he led them from the alcove.

“Does it matter?” Hermione said in a high-strung voice. “This means we really won’t be practicing any magic this term. How are any of us supposed to pass an O.W.L. when we’ve never so much as practiced the incantation!”

“Practicing this term?” Ron gave her a disbelieving look. “We won’t be practicing any magic this year. I’m pretty sure McGonagall isn’t someone you’re supposed to talk down to like that, given she’s our deputy headmistress.”

“I don’t suppose Umbridge worries much about that.” Harry said in a grim tone. “She probably thinks she’s above McGonagall.”

He wondered idly if it was Hermione who’d complained to McGonagall, but he assumed she’d have told Ron and Harry about it if she had. He almost wished McGonagall had mentioned who had complained, as Harry dearly wished to know what McGonagall’s response had been.

“No, I reckon you’re right.” Ron shook his head. “She just reminds me so much of Percy. I hope he hates her. I won’t tolerate a member of my own family enjoying her company.”

“Do you think McGonagall will take student complaints, despite this?” Hermione asked. “I don’t want to let Malfoy’s behaviour go undocumented, especially not when there were so many witnesses. Surely this classifies as something that should be dealt with immediately.”

Harry shook his head ‘no’. “I don’t think we should bother McGonagall, at least not at the moment. We might want to give her some time.” He silently promised to avoid bringing it up to Snape as well, given how much the man was already working on for Harry. He might mention general bullying the next time Harry saw him, but he silently swore not to add anything else onto his overfilled plate.

If Harry were even half as busy as Snape, he’d likely be in the Hospital Wing babbling hysterically about stress and pulling his hair out.

He wondered again if Snape did tell Lucius Malfoy about Harry’s condition?

“We could always try Dumbledore?” Ron said. “I mean, if McGonagall doesn’t solve the problem, I’m sure Dumbledore can.”

“He’s already looking into Umbridge.” Harry said as he wrinkled his nose. “He’s keeping that close watch of his on her.”

“Well, maybe he’d like some help in that endeavor?” Ron asked. “I stole a few more extendable ears from Fred and George.”

“No.” Hermione said firmly. “We’ve been lucky to avoid Umbridge so far. We can’t go investigating her, it would give her a reason to call us down to her office and she’d potentially do to us what she’s already done to Harry.” She said as she pointed at herself and Ron. “I partially think that’s why she hasn’t summoned you again, Harry, despite never having had her question about the summer answered.”

“What?” Harry asked. He’d honestly thought Dumbledore had stepped in on that enquiry, and told Umbridge to bugger off. He hadn’t thought Umbridge was just leaving him alone.

That was too easy and he’d spent more than several sleepless nights worrying about it.

Hermione’s eyes flashed over him. “I think she’s waiting and hoping you’ll come crawling back. She probably expects you to give in and ask for the cure. Once she has you in her grasp, she’ll likely strike again, though I don’t know what with.”

A fuzzy memory blinked into Harry’s mind and he was reminded of the way Uncle Vernon used to taunt him by taking a full dinner plate past the cupboard when he wanted to watch telly in the sitting room. There were two ways into that room, the quicker route was from the kitchen directly and Uncle Vernon always chose to go through the front hall. There had never been anything overt about Uncle Vernon’s behaviour, as he’d never asked Harry if he was hungry when he walked past or if Harry felt like apologizing for whatever had landed him in his cupboard. He’d simply walked past, sometimes more than once in search of second or even third helpings.

Uncle Vernon had never opened the cupboard door and given him anything, not even when Harry’d given in and apologized for whatever it was he’d done. He’d liked Harry to smell what he couldn’t have and think about his misbehaviour.

Umbridge was just the same.

“She can wait all she likes.” Harry said in a fierce voice. “I’ll die choking.”

“Yes, I rather thought you’d say that.” Hermione said. “We’ll just have to take matters into our own hands.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Ron asked with a raised eyebrow.

“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.

Snape’s eyes flickered toward the decorative ceiling tiles and he appeared to be caught in a thought.

“You said we’d need to be careful before talking to him.” Harry started as he tucked the knit cover tighter around himself. He couldn’t seem to shake the cold that sank through him at the thought of having been perceived as truly dangerous. For years Harry’d danced around the public’s blurred perception of the danger he posed, but he’d never been too bothered by it before. He knew himself well enough to know he was harmless.

Unintentionally speaking parseltongue and alarming Snape wasn’t harmless though.

“We need more information. This,” Snape began softly. “This can’t happen again.”

Harry gave him a wild look. “Could it happen again?!”

He didn’t know why he felt so horrified at that thought. If it had already happened once, the chance it could happen again was growing by the minute. It was a logical assumption to make. There was no rhyme or reason to why it’d happened though, as Harry felt Snape’s two examples were worlds apart.

The nausea in his throat tightened at the thought.

One involved Harry’s cupboard and Dumbledore’s reaction, and the other, Snape and Umbridge’s assumption about him working for her. Aside from Harry being angry about both instances, there wasn’t a grand amount to be shared.

“You’ve gone through it several times already, there’s no denying it could happen again.” Snape said, almost as if he read Harry’s thoughts. His dark eyes dropped from the ceiling and landed on Harry.

“But that was nearly two months ago!” Harry said nervously.

Two months ago and entirely separate from what had happened today.

“Two months ago it happened twice in a row.” Snape said sharply. “We don’t know if this is the second time this has happened today either, as you are unable to recall exactly what happened between yourself and Mr Malfoy.”

Harry slumped against the back of the tufted couch and tried to sort through their interaction once more.

He’d been angry and Malfoy, but that wasn’t unusual. He’d been angry at Malfoy loads of times in the past and he’d never cast spells he didn’t know or unintentionally speak parseltongue. His anger might tie the instances together, but that alone felt like a weak connection. Being angry at someone couldn’t make Harry speak parseltongue. It was the appearance of Nagini, real or imagined, that’d caused that. There were no snakes near Malfoy when they’d spoken either.

“What if you made me angry?” Harry asked, though the thought turned to ash in his mouth. “I dunno what Dumbledore will ask or do when we talk to him, but what if you make me angry and we see what happens?”

Harry wondered if that idea was too similar to something Sirius might suggest.

Snape’s eyes flashed over Harry once more. “I worry about intentionally making you angry. That, as a clinical trial, has too many subjective variables. You may not react naturally, first of all, as your reaction to stimuli will be heavily altered by your expectation of what you and I are searching for.”

Harry blinked dumbly and wound his hand around his mum’s pendant.

“How successful has your occlusion been lately?” Snape asked.

Harry blinked again. “Well, I thought I’d succeeded just before I came to visit you, but, erm.”

“But?” Snape asked.

A childish urge to whinge washed over Harry. He never knew if he’d occluded successfully or not. Snape had stressed how important it was for Harry to practice, and he could honestly say he’d tried. He’d tried to keep his emotions in check, along with his expectation and fears, but nothing seemed to work when it came to actually restraining himself. He’d hardly had a chance when it came to success either, given how much everyone seemed to want to bring his anger out of him.

“It’s,” Harry started as his fingers clenched around the pendant. It beat a warm rhythm into his palm. “It’s not really,” He dreaded the thought of admitting to his failure. Snape had spent ages teaching him and guiding him through the steps, but it often only felt helpful just before he went to sleep or directly after he screamed himself awake. Nausea rolled through him once more. “I just, I don’t think I’m always doing it correctly.” He said weakly.

Aunt Petunia’s voice hissed in the back of his mind and berated him for failing at seemingly simple tasks.

Snape inhaled slowly. “You’ve practiced clearing your mind before going to sleep?”

Harry nodded.

“And when you encounter Umbridge?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded again. “I picture the snitch, or sometimes just flying.” He said in a hopeful and convincing voice. “I try to calm myself down—” He explained.

“I think it would be best to do so, now.” Snape said with a slow nod. “That you’re trying should make these episodes less likely, but in order to question Dumbledore, we’ll need to present as a calm and methodical unit. The issue with discussing this with Dumbledore is that we will likely be unable to hide what happened.”

“Why are we talking to him then?” Harry asked as he sat up. “You said we wouldn’t need to ask him outright last time we talked about this.”

Snape nodded. “I did say that.” He stood and stepped toward his cluttered desk.

The last time Harry’d been in Snape’s sitting room, the desk had been a cluttered mess. It didn’t look as if it’d been cleaned since then either. In fact, Harry wondered if Snape had charmed the stacks of books to not tip over, given how tall they’d grown.

“However, Dumbledore does not exist in a bubble. He has likely investigated what happened since then, just as we’ve tried to curb any potential recurrences with Occlumency.” Snape said before grabbing several battered textbooks. “But we are now at a distinct disadvantage. While I have relied on second hand evidence through your interpretation of what occurred at Privet Drive, Dumbledore will have utilized direct evidence as well as prior experience. You worried about him cursing you and you ran away, rightfully so.” Snape’s soft footsteps brushed over the carpet as he made his way back toward the couch. “But this is something worse than I’d imagined.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Because I spoke parseltongue without realizing it?”

“No. Speaking parseltongue is not the symptom I am worried about.” Snape dropped the collection books onto the coffee table and took one from the top.

“It isn’t a good symptom though.” Harry said as something close to bitterness rose through him. He wished he could go a few years in the past and erase his encounter with Tom Riddle and the basilisk. The only instance he knew of where parseltongue hadn’t been directly related to something inherently evil was during Dudley’s eleventh birthday. “It’s dead awful.”

One slim dark eyebrow rose on Snape’s face. “Parseltongue has a complex history. It isn’t awful, your interactions with it haven’t shown it appropriately.”

“I wonder why that could be.” Harry snapped.

“Breathe.” Snape said in a forcibly calm voice. “Who do you think was the villain in the story of Adam and Eve?” He asked.

Harry stopped short at the out of place question. “Like Adam and Eve from the Bible?”

Snape nodded.

“Erm,” Harry started. He hardly remembered anything that had happened aside from there being a garden and Adam and Eve living within it. The Dursley’s weren’t religious and hadn’t put any emphasis on the lessons from the story. “I dunno?”

“The snake.” Snape said. “Eve spoke with the snake and was misled. Is she evil for having the ability to speak with snakes, or is the snake evil for misleading her?”

“That proves my point!” Harry said in a rush of anger. “The snake was evil!”

“Exactly.” Snape hissed. “Eve wasn’t, just like you aren’t! You are a person who can be coerced and misled, but not because you are inherently evil.” At some point he’d circled the coffee table and now towered over Harry as he pointed his book at him. “Being a parselmouth does not make you evil. What you choose to do with that skill can!”

Harry’s head hit the back of the couch and he realized belatedly that he’d been backing away throughout their conversation.

Snape blinked at Harry before abruptly swinging away. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” He asked in a softer voice as he slowly sat onto the couch.

Harry nodded wildly.

An odd mix of fear and comfort wove together through his thoughts. Seeing Snape tower over him felt almost as if he’d reverted to their previous dynamic before their relationship had changed, but his logic argued too fiercely in favour of Harry.

“Good.” Snape said with slow inhale. “As I said, your use of parseltongue isn’t the issue. Why you said what you said, is.” He added.

“I wanted to know why Umbridge thought you’d be helpful.” Harry said weakly.

“You did.” Snape nodded. “That is why I believe we should visit Dumbledore.”

“Because I was angry you were working with her?”

“Because you were angry I wasn’t working for you.” Snape corrected before swallowing heavily. “You and the Dark Lord sound different when you speak parseltongue, but you are similar with other behaviours.”

Harry shook his head ‘no’.

His fingers tightened around the pendant once more as a cramp split along his stomach. He’d hoped their similarities ended with their shared miserable childhoods and driven sense of purpose, he despised the idea of having another thing in common.

“You are highly skilled at legilimency when you choose to use it.” Snape said.

“I’m not.” Harry curled into himself. “You said I wasn’t because I can only see through Nagini’s eyes.”

Snape shook his head. “You’re quite skilled, despite what you may think. You cast it successfully on me after you asked me about Umbridge. My skill in Occlumency was the only thing that kept you out.” He said before looking at the book in his hand. “You aren’t skilled in Legilimency though, nordo you have a masterful degree of control over Occlumency. I have researched every reputable and disreputable author I could find since you’ve brought this to my attention. These are the few that offered even a glimpse of what you may be experiencing, but none of them can define it.”

Harry crept forward and nudged one of the books with a careful finger. The titles Snape had collected ranged from a friendly sounding ‘Mental Magic’s, a Compendium’, to the worrying looking, ‘The Ruin of Dark Magicks on the Mind’.

“Take a breath and occlude.” Snape said as he flipped through his book and seemed to search for a specific page. “Then we will speak with Dumbledore. We can use the instance with Mr Malfoy, rather than what occurred in my office.”

“Will that work?” Harry asked as the reality of what happened weighed on him.

“It’s an inevitable meeting.” Snape said. “Whether or not it will work, we need to know what he knows.”

For some reason, Harry’d thought this issue would go away on its own. He didn’t know why, as nothing had ever just gone away on its own in Harry’s experience. Even if it didn’t, he hadn’t thought anything could wake it up.

He didn’t fancy meeting with Dumbledore again. They didn’t know what he might say or do, and they were unaware of any conclusions he might have drawn since the meeting at Privet Drive.

The prophecy loomed over Harry. It sank like poison through his thoughts and blackened everything it touched. He’d tried to avoid ruminating on it in the past, as once he started, it was very difficult to stop. Every interaction shriveled into dust beneath its shadow, reminding him in an abstract way, that Voldemort targeted Harry for something neither of them fully understood.

Dumbledore knew what happened, though he hadn’t told Harry.

“Harry.”

Harry breathed sharply as he blinked around the cluttered sitting room. A tight pinch cut between Snape’s eyebrows as his face appeared in Harry’s line of sight.

Snape’s finger had floated near his nose, but pulled away quickly.

“Occlude.”

Harry gave it his best shot, but sooner than he’d have liked, he found himself staring into Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes.

He thought idly about when he’d last seen a genuine twinkle.

“Good evening Harry.”

Harry mumbled a greeting and brushed at the ash coating his school robes. He wanted to rub at the bruise forming along his hip from where he’d fallen coming out of the floo, but worried it would make him look too vulnerable.

A colourful evening sunlight bathed the old wooden floor and made the office seem far more harmless than Harry knew it was. Dumbledore blended into his delicate instruments and baubles almost as if he were one of them. Harry felt distinctly out of place, yet welcome in a somewhat secretive way. It was uncomfortably pleasant and it made Harry curious if Dumbledore charmed his office to set visitors at ease. It’d certainly explain the immediate relaxation that’d soothed his shoulders when he’d arrived.

It didn’t much matter what Dumbledore cast on his office, because it wouldn’t work on Harry.

Harry wouldn’t let it, more specifically.

“Severus.” Dumbledore greeted Snape as he entered the room in a flash of green fire. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The shiny curios littering the desk and bookshelves chimed and spun in quiet, slow movements. It seemed almost as if they were in league with Dumbledore in keeping his visitors calm, as Harry felt his breathing fall in line with their rhythmic back and forth ticking.

“I’ve no doubt you’re well aware of why we are here.” Snape said. “Or has Madam Pomfrey not spoken with you yet?”

Snape’s hand slipped over Harry’s shoulder and led him toward a high backed chair.

“Rather the opposite Severus,” Dumbledore said as he closed what looked like a journal and stowed it in a drawer. The orange and yellow stripes on his glittery purple robes swapped colours as he moved. “Poppy has spoken with me, but she neglected to provide me with a very clear explanation. Am I to assume you’ve procured one?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Snape said.

Harry wondered if they were speaking a different language, despite the fact that he knew all the words they used.

“Mr Malfoy behaved in an abominable fashion.” Snape said as he sat in his own chair. “For which, Harry defended himself, but was as unaware of what was cast upon Mr Malfoy as Mr Malfoy was himself.”

The brightness in Dumbledore’s eyes faltered briefly as they slid from Snape to Harry.

“Harry, is this true?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry swallowed heavily and looked away from Dumbledore’s eyes. There was something hypocritical about hiding from potential legilimency when Harry’d forced it on Snape earlier. It would probably help their case if he let Dumbledore know what he was thinking. He abhorred the very idea of it though. Despite how Snape had worded it, he knew visiting Dumbledore was their way of admitting to needing his help.

Harry hadn’t quite decided if they needed his help, as he was still sure Snape could solve most anything.

He was reminded quite suddenly of the night he’d had a vision of Bellatrix Lestrange and how Snape and Sirius had gone to Dumbledore for help.

Who could say if Dumbledore had been helpful at the time though?

No one had helped Harry escape Privet Drive until Snape came along. Dumbledore had known Harry’d been treated poorly and never attempted to rectify his mistake. Why did Snape always run to Dumbledore when he was well aware of his failures? Why didn’t he go elsewhere? What use did Dumbledore offer him?

A soft voice argued about how he provided a century of education and research, but Harry mentally sniffed at it.

Dumbledore’s century of existence led to fourteen miserable years for Harry and a hidden prophecy.

“I see what you mean, Severus.” Dumbledore said, jerking Harry from his thoughts. “Harry would you mind allowing me into your thoughts for a brief moment?”

Harry gave a harsh sounding laugh before shaking his head ‘no’.

“Not with magic, Harry.” Dumbledore said as he folded his hands over his desk. “I only wanted for us to have a discussion. I am aware of who I’ve made myself to be in your eyes, and I shall endeavor to atone—”

“You can’t.” Harry said as his eyes drifted around the bookshelves. “You’re a liar.”

Dumbledore’s striped purple shoulders fell and Harry couldn’t tell if he felt awful or vindicated for saying that.

How many years had Harry swallowed his title as ‘Dumbledore’s man’ through and through, though? How many years had Harry championed a man who’d acted so far against Harry’s best interests? He’d been played and Dumbledore hadn’t been on Harry’s side for even a moment, had he?

He tried to remind himself, however distantly, of how kind Dumbledore had been to Harry since he’d been at Hogwarts. No matter how much trouble Harry’d gotten into, he’d always listened to him and tried to help him. Harry knew he could come up with examples of Dumbledore’s kindness if he tried, but they paled in comparison to what had been uncovered over the summer.

A man who locked children in cupboards and claimed it was for the best wasn’t a kind man. Ms Eileen’s calm voice echoed in his ears and reminded him of Dumbledore’s lack of understanding when it came to Harry’s experiences.

Harry wondered idly if Dumbledore might be like the snake from Snape’s earlier story. He seemed to constantly mislead everyone around him.

“For the time being, I’m going to ask you to suspend your anger so I may better help you.” Dumbledore said in a weathered voice.

“The two are interwoven, Headmaster.” Snape said. “You cannot separate previous experiences and request a clean slate despite how much you may wish to.”

Harry’s eyes flickered downward and landed on Dumbledore’s face. The careful mask Harry’d seen twice before flashed across his face in spite of the kind, grandfatherly way Dumbledore spoke. It wasn’t cracked like it had been in Grimmauld Place, rather, it appeared in perfect condition.

A shiver ran up Harry’s spine at the sight of it. It moved with Dumbledore and blinked when he did, but it was present all the same.

“Nonetheless, I will endeavor to atone for my behaviour Harry.” Dumbledore gave him a soft look. Harry struggled to guess what his reasoning behind that might be, but before he could think on it too long, Dumbledore spoke again. “Did you cast a curse on Mr Malfoy?”

Harry blinked and realized he’d had yet to look away. “I didn’t.” He said quickly. “I pulled my wand out and then he was on the ground.”

“You don’t recall casting anything or you didn’t cast anything?” Dumbledore asked.

“I don’t remember casting anything.” Harry said as he tried to hide his clenched fists in his lap.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “Mr Malfoy is in good condition according to Poppy. Whatever it was you cast was reversible, though I am aware of it’s darker nature.” He added with a cautious tilt of his head.

Harry blinked at the careful movements and wondered if Dumbledore was consciously treating him as if he would explode any second. He mentally berated himself for that thought moments later. Dumbledore knew precisely what he was doing because he did everything with precision and conscious thought. Harry was almost curious about when the last time Dumbledore had acted without an ulterior motive had been.

“Perhaps you could inform us as to why Harry would cast a spell of a darker nature without prior knowledge.” Snape asked.

“Are you aware of any other instances where this may have happened?” Dumbledore asked as he looked at Harry.

“Maybe when you were about to curse me.” Harry said in a tight voice. “Back in Privet Drive.”

Dumbledore’s eyes flew wide. “Curse you?”

“Yes!” Harry snapped as a floodgate of badly controlled anger boiled in his stomach. “When you told Aunt Petunia you didn’t care about whether or not I was hurt!”

“Harry!” Dumbledore said loudly. “I have never in my life wished for you to come to harm.”

“But you did nothing to stop it!” Harry shouted back. “You knew! You knew it was bad!” He kicked his chair back as he stood.

Snape slipped between the two of them though it didn’t seem to help. Harry couldn’t tell if what thrummed through him was fear at confronting Dumbledore or righteousness for speaking about what bothered him.

The realization that Harry’d derailed and likely ruined their chances to get information out of Dumbledore without alerting him to any suspicion nearly had Harry stopping and apologizing. He couldn’t ignore the way Dumbledore acted about his hand in Harry’s childhood though.

Dumbledore’s crooked nose twitched as inhaled slowly and held his hands aloft in a pacifying manner.

“Harry, I have never attempted to curse you. Please believe me on that.”

“You’re lying.” Harry said as he peered around Snape and recalled the terrifying way Dumbledore’s eyes had hardened on him at Privet Drive. “Tell the truth!”

Dumbledore’s wand flashed into his hand and Harry dodged backwards.

The rhythmic instruments and baubles littering the shelves whirred to life as Harry came closer. They began to scream his position despite it being obvious in the small office.

“Wands away, Albus.” Snape said in a soft voice. Harry wasn’t sure how he’d heard him over the din echoing around them. Snape crept backwards as he moved closer to Harry. He seemed well aware of how to position his tall frame to cover Harry’s.

Dumbledore stood in a slow, careful movement that had nothing to do with his frail age. His shoulders straightened and he began to appear decades younger by the second. He neglected to put his wand away as he moved.

“Did you attempt to curse Harry?” Snape asked as he clenched his wand tightly. Harry realized belatedly that he hadn’t noticed when Snape pulled it out.

“Your assistance is unnecessary here, Severus.” Dumbledore said sharply.

“I will be the judge of that.” Snape said. “The truth, please.”

“I quite agree.” Dumbledore said. “Though, I don’t believe Tom will be open to it.”

Harry blinked confusedly for a brief second before his own wand appeared in his hand in a rush of anger. He wasn’t sure how useful it would be against Dumbledore, but he’d used magic he didn’t know earlier today, so there was a distinct chance it could happen again.

He wasn’t positive he wanted it to happen again, but if it did, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I am not Tom Riddle!” Harry said fiercely. “When you wrong two people and they both call you out, it doesn’t make them the same!” He added as he thought of the uncomfortably similar way Dumbledore treated Tom’s request to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays to Harry’s. He sometimes struggled to recall everything he’d learnt from the memory within Tom’s diary, but he clearly remembered his plea to stay somewhere safe. “You’re the one that stayed the same! You’re the problem!”

Harry could admit to having learnt of a few more similarities recently, but there weren’t enough to rename him as Voldemort and treat him as if they were the same two people. The urge to look Dumbledore in the eye flew through him, but he remained safely behind Snape, for all the good it would do.

“Severus, I cannot judge this situation without investigating thoroughly.” Dumbledore said as he rounded the corner of his desk. “Please let me through.”

The noisy collection rattling over the shelves began to settle into a dull, blurry sound.

“Explain why you believe the Dark Lord is present.” Snape said sharply. “And why my dark mark isn’t burning despite your belief that he is here.”

Dumbledore paused. “Harry, does your scar hurt?” He asked.

Harry looked upwards despite knowing he couldn’t see his scar. It hadn’t burned in the last few hours, nor had it woken with any truly angered response in the last week. It burned on and off, but no less than what Harry’d grown accustomed to.

“No.” He said as he trailed an oddly stiff finger over the jagged scar. It hadn’t hurt when he’d seen Nagini, and Harry wasn’t sure if he should be worried about that or not.

“You have no answer for that question then?” Snape asked. “Answer the next one instead, did you attempt to curse Harry at Privet Drive?”

“No.” Dumbledore said.

Harry finally felt safe enough to peer around Snape, though he wished he hadn’t. Dumbledore’s blue eyes had flattened and no longer seemed to suit him.

“Then what were you about to do?” Harry asked, unable to look away from Dumbledore’s eerie expressionless face.

He wondered if he’d fallen into his thoughts, as a stiffness trailed from his fingers and into his chest.

“I was going to investigate to what extent Tom is able to possess you.” Dumbledore said in a frail voice. “You ran away before I could help you.”

“You intimidated and scared a child after having ensured they’d grow up in an abusive household.” Snape snapped. “You have no right to be upset.”

Harry nodded despite his tight neck and he wished he could argue against having been called scared. He had been scared of course, but not enough to let it get the better of him. Everyone acted as if fear stopped Harry in his tracks when really, all it did was add one more thing to suffer through.

“Harry, I cannot apologize enough for my actions.” Dumbledore said as his shoulders softened and he began to age before their eyes. “If I had known what it would come to, I would have been more careful.”

“Meaning?” Snape asked with a careful twirl of his wand.

Harry blinked as he realized the stiff feeling was loosening with each twirl. He realized with a sudden horrible feeling that he’d forgotten to keep track of Dumbledore’s wand. Something had kept his eyes firmly on the old wizard’s face despite his fear about what Dumbledore might do if given a chance to act.

“Severus, I must see him.” Dumbledore said, rather than answering. “I can see him on your terms, when he is unable to fight back, or I will send you away and see him all the same.”

Harry flinched as his neck cracked in an uncomfortably painless way from the tension warring across his shoulder blades.

“Have you tried asking for permission?” Snape asked.

Dumbledore folded his hands in front of himself. “Harry, may I perform a highly invasive magical procedure in an attempt to ascertain whether or not you’ve been possessed by Voldemort? I can promise you it will be painless.”

Harry shook his head ‘no’ in a wild movement. He couldn’t imagine a worse sort of experience. What if Dumbledore learned he knew of the prophecy?

“Ah, you see, Severus.” Dumbledore said.

Snape scoffed.

“I will not tolerate any more delays in ensuring Hogwarts’s safety, Severus.” Dumbledore said as his eyes found Snape’s. Whatever had trapped Harry’s attention earlier, broke without his eye contact to maintain it. “Harry, prepare to shrink to the floor in a short moment, I do apologize, but I will be removing anything masking your appearance and that will include the potion Severus has kindly brewed for you.”

Snape’s wand jerked as Harry shouted and reached for his mum’s necklace. His hand froze in its tracks and the floor rushed to meet him as he fell to the floor at a steep incline. Snape’s dark cloak surrounded him and he was caught seconds before slamming into the floor.

Vertigo swung through him as his arms and legs shrank in on themselves in an almost sluggish afterthought.

“Albus!”

Snape shouted as he flicked his wand in a quick arc and shrunk Harry’s uniform to fit him. Harry covered his ears at the sudden noise surrounding him and desperately wished he’d remained fifteen. Fear exploded through him and left his tongue numb and dots glittering in his eyes. Dumbledore’s quick, clinical treatment of him carved a hollow and rotten feeling through his insides.

It was logical for Dumbledore to want to protect Hogwarts, but Harry felt that as a student within it, he should be awarded the same protection.

“Harry, open your eyes wide for me, please. This will be painless, I promise.” Dumbledore said as he stepped closer.

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.

“How are we going to get there?” Harry asked. He didn’t fancy apparating, though he knew well enough they couldn’t apparate from within the castle, as Hermione’s chiding voice reminded him.



He tossed a brief, cautious look around the room. An uncomfortable worry itched in his skin and pushed at him to hide from the wide open space. He inched farther beneath Snape’s long, dark cloak and wondered if it was normal to feel so comforted by a piece of fabric. It was true that Snape’s cloak felt almost cupboard like, but there was something far safer about it.



It made his thoughts spin a little less violently, and his fears a bit quieter.



Snape didn’t seem inclined to move very much with Harry as close as he was. Every few moments, one of his long fingers helped to brush away tears, and Harry found he didn’t mind the small touch.



It was a struggle to pin down what exactly bothered him, given how his thoughts and feelings still felt a bit off. Snape’s potion sorted his memories into something resembling order, but his thoughts about himself and his own life seemed to dance just out of reach.



He couldn’t seem to grasp anything important at the moment, but maybe that’d been Dumbledore’s intention?



If Harry was frightened and confused, he was unable to focus his anger.



“We can floo to Spinner’s End from my fireplace and from there, we can apparate.” Snape’s voice rumbled around Harry. “That isn’t the case with every professor’s fireplace, however, I needed a convenient exit, given my employment with the Dark Lord.



Harry nodded and his too small fingers clenched around the neck of the potion bottle Snape had given him. He idly thought again of what would happen with Malfoy, but he wasn’t bothered enough to give it much consideration.



“Do you think I have time to change?” He asked after a moment.



He wasn’t sure if he meant his clothes or age, but he hoped for both. He knew Sirius wouldn’t mind seeing his school uniform, but he doubted he’d be as uncaring about Harry’s age.



“Clothes?” Snape asked.



“Age.” Harry hiccoughed bitterly.



“You do have time.” Snape said in a careful tone.



Harry blinked through several angry tears as he looked up at Snape.



“I am nervous to give you the antidote,” Snape said after he helped to sweep them from Harry’s cheek. “Not because I believe it won’t help, but because it will change the duration you’re fifteen for.”



Somewhere in Harry’s mind, that logic made sense.



“I don’t want to be six, though.” He sniffled in frustration. “I don’t want Sirius to see me at six either.”



A small crease pinched at Snape’s eyebrows and his hands twitched in his lap.



“Please?” Harry asked around his tight throat. He had a feeling he’d be more reasonable if he was his correct age, especially given how difficult it was to pick through the waves of confusion and misery surrounding him. His antidote was easy enough to take in two days anyway, and he could just hide in a toilet or broom cupboard and swallow the correct dose.



It was essentially the same thing he’d been doing, only he’d slipped away in the early morning before anyone awoke.



Snape’s hair slipped forward and covered his face for a long moment.



Harry shuddered inwardly as he struggled to keep his mouth shut. He half felt Snape should offer to give it to him, solely for being partly responsible in Harry’s circumstances. A needy feeling pushed at him to beg until he received what he wanted, but Aunt Petunia’s voice quickly drowned it out. It was Harry’s own fault for his circumstances, given that he’d been the one to burst into Snape’s office and speak parseltongue. If he hadn’t done that, he wouldn't be six.



He tried to choke back the lump creeping up his throat. He knew it made more sense for him to remain six until the morning, despite how he felt.



Snape’s lips tightened before he climbed slowly to his feet and tugged at his cloak until it fell safely around the two of them.



Harry slipped closer still.



One of Snape’s hands appeared in an open offer to carry him, but he didn’t think he could handle being out from under Snape’s cloak at the moment, despite the uncomfortable similarity it held to his cupboard. Harry took hold of Snape’s trouser leg instead.



Snape seemed to understand as he slowly made his way back toward the medicine cabinet, though this time with Harry in tow. “I might give you a false detention Sunday, or a note, to give you a wider window of opportunity to take the antidote again.” He said as he plucked the correct phial from the collection. “I would rather you feel comfortable now though, given what you’ve gone through.” A gentle hand carded through Harry’s fringe and he took back the small red bottle and traded it for the antidote. “You can take the time to relax, or practice Occluding.”



Harry nodded. “Thank you.” He said thickly.



He blinked at the small phial from his hiding place. He was reminded in an odd, fuzzy way of the first time Snape had hugged him without Harry having silently asked. He hadn’t fully understood why any adult would’ve helped him without his having asked, and even now, he struggled to understand why he’d been given what he wanted.



“You’re welcome to stay in my chambers tonight, if you’d prefer.” Snape said after a long moment. “Though I don’t want you to feel as if you have to, which is why I offered to bring you to your godfather. I would rather you feel safe. If you do choose to visit your godfather and take that,” He pointed toward Harry’s antidote. “I believe it would be wiser to do so from within your godfather’s house.”



Harry rubbed at his eyes and was glad to find that he’d stopped crying.



“I want to go,” He started with another sniffle. “I don’t know if the castle feels the safest right now.”



“Where feels the safest?” Snape asked.



Harry shook his head ‘no’ and stared pointedly at his trainers. Germany felt the safest. His eyes burned once more when he remembered Dumbledore knew of Ms Eileen’s house, though he squeezed them shut and willed himself to quit crying. He hadn’t ever felt the need to hide like this when he’d stayed in Germany, nor even before then, despite the terror he’d felt at times.



He felt safest around Snape, even if he was angry about Snape’s involvement in his current age. Despite having the potion in his hand, he couldn’t bring himself to take it, not while he knew Snape preferred for him to remain six.



Snape leant over and tucked Ms Eileen’s knit throw a little tighter around Harry’s shoulders.



He didn’t seem inclined to push for an answer, but Harry wasn’t interested in making him wait.



“Maybe just somewhere without Dumbledore.” He said with a whisper. “What if Spinner’s End is being watched though?” He asked as the dreadful thought swung into the forefront of his mind. “How can we apparate? What if we’re seen? I don’t have my invisibility cloak and I can’t go get it now!”



Snape brushed a finger down his nose.



“That’s why I recommend taking the antidote in your godfather’s house. You’re easier to hide at this size than you are at fifteen.”



Harry swallowed thickly.



“It’s also the safest and most direct route.” Snape added in a soft voice. “It’s unlikely that my house is being watched at the moment, as it’s a known fact that I am at Hogwarts. Likewise, as far as anyone is aware, you are no longer six.”



“Oh.” Harry said as he twisted the phial in his fingers.



He tried to pull himself together, but he belatedly realized that he’d need to leave Snape’s cloak if they were going to floo to Spinner’s End. He wasn’t sure he fancied seeing Snape’s house as a six year old again, especially given how he’d last left it.



“How are we going to get back here?” He asked. A piece of him couldn’t decide if he was delaying the inevitable intentionally, or not.



“We can floo from Grimmauld Place. We just can’t floo into it.” Snape answered. “Additionally, I have no doubt that if you tell your godfather you don’t want Dumbledore allowed entry, Dumbledore will not enter.”



Harry nodded and shivered as he pushed himself to leave his comfortable hiding space. His mum’s necklace warmed comfortingly, and Harry was more than glad for it.



Snape slipped smoothly to his knees as Harry stepped out.



“He’s the secret keeper though, isn’t he?” Harry asked as the wide sitting room surrounded him. He twisted and looked up at Snape as a nervous tremble rattled through him at just how open it was. He ought to have given it a bit more thought before he’d left Snape’s cloak, but he didn’t think he could crawl back beneath it now.



Snape spun his wand in a short movement and Harry felt a cleaning charm whisper over his face.



His hand appeared again seconds later in an open offer and this time Harry took it. He found himself held carefully against Snape’s chest and shortly after, the sound of a wand waved through the air and warmed his school jumper.



“Yes, he is the secret keeper.” Snape said as Harry dropped his head onto his shoulder. “Awareness of a location doesn’t always grant others the right to enter those areas though, does it?”



“He treated Aunt Petunia’s house as if he could come and go from it.” Harry mumbled.



He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind that being upset on Aunt Petunia’s behalf was a waste of energy, but he felt upset all the same. It hadn’t helped Harry when Dumbledore abused her sense of decorum, seeing as Harry was the one to endure her displeasure in the aftermath.



“Tuney is a separate case,” Snape said as he slowly made his way toward the fireplace. “I won’t speak on Dumbledore’s current behaviour, but in his own way, I believe he felt your needs came above Tuney’s.”



Harry gave an angered huff. “He was wrong.”



“You and I know full well that no one’s needs outweigh Tuney’s.” Snape nodded. “But Dumbledore is unaware of how it feels to be the less powerful party for any sort of duration.” He added as he curled a large hand carefully around Harry’s back. “He hasn’t experienced a fear for himself from those around him, and doesn’t understand those who do. As far as he understands, family loves one another,” Snape said. He stopped before the dusty fireplace and pulled Harry a bit more securely to him. “At least according to him.”



Harry shook his head ‘no’. He couldn’t believe Dumbledore had never experienced real fear from his family. Everyone felt fear. Everyone was on the losing side at some point in their life.



Ron feared Fred and George when they’d transfigured his bear into a spider. Harry was fairly positive Hermione would have a similar memory as well, though as she’d had no siblings, it’d have likely come from her parents. Even Dudley feared Harry every once in a while.



Everyone must’ve feared their family in one way or another.



“How’s that possible?” Harry asked.



“Long term fear, Harry.” Snape said. Harry caught the slight lilt his voice took on when he taught in class. “He is aware of minor infractions, but fails to grasp how loved ones can care for one another and yet, harm them in turn.”



Harry scoffed.



“He would be distraught to learn of the irony in that sentence.” Snape said. “Are you prepared to visit your godfather?”



“I think so.” Harry nodded as inhaled deeply.



He was positive he didn’t want to remain in the castle anymore, not while Dumbledore was able to find him at any moment.



“Do you want me to hold the antidote for you while we travel?” Snape asked.



Harry blinked at the small phial in his hand and nodded at Snape before passing it over. He wondered idly why Snape had even given it to him in the first place, but put it down to his wanting Harry to feel in charge of something, given the last hour.



Snape snatched a handful of floo powder and stepped into the dusty fireplace. He shouted out ‘Spinner’s End’ in a clear voice and the two of them swung through space before being spat out on the small welcome mat in Snape’s cellar.



Harry shuddered as he thought again of the last time he’d been in the house. He couldn’t quite keep himself from nervously searching for Avery.



He wasn’t sure if Avery was dead or not, now that he thought of it. He only remembered the damp park and the gruesome way Padfoot’s snout had glittered bloodily beneath the moonlight. After he’d landed in Germany, he’d put the terrifying experience out of his mind and moved onto bigger problems.



“Is Avery alive?” Harry’s small voice cracked and echoed through the dark potions lab. He quickly spotted the foggy, glass windows and he tried to spy if any evening sunlight managed to peek through, but instead found that night had fallen sometime after their conversation with Dumbledore.



Snape stepped quickly up the stairs and into the crooked hallway. They passed the cramped sitting room Harry’d slept in during his first night here and made for the long entryway.



“Yes.” Snape said as he tossed Ms Eileen’s knit throw over Harry’s head and helped to bundle him a bit tighter into the fabric. “He’s in Azkaban through Mad-Eye Moody’s doing.”



Harry regretted asking.



“Lie still for a moment please.” Snape added with a whisper before holding a finger to his lips and signaling to be quiet. He flicked his wand in a move too sharp to follow before what felt like an egg cracked over Harry’s head in a disorienting feeling.



Harry caught sight of an odd camouflage effect covering him and nearly asked what had happened, but kept silent after remembering he wasn’t supposed to talk.



Snape seemed to decide it was safe to leave the house then.



Rain dampened his knit hood and he almost forgot he was meant to stay still as the urge to look around washed over him. He wanted to see if the neighbourhood surrounding Spinner’s End had stayed the same as the eerie house. It didn’t seem as if things changed the way they did at Privet Drive, but that may only be because Harry knew where to look. The flowerbeds all turned with the seasons, as had fresh coats of paint on fences and mail boxes.



He couldn’t remember having seen a fence at Spinner’s End, now that he thought of it.



Snape’s hand tightened around Harry in a subtle forewarning for apparition and Harry was glad for it. He sucked in a quick breath and felt as if he was shoved through a tube seconds later.



A resounding crack echoed around them and Harry’s hood was soaked as heavy rain poured down onto them. The sound of a heavy door sliding opened rang in his ears before his hood was quickly pulled free and a drying charm swept over him.



The entryway looked a fair bit more grubby than the last time Harry’d been in it and he half wondered if that was due to Mrs Weasley spending less time in the house. He wasn’t sure if that was the case though, as he hadn’t known if she’d returned to The Burrow after the school term began.



A faint pop rang through the dusty hallway as Snape dried himself off as well.



“Master Severus,” Kreacher croaked as he gave a low bow. “Kreacher will prepare a cup of tea. Nasty weather to be travelling in.”



“No, thank you.” Snape said.



Harry shook his head as his hair sprung wild over his head.



Kreacher blinked at Harry and his sharp eyes narrowed. “Master Severus brought Master’s godson again.”



“I did.” Snape said in a careful tone. “Is Black currently in the house?”



Kreacher nodded and croaked, “Yes.” His eyes flickered down the hallway to his left and his knobby fingers knotted into the damp and ragged tea towel he wore. “Master Severus shouldn’t be bothering, bad blood.”



Harry blinked at Kreacher and tried to remember if he’d ever had formally met him before. He remembered Ron describing him once, but aside from catching a glimpse or two when they’d visited Grimmauld Place over the summer, Harry hadn’t actually introduced himself.



It felt a bit belated to do so now, but he hoped it’d make Kreacher less displeased with him.



“Erm,” Harry started awkwardly. “Pleased to meet you, Kreacher, I don’t think we ever formally met.”



Kreacher’s thin upper lip curled unpleasantly.



“I’m Harry,” He added and wondered if he should climb down to shake Kreacher’s hand. Snape hadn’t made any movement though, so he stayed near his chest.



He tossed a nervous look at Snape, and worried after realizing he hadn’t taken his eyes from Kreacher.



“Kreacher makes it’s acquaintance.” Kreacher finally rasped after a long, uncomfortable moment. It didn’t look as if Harry’s introduction helped at all, given how suspiciously Kreacher now regarded him. Harry wasn’t sure what might help though, what with how drastically different Winky and Dobby’s opinions on house elf etiquette had been.



“Inform Black of our arrival, Kreacher.” Snape said before stepping past Kreacher and moving further into the house. “Lupin as well. If Lupin is out, request him and stall Black until Lupin gets in.”



Kreacher snapped his fingers and disappeared with a quiet pop.



“I thought you said we were visiting Sirius.” Harry said as Snape lowered him to the ground. “I don’t mind Lupin, but if you’re here, why can’t we see Sirius?” He asked as Snape pulled the antidote from his pocket and passed it over.



“Because your godfather typically needs more than one other adult to keep him sane.” Snape murmured.



Eager footsteps pounded down a staircase, forcing Harry to quickly swallow the antidote. The thought of Sirius spotting him at six nearly had him choking around it.



He somehow doubted Kreacher attempted to stall Sirius at all and wondered if he didn’t like Snape as much as Ron had previously believed.



Snape flicked his wand and altered Harry’s uniform as he grew to his correct height.



“Harry!?” Sirius’s panicked form swung around the corner and collided with Snape seconds after Harry’d returned to his normal height. “Bloody—”



Harry jerked and moved to step in between them before a fight could break out, but his worry turned out to be unnecessary, as the two separated with a frustrated sound.



Sirius looked angry enough to start something, and that was often the only catalyst they needed when he and Snape were in the same room together, but he inhaled deeply instead and turned toward Harry.



“Kreacher said you were six again.” He said as his hands floated nervously near Harry, before stalling with an odd jerk. “He said you’d turned up like a drowned cat and were dripping all over his entryway.”



Snape sniffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is Lupin in the house?”



“He’s in the library, but that doesn’t explain why you’re here—”



Snape rolled his eyes and muttered something beneath his breath about Kreacher. He motioned for Harry to follow him and pushed past Sirius.



“Perhaps these conversations will be more productive in the kitchen?”



“What conversations?” Sirius asked as he trailed after the two of them. “Last I heard Harry was tucked safe and sound. You can’t turn up, unannounced on my doorstep and assume I’ll be anything less than worried, Snape.”



The entryway fed into a thin shabby hallway. Harry gladly noted how it felt a fair bit less oppressive when he was a proper size. The high ceilings loomed overhead and seemed likely to collapse in on themselves when Harry’d been small.



“Harry?” Sirius slipped between him and Snape and his grey eyes narrowed on Harry’s. “Nothing dreadful’s happened, has it?” He asked with a whisper.



Harry blinked at Sirius and leant sideways as he looked past him to where Snape had disappeared into the kitchen. He idly noted how he came up to Sirius’s chest now and wondered if Sirius felt it was odd for Harry to be so tall, given how short he’d been recently.



Perhaps though, Harry only thought that way because he was the one changing sizes.



He reached out and something in his chest loosened as Sirius eagerly hugged him. Sirius couldn’t have known about the day he’d had, but if he did, Harry felt he’d have come to Hogwarts and retrieved Harry himself. Harry almost wished Sirius already knew of his confusing episode with Voldemort. He wanted to know if Sirius would react the same way as Snape had.



He doubted he’d have let Dumbledore search his mind as Snape had, but then, it was likely very frightening to watch Harry behave like Voldemort. Maybe he would’ve asked Dumbledore for help as well?



“Erm.” He stammered after Sirius let him go.



He wasn’t sure laying everything out on Sirius at once would be the best idea, but he knew he couldn’t keep it from him for much longer. They were already in his house, if Harry’d wanted to keep things a secret, he shouldn’t have agreed to visit.



“We don’t really know all of what’s happened, actually. Dumbledore thought I was possessed, but then, I wasn’t. And Snape didn’t really know what to do, so,” Harry said before anger began to cloud his thoughts. “And Umbridge too. There’s this—” He paused and phantom ribbons slipped over lips in a silk-like glide as he thought of whatever Umbridge had poisoned him with. He pointed toward them, despite knowing no one else had ever been able to see them. He wondered suddenly if anyone else could feel them.



A fierce stubbornness overtook his thoughts as Hermione’s earlier guess rang in his ears. She thought Umbridge was waiting for him to beg her to cure him.



He felt Sirius would approve of testing the limits on how visible Harry’s ribbon problem was. A piece of Harry worried his emotions were too chaotic to trust at the moment, but he ignored it.



“Actually, don’t think I’m mental, but, can I borrow your hand?” Harry asked.



Sirius’s eyes darkened and a look of deep concern washed over his face, but he held his hand up to Harry.



“Voldemort’s bac—” Harry said forcefully before ribbons rushed across his jaw and burned atop his lips. Harry brought Sirius’s hand toward them as quickly as he could, despite Sirius looking more panicked by the second. The reality that Sirius likely couldn’t feel them set in, and Harry tried to force himself to accept what he’d need to say in order to make them stop. The burning built painfully before he finally sucked in a gasp, and allowed the ribbons to careen into his mouth.



“Anapneo!” Sirius shouted with a swish of his wand.



Harry wondered idly why Hermione hadn’t thought to use that spell when they’d been discussing ways to alleviate his symptoms, but he quickly discovered why.



The ribbons flew farther down his throat for one heart pounding moment before resurging to block his airway. Harry’s knees buckled against the exhaustion weakening him, but someone caught him before he hit the floor.



“Black!” Snape’s voice surrounded them as white spots began to dot Harry’s vision. The hallway flickered before him as the ribbons let up for a brief second, letting him gasp for air. Once more, Harry found he knew what to say in order to make them stop, though the phrase altered itself to suit Harry’s previous statement.



“Who hexed him!?” Sirius shouted.



“I must-n’t tell lies!” Harry choked despite the fierce bitterness he felt at speaking. “I shouldn’t have spoken out, I-I just haven’t found my feet.”



The ribbons retreated with a slow slippery caress and Harry breathed freely once more. He tried to contain the humiliation curling through him for having messed with Umbridge’s potion, but shuddered despite himself.



He looked up and found it was Sirius who’d caught him, as his hands were tight around Harry’s upper arms and he didn’t seem inclined to let him go.



A sickly pallor washed across Snape’s face as he pushed past Sirius to help Harry up.



Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to be helped up. He desperately wanted to hide again.



The hallway felt too open and Snape’s cloak was no longer an option.



He’d rather die than find a cupboard while Sirius was present though. Sirius had never seen him run for a cupboard and if Harry had his way, he never would.



Sirius slowly managed to pry his fingers from Harry’s arms once his knees were a bit more stable. He wanted to fall against the wall and not move again for a while, but stubbornness kept him standing.



“Who hexed Harry?” Sirius asked quietly as he looked toward Snape.



Harry flinched backwards as Lupin appeared before him. “I’m not positive I’d call that a hex.” He said before leaning back as quickly as he’d come. He gave Harry a careful look, but didn’t raise his wand near him. Harry spied it making a slow circle near his thigh instead and was reminded unpleasantly of Dumbledore’s discreet spell work from earlier. “We’ve been a bit in the dark it’d seem.”



Sirius’s hands fluttered near Harry once more, though they dropped back to his sides seconds later. “Cuppa tea.” He said in a weak voice. Harry couldn’t tell if he was speaking to himself or not. “Let’s get a cuppa tea.” He said again as he turned slowly and stumbled into the kitchen. “Cuppa tea.”



Lupin eyed Harry and gestured for him to follow after. His wand continued to spin, though he neglected to say why. Harry couldn’t tell if it was intentional spell casting or just habit either.



“We’re right behind you Harry.” Lupin added when Harry failed to move.



Harry wished he’d just kept his mouth shut rather than having dumped everything on Sirius. He wished he hadn’t decided to visit and he wished he’d asked to go to Germany instead.



He wished Dumbledore hadn’t found out about Germany.



Lupin gave his arm a gentle squeeze and nudged him toward Snape before stepping around the two of them and heading into the kitchen. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d guessed Harry’d needed a moment to calm down, or if he’d grown sick of waiting for him to leave.



He’d thought being fifteen would chase away the confusion and misery left by Dumbledore, but he’d been sorely mistaken. He rubbed at his face and tried to push off the dread weighing down on his shoulders.



“I don’t know why I did that.” He mumbled into his hands.



“Testing the limits of problems like the one you’re experiencing isn’t unusual.” Snape said softly.



Harry blinked through his fingers and caught sight of the deep purple rings beneath Snape’s eyes and how truly exhausted he looked. Some colour had returned to his cheeks, though he didn’t look well at all.



Why hadn’t he just stayed in the Common Room with Ron and Hermione?



“I wish I hadn’t. I’m sick of worrying about them.” A ribbon slipped past his lips. “I’m sick of her winning.” He said as he scratched at his eyes.



“She won’t win in the end.” Snape said. “Several of your blood samples will be ready soon, and we will have a bit more information after that.”



“If it’s a potion.” Harry moaned. He almost asked what they’d do if it wasn’t, but he couldn’t bear putting more stress on Snape. He looked as if he was as desperate for a reprieve as Harry was.



“You won’t remain this way indefinitely.” Snape said as he gently tugged Harry’s hands from his face. “Dolores Umbridge is a Ministry official. She is skilled in bureaucracy, that’s distinctly separate from magic. She succeeded in getting a hold of you, which is a mark toward her skill in bureaucracy, but she is unaware her actions left traces and that means she is unaware of the multitude of ways we can go about removing it.”



Harry blinked at stains littering Snape’s long fingers.



“We now have a previous defense professor and an ex Auror present.” Snape said as he pointed toward the doorway. “Both of whom, despite my consistent disbelief, give pause to certain Death Eaters.”



He knew how skilled both Lupin and Sirius were, but Harry still wished he hadn’t unleashed the full extent of his problems all at once.



He should have just kept his mouth shut and written Sirius like Hermione wanted him to.



“Harry?” Sirius appeared at the doorway. “Are you alright, prongslet?”



Harry inhaled slowly and nodded.



They made their way into the kitchen and Harry spotted Mrs Weasley’s faded red kettle steaming on the hob. Harry wondered if Mrs Weasley did spend more time at Grimmauld Place than The Burrow. He couldn’t guess why else she’d have left the kettle.



Lupin handed a mug to Harry and tried to push Sirius into a chair, but Sirius couldn’t seem to sit still. The panicked look that’d pinched his face had faded and a darker one overtook it once more.



“I think I’d like to circle back to the hex.” Sirius said. “Given how bloody awful that is to watch.”



“I’m still unsure I’d call it a hex.” Lupin said. He dropped his hands into the pockets of his cardigan. Harry wondered idly where his wand was. “It reminds me of a gagging curse.”



“It’s hard to hit someone with something like that though,” Sirius’s eyes flickered to Lupin. “It takes over a minute to cast and it’s nearly impossible to do subtly. In fact I’d say it is impossible to do subtly.”



“That doesn’t rule it out.” Lupin said.



“Can you explain what happens when it’s triggered?” Sirius asked.



Harry shook his head ‘no’.



“Thought not.” Sirius sniffed before spinning on his heel to look at Snape. “What have you found, then?”



Harry blinked between the two of them and wondered if they’d had a conversation without Harry at some point recently. Neither looked pleased to be in the other’s company, but they also didn’t look ready to kill.



“She used tea, either as a means for gagging or a method for keeping Harry still while she cast.” Snape said. “Blood results need a new moon.”



“Harry isn’t thick though.” Sirius said before he looked at Harry. “You wouldn’t have just sat and let her drug or curse you.”



Harry shook his head. “It wasn’t like that, she was—” His hands stuttered before him as he tried to explain the odd silence that’d surrounded him while she’d asked him about his summer. “It was really confusing. She was really odd—” He stammered.



“We can use your memories to better understand.” Snape said.



Sirius nodded. “We’ll do that next then. Is that why you came here?” He asked after inhaling deeply.



“Not entirely.” Harry said before rubbing at his nose.



“You are safer than the castle currently.” Snape said, relieving Harry from having to say it aloud. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him to acknowledge the vulnerability he felt about wandering the castle and he promised himself to use the map more often from now on.



Sirius nodded. “And what Kreacher said earlier, about you being six?” He asked as he looked at Harry. “Is that something we’re looking out for?”



Harry belatedly realized that while he still felt too out in the open, having the three of them present made him feel safer, in its own way.



“And Voldemort.” Harry said as he began trying to relay everything that’d happened today.

“A dialogue. That’s all we’re asking for, it doesn’t have to be everyday.” Lupin’s soft voice echoed from the kitchen as Harry watched himself in the mirror. His mum’s necklace warmed steadily against his chest.

He wondered idly if hiding in a bathroom was similar to hiding in a cupboard, but he supposed the two weren’t quite the same, as he didn’t think people often voluntarily stayed in cupboards. The bathroom, on the other hand, wasn’t an entirely uncommon place to hang about in.

Ron and Hermione had hidden in a bathroom with Harry for a fairly good amount of time in their second year. They’d been brewing polyjuice, rather than hiding though.

Neither Snape nor Sirius had said Harry couldn’t hide in the bathroom, though Harry hadn’t expressly asked them either. He wasn’t sure why he’d excused himself, aside from a generally unpleasant nervousness.

Dull fingernails worried over his wrists as he considered his behaviour.

He wasn’t afraid of the argument going on. Harry’d never been afraid of an argument before and he wasn’t going to start now. There’d never been a time when he’d hidden from the Dursleys for fear of their opinion of him. The same went for Snape, Sirius and Lupin.

He’d willingly begun explaining his mess in the first place. The argument in the kitchen was his doing.

Sirius’s anger was understandable, even expected, though Harry felt he should’ve been more prepared for it. He hadn’t thought ahead when Snape suggested visiting Sirius, and he should’ve realized in advance what all would come about from their conversation.

Especially a conversation where they were asking for help.

Harry understood why they needed all the facts as well, given how little he’d had to be getting on with in years past. He knew neither Sirius nor Lupin could’ve begun to help them if they didn’t have all the information.

Poorly informed people were rarely helpful.

All the same, Harry wished he’d thought things through a bit more.

His fingernails trailed up his hands and worried over his knuckles. He’d gone into the conversation overwhelmed and still a bit confused from Dumbledore’s search.

That was somewhat fair though, wasn’t it? Harry’d had a horrible day and re-telling it hadn’t helped make him feel better. He would’ve far preferred to fall into his bed in Ms Eileen’s house and never think of any of these troubles again.

He’d gone back and forth multiple times throughout the story, and even though Snape tried to clarify the details, Harry only wound up muddying them further after having to explain it wasn’t the first time he’d heard Nagini in his head. He hadn’t enjoyed remembering the cupboard, nor did he think his rushing through it helped Sirius or Lupin.

He’d initially tried to explain why Nagini was more real than imagined by bringing up Pettigrew’s gruesome hand, but everything fell flat after that. How could he talk about that without sounding cracked in the head?

Mentioning Pettigrew around Sirius and Lupin was a cruel punishment as well, as Harry didn’t know how he’d feel hearing someone talk about Ron or Hermione if they’d betrayed him so thoroughly. Harry should’ve written Sirius, like Hermione suggested. He could’ve taken more time explaining himself and kept the more horrifying experiences quiet.

Nausea swooped in his stomach as he thought once more of what he’d seen during Dumbledore’s search, and as his reflection stared back at him, his sore eyes tracked over his face in the grimy mirror, searching for any resemblance to Tom Riddle.

No matter where he looked, he couldn’t find any trace of Voldemort, aside from his scar, which prickled ever presently. Maybe Harry’s eyes were more bloodshot and red than average, but he felt that had more to do with Dumbledore than anything Harry’d done.

He forced away a shudder as the tunnels in his mind seemed to throb despite having been closed up.

“Not even an owl though!?” Sirius shouted. “Or a fire-call!”

Guilt bit his stomach, and Harry cursed himself for not having swallowed his pride and faced Sirius and Lupin’s anger directly.

Harry wasn’t six anymore, despite how recently he’d grown. He shouldn’t leave others to suffer his punishment. There was something distinctly childish about leaving Snape alone to apologize for Harry’s mistakes.

If Snape apologized at all.

Harry silently berated himself for having even considered that option. He couldn’t imagine why Snape would bother, given how he hated Sirius and Lupin. They weren’t Snape’s mistakes either, Snape had nothing to apologize for when it came to them.

Snape hadn’t kept Sirius and Lupin in the dark, Harry did. Snape hadn’t cursed a student or spoken parseltongue, Harry did.

He wished he knew what’d been on Sirius’s mind while they’d explained Harry’s use of parseltongue. Sirius wasn’t often difficult to read, but the look on his face loomed in Harry’s thoughts.

He picked mindlessly at a hangnail and tried to shake the fuzziness from his thoughts.

He’d watched Harry in a distinctly mistrustful way, though Harry couldn’t tell if he’d been mistrustful of Voldemort or Harry himself. At least he hadn’t begun calling Harry, Tom. Dumbledore was the only person to do that so far.

Did Sirius know Voldemort’s name was Tom?

“How can we trust—”

Sirius’s shout was cut off by the sound of a chair tipping and Harry’s eyes flashed to the door. He listened and waited out a long, heart pounding moment for if fight had broken out, but an uncomfortably still silence lingered instead.

A discordant storm of footsteps neared the landing just outside the bathroom door, followed quickly by Lupin’s strained voice.

“—Reasonable! You have got to be reasonable.”

“I am being reasonable!” Sirius bit back with a sharp whisper. “I’m trying to help—”

“You cannot help Harry by hurting the people he trusts.” Lupin said. “You know this.”

“I know that I know.” Sirius said furiously. “I don’t need the reminder.”

Someone heaved a heavy sigh and Harry wobbled in place, trying desperately to keep silent over the noisy floorboards.

“I know.”

“Alright.” Lupin answered softly. “You know what he’s like. We’ve gotten a pretty good picture over the last few months. Do you remember how it was with Lily?”

Harry jerked and threw caution to the wind as he picked his way across the floor. He didn't know Sirius’s house the same way he knew Privet Drive, but he could be balanced and careful when he needed to be.

“No.”

“That’s probably for the better,” Lupin said quietly. He added something else, though Harry couldn’t quite understand what it was he’d said. He dearly wished for a pair of extendable ears at that moment. “When you’re in a room with him, try to remember that he’s not a team player. He doesn’t have a wealth of experience relying on backup.”

“Everyone is a team player when it benefits them.” Sirius snapped.

“Snape isn’t.” Lupin said. Harry could almost hear a firm look in his eyes. “You know that's true, you’re the one who noticed that trait.”

Sirius scoffed. “I only noticed it after listening to you talk about him.”

“No, you made it separate from my theories.”

“Fine, you’re right. I had that thought when I was stressed and sixteen, but now I’m looking at Snape with a different pair of eyes, and I am painfully aware of how much I’ve failed to help in the past and how much help Harry actually needs.”

Harry grimaced. He could admit he needed help with his ribbon problem and Voldemort, which were horrible in turn, but Harry didn’t feel desperate for a tremendous amount of help otherwise.

Without Umbridge and Voldemort to worry about, he’d probably be happy as anything.

“You can’t expect someone who’s constantly alone to reach out at the first sign of trouble.” Lupin said in an odd voice.

“I’m-it’s not just Snape being Snape.” Sirius whispered. “I’m frustrated to not have known anything for weeks. I’m frustrated to be kept in the dark in this rotten house, doing nothing—”

“They came here to speak with you.” Lupin said.

Harry swallowed heavily. His earlier guilt poured through him once more and he wished he could rush from the bathroom and tell Sirius how much Harry valued him. He dreaded how his actions made Sirius feel left out.

He squeezed his eyes shut at himself.

It only made things worse when he considered how stoutly Sirius stood by Harry’s side, despite everything that’d happened. Even over the summer, Snape had mentioned Sirius arguing for Harry’s involvement in what decisions affected him.

Harry’s behaviour had been a pretty poor ‘thank you’.

“They did.” Sirius whispered.

“They went to Dumbledore—”

“Fat lot of good that did.”

Harry huffed a sardonic laugh.

“Padfoot.” Lupin made another odd sound and Harry felt his heart drop as he remembered Lupin’s unnaturally excellent hearing. “Think of the circumstances. Harry didn’t know what happened, nor was he himself. Any of us would’ve gone to Dumbledore, regardless of what might come from that. Remember when Harry passed out in Lily’s flat?”

Sirius made an uncomfortable sound.

“Imagine that, tenfold.”

Harry struggled to think back on what had happened at the time, as he’d been fairly sick and not paying attention.

He vaguely remembered having explained wanting to use his mum’s necklace as a portkey before falling into Nagini’s head and watching Bellatrix Lestrange be tortured. He’d landed back in his mum’s flat shortly after and found himself in the middle of a conversation with Snape, Sirius and Dumbledore. He couldn’t remember how he’d wound up in Dumbledore’s presence though, and he’d never considered what the three had talked about while he’d been with Nagini.

“That’s why we should’ve come with them to Dumbledore!” Sirius said furiously. “We might’ve been able to force him to explain this!”

“He said Harry wasn’t possessed.” Lupin said quietly. “That’s more than enough to be getting on with.”

“No it isn’t. This isn’t a ‘guess what I’m thinking’ game, this is Harry’s life!”

Anger burned in Harry’s chest and he wished suddenly that Sirius had come with them to Dumbledore’s meeting.

His fists clenched and his nails bit into his palms. Dumbledore likely wouldn’t have been able to stupefy both Sirius and Snape, and Sirius wouldn’t have let Dumbledore hunt through Harry’s thoughts so easily. Harry knew Snape hadn’t allowed Dumbledore to search through Harry either, just as Harry'd tried to stop him. Three on one was a bit different from one adult and a child sized person though, wasn’t it?

He tried to take a deep breath as he pictured the snitch, but it struggled to flutter into his mind. The concept of Occlumency seemed to only grow more difficult the longer he practiced, and he was beginning to doubt his ability to learn it.

“Harry?” Lupin called, shocking Harry from his thoughts.

Harry flinched and mentally berated the creaking floorboards beneath him.

“Are you alright in there?” Lupin asked.

Sirius whispered something, but it was cut off with a swift sound.

Harry shook his head ‘no’ at the faded, black door and lamented every decision he’d ever made. He was fairly sure Lupin couldn’t hear the quiet gesture and thanked the door for whatever modicum of privacy it gave him.

“Yes.” He croaked after a second.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Lupin asked.

Harry swallowed heavily as he stared at the dinged, antique glass knob before he pushed the door open and quickly spied Sirius and Lupin hunched together near a painted bannister. Sirius’s eyes lingered nervously on Harry, seeming to wait for him to say something, though Harry dreaded the idea of apologizing until he knew how to make up for his lack of communication. He wished the two had finished their conversation and Harry’d been able to escape before Lupin heard him, though, maybe Lupin had assumed Harry’d chosen that bathroom, and only remembered to check before continuing their conversation.

That seemed unlikely, given his hearing.

“There are glasses in the cabinet.” Lupin said as his head tilted toward the kitchen. “Should I show you where they are?”

“I wasn’t—” Harry started before clearing his throat. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, intentionally.” He said lamely. Aunt Petunia’s hatred for eavesdropping rose up his spine, though he crushed it before he could acknowledge it. It was very difficult to avoid listening in on conversations when his cupboard was in an echoey hallway. The door had slats on the wall as well, leaving it even more open. “I didn’t, I—”

“I didn’t accuse you of eavesdropping.” Lupin said kindly. “I thought I heard a worrying sound and asked how you were because of that.”

Harry blinked dumbly.

If Lupin meant one frustrated huff, then maybe he worried Harry was more cracked than he let on. Harry’d handled far more horrible problems than Umbridge and speaking parseltongue in his life before, the Triwizard Tournament wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for a fourth year, and neither was the graveyard.

“I’m not mental. I’m just stressed.” Harry quickly answered. “Which I think is fair, given everything that’s gone on!” He said as he waved a hand through the air and gestured toward the invisible problems.

“I didn’t say you were mental either.” Lupin said.

“Well—”

“Let’s get some water.” Lupin said with a nod before nudging Sirius toward the kitchen. He rifled through the baggy pockets of his cardigan and pulled out a bit of chocolate.

Harry’s fists clenched once more and he almost wanted to shout as he trailed after them. He wasn’t sure what it was he wanted to shout about, perhaps he wanted to force Lupin to admit he’d caught Harry eavesdropping, or admit he thought Harry was cracked, but Lupin seemed determined to be thick about it.

The crooked candelabras on the walls brightened as they passed by. Harry wasn’t sure how, but he was sure they were aware of his frustrated mood, and he wondered if thats why they’d brightened.

His mum’s necklace hummed warmly.

“I think it would be wise to change topics.” Lupin said as they slipped into the kitchen.

Snape sat up when he saw Harry and his eyes tracked over his face. He didn’t look angry to have sat through Sirius and Lupin’s frustration, but he didn’t look entirely pleased to still be present either.

Harry scratched idly over his wrists again.

“Let’s focus on your,” Lupin paused for a moment as he struggled to find the right wording. “Inability to discuss Voldemort’s rebirth.”

The ribbons slipped around Harry’s thoughts at Lupin’s comment and he tried to shake them away, but they danced through his thoughts regardless. He didn’t think anyone had spoken outright about Voldemort around Harry since they’d first tried exploring Harry’s ribbons, and he worried now that he’d miss details by being intentionally distracted.

Lupin stepped toward a cabinet and pulled a glass down before filling it with water and passing it to Harry. He broke off a piece of chocolate each for Sirius and Harry, before offering some to Snape, though Snape denied it.

Harry almost wished he’d taken a piece, it might help the three of them become better friends.

“Would it be possible for you to get Harry’s memory of the meeting with Umbridge, Severus?” Lupin asked as he looked toward Snape. “So we can search through it.”

Snape raised an eyebrow at the request, though he kept quiet as he stood and gave Harry a reassuring look before making his way toward the fireplace in the sitting room. Harry had a sudden memory of the time Snape had left him with Ms Eileen in the market while he ran a short errand. He knew it was illogical to worry about Snape choosing to leave permanently, but his heart thumped at the thought all the same. The floo gave a rushing sound as Snape called out the location for his house.

Harry fought the urge to run into the sitting room and check if he truly had gone. He wondered if Sirius or Lupin would think of his behaviour as childish if he sat and waited near the entryway.

No doubt they would.

“While Snape’s at it, try and describe what sensation—”

“Ribbons.” Harry said quickly before wondering if Lupin might be able to hear the way they slid over Harry’s face. “Ribbons, can you hear them?”

Lupin shook his head ‘no’. “I’m going to ask you some ‘yes and no’ questions, you nod or shake your head. Hopefully that’ll get around your inability to explain them.”

Harry nodded.

“Can you feel ribbons now?” Lupin asked.

Harry nodded again as they slid over his jaw.

Sirius rubbed a hand over his own jaw and helped guide Harry into a chair before falling into the seat next to him. “Do you feel them everyday, or only when Voldemort is mentioned?” He asked.

Lupin held up a hand. “Yes or no, Sirius.” He said. “Snape mentioned a babbling effect, and that might affect anyone listening to Harry, as well as Harry himself.” He added.

Condensation dripped down Harry’s glass and he set it onto the table quickly. He blinked toward the hallway that fed into the entryway and wondered how long it actually took to travel between the locations. Harry hadn’t felt it’d taken a very long time when he’d been with Snape, but then, they hadn’t been held up for any reasons. What if Dumbledore stopped Snape?

What if Umbridge stalled him?

The anger he’d felt upon hearing Snape working for Umbridge simmered beneath his skin. A frightfully possessive feeling crept up on him, but he tried to ignore it as he turned back to Lupin.

He belatedly realized his apprehension hadn’t been missed, as Lupin’s flat eyes watched Harry closely.

“Sorry, erm, were-er,” Harry stammered. “Were those the only questions?”

“No,” Lupin said with a slow shake of his head. “You mentioned having found a way around them?”

Harry nodded.

“Did you do that by swapping out Voldemort for You-Know-Who?” Lupin asked.

Harry shook his head ‘no’. “Mass-murdering megalomaniac.” He idly rubbed over his wrist and tried to ignore the urge to look toward the entryway once more, but he found himself quickly searching over the empty walls and floor despite himself.

“Both You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cause ribbons?”

“You-Know-Who doesn’t. I think she wants me afraid to say his name.” Harry said, remembering how strange it was for Umbridge to have chosen that name to be safe to say, if she wanted everyone to believe Voldemort was truly dead. “Neither does Tom Riddle.”

Sirius blinked. “Tom Riddle?” He asked as he tossed a quick look at Lupin.

“That’s his name.” Harry said. “Tom Marvolo Riddle Jnr.” The ribbons lay dormant as he thought of the name, which struck Harry as odd once more. He wondered if she thought Voldmort’s name was truly Lord Voldemort. “Though I don’t remember if Junior made it into his—” He flicked a hand at the glowing letters in his mind. They flickered past one another as they rearranged themselves before forming ‘I am Lord Voldemort’. “I suppose there’s no ‘J’ so he couldn’t have put it in there.”

“Wait—” Lupin began slowly.

“How did you learn that?” Sirius held a hand to Lupin and leant closer as a concerned crease cut over his brow. He whispered the name ‘Marvolo’ beneath his breath before turning back to Harry. “I don’t think we’ve heard of a middle name. I don’t think we’ve even heard of the last name.”

“Erm,” Harry started after realizing how far off track he’d gone. “A couple places, really.” He said before swallowing heavily as Tom Riddle Snr’s headstone blinked in his mind. “He doesn’t like the name, despises it actually.”

“Does he? What do you think?” Sirius asked.

Harry shrugged. “I think it’s just a name.”

He looked back toward the entryway and tried to take a deep breath. Snape would be back soon, just as he’d come back at the market.

“An pseudonym is a good way to cover a muggle name.” Lupin said as he gave a questioning look at Sirius. “Riddle’s not a pureblood name.” He added as Sirius shook his head ‘no’. “Neither is Tom.”

“Plenty of purebloods have average names though,” Sirius said. “Doesn’t mean they’re any less of a pureblood.”

“His dad was a muggle.” Harry said. “His mum was a witch, but he didn’t know that until much later I think, because he said she’d lived long enough to give him his name.”

Lupin’s eyes widened. “He’s chatty.”

“When he thinks he’s winning.” Harry said darkly. He tugged at his sweater and tried to take a sip of water to distract himself.

“That helps explain a few things about him though, doesn’t it?” Lupin said. “Even if he isn’t strictly muggle-born, some people who grow up without being surrounded by magic can be more dangerous, given their lack of preconceived notions about it.”

“Well, now—” Sirius said with a raised finger.

Harry was quickly reminded of Hermione’s frightening skill with magic, though he hadn’t considered his own skills as frightening. He didn’t think he underestimated himself, but he didn’t exactly feel truly dangerous.

“I dunno.” Harry said, unsure if that truly made so much of a difference.

“Because purebloods grow up with magic, they’re more aware of it’s limitations and faults, they’re less likely to try new things because they assume they’ll fail based on prior knowledge.” Lupin said. “Muggle-borns often offer a broader sense of creativity. It’s an unspoken aspect of why they’re discriminated against. They’re a bit more inventive, if they’re drawn to invention. They aren’t as aware of innate limits, and will push themselves as far as they can go.”

“Marvolo.” Sirius said as he tapped the table. “You don’t know he didn’t find this Marvolo character and learn it all from him.”

“He grew up in a muggle orphanage.” Harry said quickly. “At least, he asked Dippet to let him stay at Hogwarts over the holidays because of it.” Harry added, though he thought belatedly if he should keep quiet about everything Tom Riddle had told him in the Chamber of Secrets.

“Voldemort willingly told you this?” Lupin asked with a concerned look.

“Well,” Harry started. “Well, he was curious. The version of him that I met was, I mean.” He gave them a pleading look and hoped they’d believe him, despite how mad this sounded. He hadn’t tried to explain this to anyone but Dumbledore before. “He’d, erm, he’d been possessing Ginny. And Ginny’d mentioned me, but he’d been confused about how I could’ve killed him, or-I mean, him in the future.”

Lupin gave him an increasingly concerned look but before he could add anything else, the front door opened and Harry shot out of his chair.

He bolted down the hallway and his nervous worry eased as he spotted Snape’s soaked dark cloak weighing him down.

“Have they behaved themselves?” Snape asked as he shook the rain from his sleeves and flicked his wand. Any evidence of a thunderstorm was swept from his before tugged Harry into a careful one armed hug.

“They were fine.” Harry whispered. “They asked some questions about the ribbons and Vol-er, him but nothing happened.”

Snape hummed.

“Did you see Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “Or Umbridge?”

“I saw neither,” Snape said. “I doubt Dumbledore will visit with either of us for a day or two, unless he’s in desperate need. He likely wants to give you space and time to put your thoughts together, after what happened.”

Harry scoffed.

Snape nodded once. “His manners extend only so far.”

They made short work of returning to the kitchen while Snape pulled a shrunken pensieve from his pocket and resized it. Lupin asked Harry several questions in a row as he worked, such as if he needed to say the passphrase in order for the ribbons to stop every time they choked him, if the passphrase changed depending on context and if the ribbons showed up directly after his meeting or if they were delayed, but they were all answered in short succession without Harry babbling too much.

“Harry, I’ll go in with you first if you’re up for it, then Sirius can view it, if he chooses.” Lupin said.

Snape looked displeased, but Harry nodded before he could comment. He stepped closer to the pensieve and wondered idly why Lupin would’ve even been concerned in the first place, seeing as it was Harry’s memory. It wasn’t as if he was rewatching Voldemort’s rebirth.

Ribbons flickered over his lips, but he tried to ignore them.

“Shall we, then?” Lupin asked.

Harry blinked upward to check with Snape and worried suddenly about leaving him and Sirius alone. They’d already stayed in a room together for a while this evening, he didn’t think they could tolerate much more. There might not be a kitchen to come back to, if they were left to themselves. An uncomfortable feeling crept up his spine at the sudden thought of showing Lupin his memory as well, as Harry didn’t think he’d been the most aware during the meeting, and given how proudly Sirius and Lupin spoke of Harry, he worried they’d think he was cracked to have willingly sat through a meeting with Umbridge.

Sirius had already mentioned Harry not being thick enough to let her so close.

“They’ll be alright,” Lupin whispered as he dipped the silvery memory into the bowl. “Give them a chance. They might surprise you.”

Harry edged closer to the bowl and tried to resist the urge to turn back around and check with Snape once more.

Lupin’s head dove down, forcing Harry to push aside his worries and follow quickly. He found himself watching a Memory Harry knock on the heavy, iron banded door to the Defense office.

Snape hadn’t been kidding when he’d remarked on how ill Harry’d been the evening of the memory. He wondered why no one had pointed it out sooner, but shook his head after remembering someone had. Hermione urged him to find Madam Pomfrey. Looking at himself now, he couldn’t imagine why Umbridge wouldn’t have sent him away to come back later, if she wanted to poison him.

No poison would’ve stayed down, given his sickly pallor.

“Symptoms of the aging potions failure?” Lupin asked as he looked at Harry’s sweaty form.

Harry nodded as Umbridge’s sickly-sweet voice echoed around them. He wondered if the buzzing in his ears was from his memory or his reaction to hearing Unbridge’s voice.

“Ah, Mr Potter.”

Memory Harry gave a fierce shudder and Umbridge’s yowling cats took over Harry’s thoughts just they’d taken over when he’d visited Umbridge the first time. Her china plates looked like the type to fall and easily break, only further reminding him of Aunt Petunia. He supposed Umbridge must’ve charmed them to stay on the wall, or else they’d have probably all broken after Fred and George brought down the wall.

He was very glad she hadn’t thought of a way to blame him for that wall.

“Lovely decorations.” Lupin said as they followed Harry further into the room. “Very pink.”

“Good evening, Professor.”

“Like Aunt Petunia’s sitting room.” Harry said as he shook away his own shudder.

Lupin blinked curiously at him before returning to watching the memory.

“You received my message, I’m so pleased.” Umbridge said with her horrible smile. “I was unsure if we’d have time to chat before lessons started tomorrow, but I had a few concerns I wanted to discuss, like I mentioned in my note.”

“That’d be the note Severus tested?” Lupin asked.

Harry nodded and watched Umbridge continue speaking until she invited his memory to sit down. Her painted lips split into a grotesquely wide smile as she spoke. Harry was unsure why anyone would intentionally paint their face like she had, given how odd and disquieting it made anyone who looked at her feel. The missing flecks from where she’d forgotten to touch it up made her look strangely less normal. She reminded Harry of Mrs Polkiss, and the way she and Aunt Petunia used to test out colors on each other while Harry made them tea and finger sandwiches.

Mrs Polkiss had thought practicing waiting tables would serve Harry well.

“It’s curious how she knew you weren’t at Privet Drive.” Lupin’s soft voice echoed from somewhere to Harry’s right.

Harry blinked upward at him and wondered what he thought of Umbridge so far. Perhaps asking Harry questions was a way to distract him from thinking about Snape and Sirius getting into a fight?

“The Order didn’t maintain a watch on that house, as you weren’t there.” Lupin stepped over to the blurry paperwork on her desk. Harry supposed it made sense for it to be difficult to read in his memory, given how he’d struggled to do so during the actual meeting.

“I would be less surprised had she known you were in Germany, but she only knew that you weren’t present at Privet Drive,” Lupin clicked his tongue.

Harry stomach soured. He didn’t fancy thinking of Germany at the moment.

“If the Ministry was actually aware that you weren’t present at the house, they’d have checked on you. It’d have been in the papers.”

Harry belatedly remembered Snape saying something similar. The humming grew in his ears, and Harry wondered if he was beginning to drop into his thoughts.

“Did Severus say if your aunt mentioned her.”

Harry blinked at Umbridge’s face. Snape mentioned writing to Aunt Petunia, but he somehow doubted she’d written back. Maybe he’d visited her in person, but neglected to tell Harry?

Umbridge rose from her seat and crept closer to the memory Harry, in a way eerily reminiscent of Aragog. She hung over her desk and moved hand over hand around the side of it as she encroached upon them.

“She doesn’t take her eyes off you, does she?” Lupin asked in an echoey voice.

He opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out. The buzzing that’d hummed in his ears during their meeting dampened his thoughts.

Something tickled his wrists, silencing the buzzing unnaturally.

Harry flinched and twisted around as he searched for what had paused the sound. He spotted Lupin quickly, and jerked as he noticed the concerned look on his face.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked as shock filtered through him. He tossed a second nervous looked around and realized that the memory had frozen with an unnatural stillness. He quickly spied Umbridge leaning fully over the memory of himself, who’d been hunched down and clearly desperate to hide, but lacking anywhere to go.

He swallowed back the uncomfortable feeling of seeing stark fear in his eyes.

It was hard to tell how long Harry’d been lost in his thoughts, but he hoped it’d only been a second or two. Lupin likely didn’t know Snape’s trick for pulling Harry from his thoughts, but maybe he’d been the cause of whatever brushed over his hand.

“I don’t think you should suffer this twice, Harry.” Lupin said softly. “There’s no need to go through this again.”

“But, I’m-I’m ok.” Harry said.

Maybe he’d been caught in his thoughts, but he’d far prefer a bit of discomfort now if it removed the ribbons sooner.

“I thought you’d need help with an explanation, or some more reason for why I sat or—”

“While I appreciate your background knowledge, I’m far more concerned with how this can still affect you.” Lupin said softly. “I hadn’t anticipated what level of an attack this was, and I should’ve. I’m sorry. Severus watched this alone, didn’t he?

Harry nodded as he thought of the way Snape had spoken about Umbridge’s questions, rather than her actions when Harry’d asked him about the memory.

“Sirius and I can review it later and ask you what your opinions are. You shouldn’t feel pressured into reliving it though.” Lupin said before pointing upwards and pulling Harry out.

They found themselves in a remarkably unchanged kitchen.

Harry looked nervously between Snape and Sirius, and found that aside from a sort of prolonged staring contest, neither looked worse than they had before Harry and Lupin viewed the memory.

Snape quickly abandoned whatever silent game he and Sirius were playing and checked Harry over.

Harry nearly wanted to laugh, as Snape behaved oddly similar to how Mrs Weasley had, when she inspected Ron after he’d been attacked by doxies. Snape wasn’t nearly as obvious in his concern and he gave Harry quite a bit of room as he worked, but the comparison stood.

He flicked his wand and cast a gentle cooling charm over Harry, before looking carefully at his eyes and hands.

“How was it then?” Sirius asked as he watched Snape.

“I recommend watching for yourself.” Lupin said as gave Sirius a blank look.

Sirius nodded, and Harry worried again about how difficult to read he was becoming.

“I do have one thought, that’s been on my mind for a while now.” Lupin said. “If you’re up to hearing about it Harry.”

Harry twisted away from Snape and nodded.

“You had a pretty pronounced reaction when you walked into her office,” Lupin began slowly. “And again after the fact when you watched it, though it was a bit more subdued.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, remembering the uncomfortable shudder her office brought about. “Her office looks like Aunt Petunia’s sitting room. Snape’s seen it, it’s not a calm place to be.”

“It’s certainly not a room designed for comfort.” Snape said.

Lupin hummed an agreeable sound. “Based on your reactions, I’m beginning to think you were confunded.”

“What?” Sirius asked. “Illegality aside, why not wait? She couldn’t have known how Harry’d react to that, confunding someone off the bat—”

“Because gagging curses take a long time to cast.” Lupin said, parroting Sirius’s comment from earlier. “And she’s on a tight schedule. It’s difficult to parsel through that memory. Your focus is all over the room, Harry which isn’t unusual for a memory of an attack.” He added before Harry could begin defending himself. “It’s also notoriously difficult to tell from memory alone if someone has been confunded, but the effect is a pronounced shudder followed by a varying degree of confusion from the attacked party. You’re near silent during that conversation. You blink a bit at her, but otherwise seem completely unable to respond to anything she asks.”

“Because she scared me!” Harry snapped before feeling as if his heart dropped into his stomach at his own words.

“Harry,” Lupin said softly. “It’s not a judgement on your reaction, it's an observation.”

“What did you think?!” Harry asked as he whirled around to look at Snape. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hide beneath his cloak again, regardless of his size. “You never said anything about my being confunded!”

Snape looked carefully at Harry before slowly inhaling. “I’ve seen your reactions to your aunt’s house before, as well as during other moments when you’ve panicked. If I had believed you’d been confunded, I’d have told you.”

“Please don’t think Severus missed an obvious clue, Harry.” Lupin cut in quickly. “Confundus charms and traumatized reactions can be easily mistaken for each other. How one person reacts to events may appear very much like the effects of a confundus charm.” He added in a careful tone. “It’s only because you were present and gave a similar, but different reaction that I noticed it.”

“What about her tea though, or her note!?” Harry asked quickly. A mortifying feeling began curling through him at how quickly and easily Umbridge had gotten to him.

“We don’t know if they have or have not been tampered with, so we’ll continue to wait on results for those. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for the Ministry to utilize several ways to achieve their means.” Sirius said as something angry burned behind his grey eyes. “If it really is a gagging curse keeping you silent, you’re in an excellent house to find the counter-curse.

“We can collect what books we may need and narrow our search from there.” Sirius said as he led them toward his family’s collection. “I’m not sure how generous we’ll need to be with the term ‘gagging curse’, but we’ve got loads on the topic.”

Snape slipped further down the stacks and began trailing a finger over the spines, somehow knowing innately where to go. He quickly spied what he seemed to believe he’d likely need and began forming a pile to the right of his foot. Harry supposed it wasn’t too odd for Snape to know Sirius’s library so well, as he’d mentioned borrowing books from him before.

Harry dropped to the bottom shelves and found several ominous titles before picking one with a cover so dark, it appeared black. Upon closer reflection, though, he found it was actually a very dark green.

“We know the curse reacts to discussion about an event, so we can lose that bunch there,” Sirius said with a lazy wave toward a rotted China cabinet. It looked to have been repurposed at some point over the years, though no one had bothered to fix it up. “It’s all curses tied to individuals, and Harry said he could still speak around Umbridge.”

Harry nodded and cracked the spine on his own book before swallowing back a shudder as he paged through.

The illustrations writhed painfully next to their respective descriptions and he couldn’t help being reminded, however distantly, of the way Bellatrix Lestrange’s head had snapped backwards in one of his visions.

“You don’t think she’d have gone for something from the late 1800’s?” Sirius asked with a pinched look. “She’d have had easy access to confiscated texts, and gagging curses were all the rage at the time.”

“A curse that old would be too complicated.” Snape said. He sniffed and pulled another book free before adding it to the pile. “She’d have needed to perform it with her modern understanding of magical theory, which is vastly different from that of the late 1800’s.” His fingers skittered overtop of a second book before tugging it free and searching though it at a quick pace.

Sirius’s eyes flickered toward his eyebrows, almost as if he wanted to roll them, but thought better if it.

Hermione’s chiding voice reminded Harry quite suddenly of Snape’s previous obsession with the dark arts. He hadn’t thought to ask them separately if they’d look into the curse.

He wasn’t sure if he should ask them either, as he’d kept them in the dark for too long to deserve favours from them.

He tried to nonchalantly watch them, and see how they might react, but he caught sight of the study instead. The memory of Sirius sweeping him off to his uncomfortable safe house rose through his thoughts, and Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Sirius would somehow manage to do it again, if Harry mentioned being worried about Snape’s obsession.

“She might’ve had help figuring out what that theory would’ve involved though, she could’ve asked anyone within the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad.” Sirius said as he spied a thick and ragged looking book and slid it free before sneaking it onto a shelf on his right.

The floor croaked beneath his feet as stepped over to another crooked bookcase and searched the dusty shelves.

Harry couldn’t imagine Kreacher did much cleaning in these rooms, despite how Sirius’s mum had apparently loved them. The dirt had grown so thick, Harry fancied he could tell which footprints came from Hermione’s quick searches and which from Sirius’s slower investigations.

Even the wall sconces, which were likely dim to give the room a bit of dramatic atmosphere, were so crusted with cobwebs and dust, that Harry wondered why they bothered lighting them.

“What’s her wand work like?” Lupin asked as he tossed another book into Snape’s pile and pulled a second one down. He flipped slowly through it’s index, though didn’t appear impressed.

“She’s charmed the blackboard and levitated some things, but I’ve never seen her cast anything otherwise.” Harry said.

Anything aside from the gagging curse, of course. Harry supposed that curse didn’t count, as he hadn’t seen her cast anything during his memory. He couldn’t remember when she’d have had a chance to cast anything beforehand either, as she’d only finished speaking about the new term before she’d rushed to her office and summoned Harry with her horribly perfumed note.

“It’s difficult to secure such a high ranking office while being bad at magic.” Lupin turned toward Harry. “It’s nearly impossible, really.”

“Fudge.” Snape said in a wry tone.

Sirius paused and Harry wondered if he’d inhaled a bit of dust, as he let out an odd cough before returning to his investigation.

“Well,” Lupin said awkwardly. “That’s quite a good point, though, I should think that even Fudge would prefer a skilled duelist for the defense position, especially considering what’s come about from the last few professors.”

“Dolores Umbridge is not a skilled duelist.” Snape said with a sniff. “Nor is she a skilled researcher or inventor. I have sat through too many staff meetings to believe otherwise.”

“That doesn’t mean the spell didn’t drop into her lap.” Sirius said. “For all we know, Fudge had it on hand for the next unlucky sod he brought in for questioning.”

He leant down and looked idly over Harry’s chosen book and grimaced.

“Maybe, er, maybe you ought to steer clear of that one.” He whispered in Harry’s ear before tugging the book free. “That one’s an heirloom.”

Harry watched as Sirius slipped it next to the other thick text he’d found. He wondered if it was Snape’s eyes lingering on him as he and Sirius spoke, but he couldn’t bring himself to look and check. He wasn’t sure he liked the book being taken from him either, given that it was his curse they were researching.

While Harry didn’t have a grand understanding of Latin, he knew the book had been called something like ‘Curses and the Body’, which seemed like as good a place to start as any.

He wondered if the Jelly Legs curse he’d cast on Malfoy was in that book somewhere.

There was still no explanation for how he’d known how to cast it, or when he’d learnt nonverbal spells. Harry hardly had time to do his actual homework, he certainly had no time to learn vicious extra curriculars.

“It’s very likely Fudge supplied her with several tools to succeed, but given that she appears to be a poorly skilled witch, those tools should’ve stayed exactly that,” Lupin said. “Tools.”

“Make your point Moony,” Sirius as he steered Harry toward what he apparently considered a safer shelf. “I can hear you thinking it.”

Lupin snapped his book shut. “A witch, who’s only apparent skill is in Ministry work, successfully incapacitated and attacked Harry, set a highly complicated and time consuming gagging curse on top of any number of potential conjoining spells, gets away with it and continues on teaching.”

Snape’s harried paging slowed and Sirius rocked back and forth on his heels.

“You’re not suggesting she’s polyjuiced,” Sirius asked. “Are you?”

“No,” Lupin said. “I am suggesting though that she’s more than she seems and I don’t want to underestimate her.” He looked toward Snape. “I know we’re considering her a threat, but do we know what she’s capable of?”

“She’s Ministry.” Sirius’s nose wrinkled distastefully. “They’re all a bit meaner than they look, no one in public office could succeed otherwise.”

“Are you under the impression I’ve let her actions go?” Snape asked as his eyes narrowed. “Or that I’ve somehow forgotten about her presence in that school and what damage it already has incurred?”

“No, Severus.” Lupin said firmly. “I’m speaking to her skill in curses, and the frequency she may or may not cast them at.”

“Is it very likely she’d know another though?” Sirius asked. “Considering what her job description was before, and is now? All she really needs to do is keep Harry quiet.”

“And stop him from making waves and raising an alarm.” Lupin finished. “This is one gagging curse, she may specialize in—”

“Like Lockhart!” Harry said, excited to finally know enough to contribute. “And how he specialized in memory charms.” The odd blue colour that’d exploded out the back of Ron’s broken wand flickered in Harry’s mind. He wondered sometimes if Lockhart’s spell had affected his surroundings, as sometimes, Ron struggled to remember how Lockhart had even gotten control of his wand.

“I knew that bloke was dodgy.” Sirius said. “You should’ve heard how Azkaban reacted whenever he’d make the front page.”

Snape inhaled slowly and turned back to his reading, though something tightened along his shoulders, making him look almost stone-like.

Lupin nodded. “It doesn’t surprise me to hear about his skill in that art.” He said. “But if you mean he was uncommonly skilled before his eventual downfall, then that’s what I’m thinking as well.”

“Umbridge doesn’t really strike me as someone with a working background in curses.” Sirius said. “I’m more of the opinion that we’ve seen how skilled she is, but that is the extent of her. She’s mean, and willing—”

“Willing.” Lupin snapped.

Sirius twisted and his eyes widened at Lupin.

“Anyone willing to figure out how to gag a fifteen year old and cause them as much pain as Harry’s gone through is willing to do a lot more than let it go if it’s stopped.”

“You want to keep it active, until the right moment.” Snape guessed as something cold flickered behind his eyes.

Harry was silently pleased to have noticed how Snape felt, though he wondered if he might’ve misread him, as Snape didn’t say anything else about how he felt.

“I don’t, I don’t want Harry to have to go through more trouble.” Lupin said sharply.

“Hermione and I are already looking into ways to counteract the effects.” Harry said as he inched back towards the book Sirius had taken from him. He wasn’t actually sure if that were the case, as he and Hermione argued quite a bit, she may have written him off for the evening out of frustration. “We could do that, instead of removing it?”

Sirius shook his head. “Those curses can leave lasting effects, the longer you’re under it, the more it might sink into you.”

Nausea churned through Harry’s stomach and he had him nearly running for a bin. His mum’s necklace flared, though Harry could hardly pay attention to it.

“You’ve only had it a few weeks,” Sirius said quickly. His hands fluttered near Harry and his pale face drained of colour. “It’s only mid October, hardly-hardly what I’d call long term damage—”

Harry shook his head wildly.

An awful itching sensation wormed beneath his skin and Harry couldn’t figure out how to make it stop.

He hadn’t considered Umbridge’s actions having lasting effects, nor had he considered that they may not solve this in time to undo the effects. He wouldn’t be able to fight Voldemort if he couldn’t bloody well breathe while around him!

Ribbons slipped over Harry’s lips and he couldn’t tell if they were choking him or if he truly couldn’t breath. His heart pounded as if they were tightening by the second. Harry wouldn’t be able to handle Death Eaters or Ministry employees if he could hardly get a word out around them! He couldn’t run away if his legs went dead when he spoke of Voldemort’s rebirth!

He wouldn’t be able to escape!

If he couldn’t escape he might as well be dead now, because Voldemort would certainly target him again!

He’d be dead. Umbridge had left Harry to die in the most painful—

“Slowly Harry,” Snape’s soft voice washed over Harry’s thoughts. “Slowly.”

Something swept firmly down Harry’s nose and he blinked his eyes open, having missed whenever he closed them. Bright specks of light popped around the blurry library and Harry was unpleasantly reminded of Rita Skeeter’s grungy photographer.

“In again.” Snape said as a long finger brushed over his nose once more.

Harry’s chest tightened briefly, though he found it a fair bit easier to breath after more time went on. He felt his glasses settle onto the bridge of his nose and the library came into focus once more.

“What Black was speaking about, for curses such as the one you are under, are the more psychosomatic effects.” Snape said as he leant away from Harry. “Your subconscious reaction to painful stimuli, could lead to a trend of continued fear.”

Harry mentally whispered about Voldemort’s rebirth in his mind, and paid more attention to the way he unconsciously began stiffening just before the ribbons slipped through his thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of his name.” Harry said as anger burned in his chest. “She can be, but I’m not.”

He blinked down the short length of the library and wondered idly where Sirius and Lupin had gone, before hearing their whispered voices a few stacks over.

“We may want to go back to Hogwarts sooner, rather than later.” Snape said, glancing toward a cracked wall clock. “We have enough to be starting with, and seeing as tomorrow is Saturday, we may be able to find what she used with some speed.”

Hermione’s voice chimed in Harry’s thoughts once more, and the urge to ask Snape about his feelings about exploring more of the Dark Arts bubbled through him.

“Erm—” Harry started before slamming his mouth shut as a fierce worry overtook his thoughts.

Would Snape consider Harry’s questioning as rude, or prying? Is it something Harry was even allowed to have an opinion on? Snape had brought it up openly around Harry before, but that had been Snape’s choice!

Aunt Petunia hissed in his ears. ‘Don’t ask questions!’

“Harry,” Snape leaned closer once more. “I far prefer you ask me about what worries you.” He said softly. “I am more capable of helping, when I know what you need.”

“It’s,” Harry started again, running his nails over his wrists. “I’m just, it’s-Hermione said, she said it might be better for you not to research.” He said in a strained whisper. “Because, I don’t want you to—” He strongly wanted to run head first off the Astronomy Tower, he wasn’t sure why he’d started this conversation just after a melt down. “I don’t want you to be addicted-or become, like, how you’d said before, when my mum sent her necklace.” He finished dumbly. The pendant in mum’s necklace came to life and warmed.

Snape blinked once at Harry before turning to look at the pile to his right.

“While Miss Granger’s worry may not have been,” Snape paused. “Entirely unfounded, I think it’s important to note that we are researching a counter-curse,” Snape spoke as if he struggled to find the right words. “Rather than searching for curses that will harm enemies.” He plucked one of the books from the pile and flipped it open to a random page before showing Harry.

Harry saw what looked like hundreds of outcomes to certain curses, but each one had far more detail on countering the effects than it did on the effects themselves.

“My attention will be very difficult to sway, in this endeavor. I won’t deny that her worry is valid, the Dark Arts are an addictive subset of magic, but it is more important to be aware of intent, in this instance, rather than context. I care more about helping you, than I do learning multiple ways to harm others.”

Harry’s worries eased slightly, though he wasn’t sure if he felt worlds better. He was glad Snape hadn’t reacted angrily.

Snape ran a careful hand through Harry’s fringe and something flickered across his face. His lips pinched in a way Harry’d seen often enough in Germany. Harry hadn’t figured out what it meant, or what brought about that look. He didn’t think of it as a disappointed expression though.

Snape inhaled slowly one last time and motioned for Harry to follow him before spinning on his heel and collecting a stack of books. He pointed at what remained in a silent ask for Harry to grab.

Harry tugged them from the ground and trailed after Snape, but caught sight of Sirius’s heirloom out of the corner of his eye. He darted closer and snagged the book before jamming it between a few other books from the pile.

“—just have to move past them.” Lupin whispered as Harry caught up with them.

Sirius twisted and a miserable expression greeted Harry. “Harry—” He tried to say.

“It’s ok!” Harry said with what he hoped was a confident smile, but felt more like a wan grimace. “It’s just me, I’m, erm, I’m just a bit stressed, but I’ll work on it. Occlumency I reckon.” He nodded wildly.

Sirius frowned and looked as if he wanted to tug Harry into a tight hug, but kept his hands still instead.

Lupin clasped Sirius’s shoulder and turned to lead them down several flights of stairs. “We will endeavor not to cause you further stress, but it’s not something that’s always avoidable. We’ll likely be confronting stressful topics for years to come. We’re all doing our best, but it’s a war. Speaking on that,” He turned over his shoulder to look Snape in the eye. “We can’t have those kids defenseless. You might be their only source of Defensive lessons for a while, Severus, you might want to bulk up on the topic before the term is out.”

Snape sniffed but didn’t respond otherwise.

Harry somehow doubted Snape would begin offering supplemental lessons behind Umbridge’s back. He might show Harry how best to defend himself, but would probably balk at the thought of instructing students after already having to deal with them during the day.

“I’ll also be available, but it’s possible Umbridge will be on the lookout for me, given that you and your classmates felt favourably about my lessons.”

Sirius rounded the bannister and led them into a warm and brightly lit sitting room. Harry vaguely remembered having woken up in the room after escaping Avery. The couch looked far too small from what Harry remembered. He’d hardly taken up two cushions and it looked more like a loveseat than a couch.

Snape set his stack books on a side table and shrunk them, along with the stack in Harry’s arms.

“Likewise, about being kept in the dark.” Lupin said as he dropped his hands into the pockets of his jumper and nudged Sirius’s shoe with his own.

Harry’s heart fluttered for a brief second, and he worried Lupin or Sirius might actually begin to yell at him, as they hadn’t had the chance when he’d hidden in the bathroom earlier.

“We’ve been thinking about the prophecy.” Sirius said in a strained voice.

Snape paled, though neither Sirius or Lupin commented on it or seemed to think it was weird. Harry almost wondered if they didn’t notice it, or if Harry just paid more attention to Snape’s emotions. The two were still unaware of Snape’s part in Voldemort’s knowledge of the prophecy, and despite the summer and how the two had mentioned wanting to hear the truth from Dumbledore, neither of them had actually acted.

Harry wasn’t sure if that was because of his being six, or if Dumbledore had distracted them.

“We need it.” Sirius said. “And I know neither of you are going to be happy with my plan—”

“Is your plan half baked?” Snape asked coldly.

“At least I’m coming up with plans, I haven’t heard anything from you.” Sirius snapped.

Lupin’s hands swung out in a peaceful wave. “We’ve all kept each other in the dark. It may have been cruel, but it was safer in the long run. Owls can be intercepted.”

“He still wants it.” Harry said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable to be discussing the prophecy. “I dream about that hallway at least once a week.”

Lupin nodded. “We know Voldemort wants it. I want us all on the same page though, I want us aware of what each other knows about it.”

Sirius shouted as Snape darted forward and his wand appeared beneath Lupin’s nose.

Harry jerked and tried to shove himself between them, but found Sirius in the way, with his own wand at Snape’s throat.

“What were the first words you said to me after securing the defense position two years ago?” Snape asked silkily.

Lupin tilted his head away from Snape’s wand and his amber eyes hardened.

Harry swallowed back icy worry and wondered if they’d need to start testing each other every time they met. There were too many ways to impersonate people, and Harry knew all too well how successful polyjuice was at passing off others.

“I’m surprised you haven’t found him yet.” Lupin answered.

Snape’s dark eyes narrowed and Harry quickly looked around for floo powder in the event he’d need some, but Snape backed slowly away, as did Sirius.

“While I appreciate the added security, I think it’s a bit belated.” Lupin said as he rubbed his mouth.

“I would’ve known if it weren’t Moony.” Sirius said darkly. “The same can’t be said for others.” He added with a cautious look at Snape.

“You instructed me on how to get down the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack when we were in our fifth year.” Snape as he spun on his heel and stepped closer to Harry. “Will that satisfy your concern for the moment?”

Sirius sniffed and nodded.

“What’s, what do you two know?” Harry asked awkwardly in an attempt to refocus the conversation as the three settled into an odd truce once more.

“Nothing.” Lupin said. “Nothing beyond our guesses.”

“We know Voldemort wants it, we know Dumbledore knows about it and we know roughly where it’s kept.” Sirius clarified. “We think you’ve heard about it as well, Harry, though you may not have known at the time.”

Harry tried to think of every instance he may have heard of the prophecy, or instances where Dumbledore’d spoken around it, just as he had when they’d talked earlier today in his office.

His train of thought slammed to a halt and he turned toward Snape. “He didn’t see,” Harry said confusedly. “I didn’t see him see, I mean, he doesn’t know, he didn’t look at when we were in my mum’s flat—”

He couldn’t guess why Dumbledore hadn’t looked in Lily’s flat when he’d hunted through Harry’s thoughts. It hadn’t been suspicious at the time, as Harry could hardly string a single thought together, but now, it was more than confusing.

“When you had your vision, you mean?” Sirius asked. Harry twisted back towards Sirius. “Dumbledore set a guard on your mind, you couldn't have been possessed. Is that what you mean?”

Harry’s chest eased and he felt rather like laughing.

A hazy memory slipped to the front of his mind, and he could hear Sirius’s warning about Dumbledore’s fallibility. He’d been searching for Voldemort. but hadn’t searched his memories of Lily’s flat because he’d believed Harry was protected from him at the time.

He wasn’t aware they’d gone back a second time either.

Harry giggled despite himself before sobering when the three of them gave him concerned looks.

“No,” Harry said more calmly. He worried if he should be telling Snape’s story and tried to come up with something less damning. “V-Voldemort has let a bit slip, though.”

The temperature in the room cooled and Harry shivered.

He felt suddenly of having caused everyone more trouble than he was worth. He regretted his brief madness and wished he’d just kept silent on the whole topic, rather than laughing. Maybe they thought he was cracked?

The prophecy wasn’t something Harry often laughed about, as every time he thought about it, he panicked.

“If more people are aware of its contents, it is more likely to reach the Dark Lord’s ears.” Snape said softly. “Neither of you are shy about which side of the war you're on, and no one will think twice about keeping you alive for him to question you personally.”

A phantom pain arced through Harry’s spine and his wrists seemed to chafe beneath invisible rope.

Lupin’s eyes sharpened and an oddly ugly expression flickered over his face. If he’d come to a conclusion of his own, Harry wished he’d say it. “You seem confident we’ll squeal.”

Snape’s upper lip nearly curled. “I am aware of the Dark Lord’s methods.”

“We’ll die before he gets anything out of us.” Sirius said. “You know that.”

“You might die regardless.” Snape said with a raised eyebrow.

“Only the person it pertains to can pick it up.” Harry said, hoping to get Lupin’s attention away from Snape. “Bellatrix tried to get it last time and failed.”

“Right.” Sirius said as he turned and paced the short length of the sitting room. “See, I’ve given quite a bit of thought to that.” He waved Lupin’s battered wand at the fireplace, making it a bit warmer. “It’s either we get it first, or he manipulates Harry into getting it. There’s a chance someone else could be in the prophecy as well, but if that’s the case, either Voldemort can’t get ahold of them or doesn’t know of them.”

The soft glow flickered across Sirius’s face and left deep shadows in its wake. Despite Sirius’s penchant for humour and goofing around, Harry could see the determination that’d broken him out of Azkaban and into Hogwarts forming somewhere from within.

He wondered if the Ministry had worked out how Sirius escaped from Azkaban yet?

“Dumbledore knows it too.” Sirius said as he turned back around.

“We can ask him, but he had the chance to tell me earlier and he didn’t.” Harry said. “That was after he realized I wasn’t being possessed too.” Harry fussed with the hem of his jumper.

“Asking first would be the safer route.” Lupin conceded.

“It has to be removed either way.” Sirius said. “Voldemort won’t stop until he has it or it’s destroyed.” He dangled Lupin’s wand in his fingertips. “What did he let slip?” He asked as he turned back toward Harry.

Harry felt an uncomfortable sensation almost as if he were being peered at beneath a microscope. He wasn’t as used to Sirius and Lupin hounding him for answers.

“Just that it mentions a boy born near the end of July.” Harry whispered.

Sirius and Lupin shared a quiet glance.

Harry wondered quite suddenly if his dad had panicked about when Harry would be born? Maybe he’d told Sirius and Lupin about his worries, but never said what the source of his fear had been? The thought of someone worrying and fussing unconditionally over Harry seemed illogical though.

“That would explain his first attack on you.” Lupin said carefully. “What do you think?”

“I think I was born at the end of July.” Harry said in an obvious tone. He couldn’t help feeling a bit defensive about his history, and what followed after. He hadn’t chosen for any of this to happen, and if he had any luck, he’d have been skipped over and someone else could’ve taken up The-Boy-Who-Lived name.

“We need to get back.” Snape said. “It’s late and Harry will be missed if he isn’t back soon.”

Harry glanced at his wrist watch and blanched.

They made short work of saying their goodbyes and Harry was silently thankful that both Lupin and Sirius willingly hugged him despite how Harry’d behaved around them and throughout the last month and a half.

“Keep the Christmas holiday free.” Sirius said as they huddled into the fireplace. “I think we’re going to need to make a break for it around then, but we’ll write to you or find time to meet back up.”

A burst of green fire surrounded them and left Harry choking on ash.

Harry eyed the tall, fuzzy walls around him and tried to guess how long this hallway was.



It seemed to stretch on for ages, though only in one direction.



While he couldn’t quite tell his feet from his hands, he knew he should try reaching out and explore what doors or windows might’ve existed in the narrow space. A piece of him thought he might have better luck trying to find someone and follow them to wherever he needed to go, but despite his hopes, no one seemed willing to give him any directions.



In fact, Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anyone in the long hallway before. He couldn’t say why he felt that, as he’d only just stepped into it a few moments ago and he was sure he’d never been in it before. Perhaps he’d seen photos of it in a book or on the Telly, but he truly didn’t know.



He twisted and thought about going back the way he came, but found the hallway behind him had disappeared at some point.



There wasn’t much to do except move forward.



A faint light brightened at the far end of the hallway and Harry excitedly made his way closer to it. The dull grey walls smoked around him, and felt hardly corporeal compared to moments earlier.



Not that Harry’s tried to touch them, he could smell them well enough from where he was.



They stank of disdain, though Harry didn’t know how he knew that. He swallowed back a fierce wave of bitterness as it rushed through him.



It was certainly some kind of perfume, one Harry knew well, but struggled to guess until he realized it was actually a flower. He could remember having planted something similarly smelling in Aunt Petunia’s flower beds for the neighborhood garden tour one spring, but he couldn’t think of which flower it’d been. He trailed curiously through the smokey walls as he debated and shuddered again as the smell overwhelmed him.



He wasn’t sure why he despised the smell so much. He’d disliked caring for Aunt Petunia’s flowerbeds, but he’d never disliked flowers as a whole.



As it would happen, he rather liked them, given that his mum’s name was Lily. He used to wish Aunt Petunia would bring lilies home for arrangements, but she could hardly bring herself to look at them in the store.



She far preferred daffodils.



Harry neared the steadily brightening light and passed a thick cloud of the perfume. He whirled around and hissed an echoey sound before a shout jolted him upright in bed.



“Harry!” Ron shoved Harry’s bed curtains aside.



Harry clapped a hand against his throbbing scar and blinked one eye open.



Ron’s shoulders flew up to his quickly reddening ears and he whispered a quiet apology. “Just hadn’t seen you come in mate,” He said softly. “Hermione and I went looking for you after you didn’t show up for dinner, it took her a while to come around to what you’d said about Skeeter—”



“Ron,” Harry started as he held a hand up. “Two seconds.” He added before trying to breathe deeply and clear his mind.



“Right, right.” Ron nodded and spun on his heel.



Harry tried to slowly sort through his thoughts and put his mind somewhere more helpful than a bleak grey hallway. He’d had a tremendously stressful day yesterday, and waking up with pain never bode well for him, but he was determined to put it behind him.



He scratched idly at his wrists and tried to think of Germany and the calm, relaxed few weeks they’d spent there.



While he wasn't pleased to be back at Hogwarts, where Dumbledore, Umbridge, Malfoy and the rest of the school waited to torment him, he could say he was pleased to have slept.



Sleep often eluded him when he felt stressed



Ron kicked at Neville’s dirty socks and poked at the spiny cactus-like plant in the pot. The plant twisted in it’s pot and tried to poke Ron back, but wound up nearly splattering him in the same sap that Harry’d been coated in on the train ride at the beginning of term.



The pain in Harry’s scar subsided to something a fair bit more manageable and he found himself wondering again what it was he’d felt so strongly about in his dream.



He still couldn’t think of what the smell was, or which flower it belonged to.



It made less sense when he considered that he’d had dreams on the long hallway for weeks, and this was the first time he’d encountered something other than the grey walls leading to, presumably, a door.



Harry’d had yet to open the door, but he felt that was the only suitable answer for what lay at the end of a hallway.



He shook his head and quickly joined Ron in dressing and getting ready for the day.



“So, like I was saying, Hermione’s come around, though she still feels we have to do something—”



“I know,” Harry said with a grimace. He thought back to yesterday afternoon and wished he hadn’t snapped quite so much at her, as it’d only led to his unsettling use of parseltongue in Snape’s office. “We do, in her defense. I’m not letting Skeeter write anything though.” He said in a firm voice. “I won’t.”



Ron herded him out of the portrait hole and down the several flights of stairs. “I’m not saying we should, it could turn out as rotten as the rest of what she wrote—”



“It will turn out rotten.” Harry said. “She can’t keep herself from writing something sensationalizing.”



“You know Hermione though, she’s got Skeeter on a leash.”



“People don’t generally like being on leashes, Ron.” Harry said uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but be reminded of the way Dumbledore held himself, Snape, Sirius and Lupin, and likely countless others in tight leashes.



They passed a large group of Hufflepuffs and Harry tried to give them a polite smile, but they turned away without a response.



“People on leashes fight back.” Harry said as he wrinkled his nose.



“That’s what the leash is for.” Ron nodded, though he didn’t seem to have come to the same conclusion as Harry. “Keeps her from getting out of hand.”



Harry shook his head and made his way toward Hermione, who had an empty plate and a thick stack of books to her right. He silently tried to compose an apology, and swallowed thickly when he saw most of the books were the ones they’d checked out earlier.



“Hi.” He started awkwardly.



Hermione blinked up at him and coloured faintly as she tugged her stack closer so they could sit down.



Ron didn’t seem aware of any awkwardness, but Harry wondered if that had more to do with how many fights he and his siblings got into, and how often he’d have sat next to them while they’d fought.



“I’m sorry I tried to push you into the article.” Hermione said when Harry neglected to speak. “I know Skeeter treated you horribly, and I should’ve expected that you’d react angrily, but I had to ask.”



Harry nodded and dragged a plate of sausage rolls closer to himself. “I can’t talk with her,” He said before swallowing dryly. There was no way he could consider Skeeter prodding and poking and asking questions. What if she spoke with Malfoy again and learnt about Harry’s summer? What if she spoke with Umbridge and the two conspired to broadcast Harry’s entire life? “She’s vile.”



Hermione gave him a sympathetic sigh.



“But,” Harry started quickly. “But maybe there’s another way we could go,” He said. “We could try something through Ginny’s friend?”



“Lovegood?” Ron asked around a mouthful of bacon. “No one reads her dad’s paper.”



“They’d read it if Harry gave an interview.” Hermione said.



Harry grimaced.



“The only problem is that it won’t reach as many people if Mr Lovegood is the one writing it.” Hermione eyed a folded copy of the Daily Prophet on her right and sniffed. “I’ve been exploring options and I read through a few of his articles in the Quibbler.”



Ron looked upwards and gave her a shocked look.



Hermione rolled her eyes and whispered about exploring all of their options before she sat back. “He tends to drag.”



“That’s kind of you.” Ron said.



“What did you want me to say? That he’s barmy?” Hermione asked. “Or that he writes like a half cracked researcher whose evidence is entirely conjecture?”



“Better not let Loony hear that.” Ron said with a pair of raised eyebrows.



Harry nodded and tossed a careful look toward where Luna often sat, though he thankfully didn’t see her. He wasn’t sure if Luna’s dad truly did write half cracked articles, but Luna seemed to enjoy them.



It wouldn’t help his cause if someone equally cracked wrote an article for him though.



“We can try searching around for other reporters then?” Ron said. “Maybe someone who will do it for free, because of how everyone feels about Harry right now?”



Harry shook his head ‘no’ and shoved a sausage roll in his mouth.



Hermione gritted her teeth and looked equally displeased as she glanced toward the book before her. Harry could almost hear her thoughts. She likely believed it’d be wildly improbable that any reporter would listen to Harry, given the current public opinion.



He hated the thought of speaking to reporters anyway, but he couldn’t just do nothing. He wished someone else had been targeted, rather than him. It reminded him distantly of the way Snape remained in the sitting room with Sirius and Lupin last night, while Harry’d hidden in the bathroom. Snape had tolerated quite a bit for Harry in the last few months.



He might not be pleased to hear of Harry giving an interview.



“Not to change the subject,” Harry started as his eye caught one of the titles in Hermione’s stack. “But I talked with Sirius and Lupin about Umbridge and the ribbons last night.” He said.



“How?” Hermione asked.



“Fire call I’d bet.” Ron said through another mouthful.



“What?” Hermione asked as she turned to Ron.



Ron began to explain a complicated process involving quite a bit of kneeling and floo powder as Harry debated how much to tell them.



He couldn’t decide if he should tell them about his accidental use of parseltongue. There was a chance Hermione might push Harry to ask Dumbledore about it as well, but she’d been far more reserved about requesting his help in the last few months. He thought it might be better to keep quiet about it until absolutely necessary as the thought of scaring them into thinking he was possessed by Voldemort, like Dumbledore’d believed, left him with a foul taste in his mouth.



“That’s curious.” Hermione said with a pinched look. “Why is it always fire?” She asked herself before turning back to Harry and gesturing for him to relay what’d been uncovered about his gagging curse.



“She’s a bloody psychopath!” Ron hissed after Harry finished. He began helping Hermione who’d stood so quickly the table had begun to rock.



She quickly tried to shove her stack of books into her bag, but struggled with her furious pace. They grabbed several of her books and tucked them away in their own bags.



“Who gags a student!?” Ron asked before plucking an apple from it’s bowl and throwing it toward Harry.



“That must go against fifty odd Ministry laws” Hermione added fiercely beneath her breath before waving her wand and whispering a spell to keep her coffee much warm. “The hypocrite! As if she ever cared about rules!”



“The jokes on her—” Ron started as Hermione led them at a quick pace out of the Great Hall.



“It’s just as Ruffles said, that sort of magic leaves evidence,” Hermione added with a firm point toward Harry. “All she’s done is call loud attention toward herself!”



“Hardly just that!” Ron said as they chased Hermione up the stairs. “She’ll go to Azkaban for it!”



“If we can prove she did it.” Harry said darkly. “Ruffles said it’s common for those sorts of crimes to go unpunished.” He tossed a careful look around them as they rushed toward a near empty hallway.



“Well they’d know, wouldn’t they?” Hermione said as she led them into a dusty classroom. “With their background being what it was.”



He wondered idly if she preferred unused classrooms because of the dirty looks Harry received in the library, and thanked her silently for choosing a safer feeling place.



“I dunno,” Ron said as he dropped his heavy bag by the door and whispered a few silencing charms. “They’re on the opposite side of things, I don’t think they’d have much experience with how the Ministry covered—” A look of understanding dawned over his face and he shut his mouth.



Harry didn’t need to ask to know Snape had likely attempted to bring charges against other Ministry employees, only to find out they’d already covered their tracks.



“They’d probably be very knowledgeable about the subject.” Hermione said quietly.



“Ruffles said they wouldn’t get in a fight with Umbridge because they think Umbridge wants their help.” Harry said after remembering the first night he’d turned six. He took a bite of his apple and tried to consider how best to phrase his opinion. “Umbridge thinks that since Ruffles knows Lucius Malfoy, and Malfoy is her friend in the Ministry,” He began as a slow, bubbling anger trickled through him. He struggled to ignore it. “That Ruffles will support whatever she tries to do.”



“Well we’re doubly lucky they’re on our side, either way,” Hermione said before tugging a thick, tattered book from her bag. “Even if they don’t fight her openly, they’ll be a great help at sabotaging her when it comes to it!”



Harry wasn’t sure if he felt quite the same way about Snape. He wasn’t sure how much spying and sabotage a person could do before they were ultimately caught, though Snape hadn’t been found out yet. However, there was quite a difference between sabotaging Umbridge opposed to Voldemort, and Harry couldn’t say if he felt pleased for Snape’s role in either position.



Getting in the Ministry’s way could be deadly, though maybe it’d be less painful than getting Voldemort’s way.



“Regardless, we have a direction to go in now, we might not be able to get rid of it,” Hermione’s eyes flashed to Harry and he wondered if she thought about their conversation on Snape’s inclusion in their research. “But we can stall it. I’m positive.” She said before flipping through the pages until she came to a series of charms.



“There are some minor counter-curses in some of these too,” Ron said as he dug through his own bag of books. “Will they help?”



“I don’t think so.” Harry said as he dropped his apple core in a bin and began to pull books free with Ron. “Curses are more specific, minor counter-curses won’t help the original curse.”



Ron hummed. “What about major counter-curses?”



“Not unless it’s the direct counter.” Harry said. “Because curses generally cause more than one problem.” He sniffed and looked toward Ron and Hermione. “Like,” He paused and tried to find the right way to describe it. “Like if someone casts a body-bind you aren’t sure of, and you try to release them with the counter for ‘ petrificus totalus ’, that won’t release them, because the body-bind your opponent used might be resistant. They have different theoretical properties, because they have different wand movements, theory, incantation and the sort.”



Hermione blinked slowly at Harry before turning the page.



“It might even make it worse.” Harry added uncomfortably. “If your opponent thought you might try to help yourself with that counter.”



“So,” Ron started. “Well, maybe that’s something someone should’ve mentioned before?” He said in a high voice. “That sounds like an accident waiting to happen!”



“Did you learn that from—from Crouch Jr?” Hermione asked weakly.



“From Ruffles.” Harry answered. He thought fondly of the small bubble animals that Snape had made for him on more than one occasion. “Over the summer. They’d make a good defense professor, and Lupin even mentioned that yesterday, but again, I don’t think they’ll openly go against Umbridge.”



“Do you think Umbridge would’ve prepared her curse against charms?” Hermione asked. “In that she may have anticipated them?”



Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure, Lupin thinks she may be skilled in curses alone, but neither Ruffles or Snuffles seemed to agree.”



They sorted through their books for several hours, and nearly missed lunch, though both Harry and Hermione offered to continue studying. It quickly became their obsession, and almost distracted Hermione from her own homework.



Ron soon found a passion for taking walks to the library and returning or checking out new books throughout the day.



It finally felt as if they’d found a bit of control against Umbridge, despite what sort of power she seemed to exude. It reminded Harry oddly of how Ms Eileen spoke about Dumbledore and his need to be in control.



Which only reminded Harry of Snape and his discussion about Voldemort and control. Umbridge appeared to be in control, but it may have been only that.



An appearance.



It was just the same as Harry’s mad escape from Privet Drive over the summer. Dumbledore had appeared to be in absolute control, but Harry’d found that wasn’t actually the case. He had more options than he even knew of, and Dumbledore, while displeased and certainly intent on returning Harry to Surrey, had to agree that Harry would choose instead to stay in Germany.



Lupin had probably been right to bring up Umbridge’s potential skill in curses, or at least any sort of revenge she might enact, if Harry broke free of her curse, but he was now all the more determined to undermine her.



It took them hiding in the classroom for the rest of the day and into the following evening before Hermione finally shouted and slammed her palm onto her book.



Harry and Ron both jerked to look toward her.



Hermione tossed several loose curls over her shoulder and read a paragraph aloud. “Though healers have historically struggled with the range of magical attacks on the pulmonary system,” Her eyes flickered toward Harry and Ron, “Lungs and air and that,” She said after a moment, leading Harry to wonder if they’d both given her confused looks. “Many have found a useful transitory charm for immediate relief.”



Harry stood and rushed to her side to read over the paragraph. A brief tingle of nausea cramped in his stomach, though he ignored just as he had with the rest of them.



What he found upon looking over Hermione’s shoulder was an endlessly complicated looking charm that functioned more through an understanding of anatomy than any basic charm background.



“It looks, erm” Hermione started as she slowly bit her thumb nail. “Difficult. It also states that it isn’t for prolonged results either.”



The three of them each took a turn reading over the spellwork and trying to pick through the description, though none of them were successful. Harry tried to internally remind himself that failing to learn a spell after the first time he tried it, didn’t mean much of anything. He’d practiced ‘Accio’ with Hermione for months before it’d worked for him.



“Difficult or not, we can give it a go.” Ron said. “Maybe we can force Fred and George to help us, or Ruffles even!” His eyes lit up and he looked toward Harry. “You don’t think they’d try it for us, do you?”



Harry felt his own eyes widen as he looked toward Ron. Something perilously warm hummed through his chest at the thought of Ron coming around to Snape, and he wondered if he might become even more welcoming to Snape as time went on.



“I can ask.” Harry said as he looked toward the clock. The tell-tale nausea of his mismade potion had slowly begun to creep in throughout their studying. He now knew better than to eat for several hours before he could take the antidote, as that was the only thing that abated his sicking up in toilets, but it didn’t help with the nausea. He wasn’t sure what the full time limit was before his antidote gave out, but the first time it’d happened, it’d been late in the evening, hadn’t it?



That had more to do with when he’d initial taken the antidote. Snape had said he’d send for Harry around when he’d need to retake, so Harry put the worry from his mind.



Hermione nodded. “It feels odd, doesn’t it?” She said as they picked up their small collection of books. “To be going to a teacher for help again.”



“I can see the appeal,” Ron shrugged. “Iit makes sense in this case, doesn’t it?” He said. “I mean,we might be able to ask Pomfrey, because this charm might be a bit beyond any of us either way.” He stretched his arms upwards and cracked his back in a long movement. “Maybe we could’ve found a seventh year, but even then—”



“I’m sure Pomfrey’d help us if we asked, we’d just need to be careful.” Hermione chimed in.



They made their way through the winding hallways until coming out in a busy corridor. Harry silently sent a thank you to both Ron and Hermione for spending the weekend with him, in a peaceful, safe classroom.



“Really careful.” Ron said.



Harry grimaced at the thought of involving the Hospital Wing in his ribbon problem. He’d briefly thought of what might happen if he’d gone to her when he’d first learnt the extent of Umbridge’s ribbons, but he didn’t fancy being unable to explain his problem. What if Pomfrey thought he’d gone mad?



It may have been worse if she’d believed him. What if she’d opened a case, one which Harry still had no clear evidence in addition to accusing a professor.



Perhaps Umbridge had hoped for that outcome.



“We probably could’ve bugged Snuffles or Lupin too,” Harry said. “They might still know something help—”



“Oi, Ron!” Lee Jordan shouted from far behind them.



Ron twisted and looked curiously over his shoulder. “You don’t think Fred and George have gotten into a fight do you?” He asked. “Lee doesn’t usually look for me.”



Hermione shrugged.



Lee shouted again and struggled to step around the wide swathes of students. Most of the students chattered excitedly as he passed them by, asking about Fred and George’s new products, or upcoming homework, and any number of things he seemed to have in common with them.



Harry half debated just leaving Ron to handle it, given how uncomfortable being around his classmates made him, but Lee reached them before he could slip away.



“Blimey,” He said when he finally closed in on them. His eyes brightened when he spotted Harry and he tugged a small crumpled note from his pocket. “I’ve been looking for you three for a while, I’ve a note for Harry.” He added before passing it over.



Harry briefly worried about how much time Lee had meant by ‘a while’, given that nausea was a poor gauge for how much more time Harry had before he’d turn six. The idea of spending the evening as a child wasn’t broadly appealing, but Snape had ensured Harry understood why his next dosage time was important. He quickly unfolded the parchment and found Snape’s skinny handwriting stating that Harry should meet with him to discuss remedial lessons.



He put on a suitable looking grimace and passed the note to Ron and Hermione who each gave theatrically gloomy sighs.



“Stick with Ron more often,” Lee huffed at Harry and Hermione. “He sticks out in a crowd, you two don’t.” He gave them each a fake disappointed look, before laughing and disappearing back into the crowd.



“You don’t think we should’ve been a bit more present lately, do you?” Hermione asked as she bit her lip. “I worry about the issue with Malfoy, what if we looked guilty?”



“I dunno,” Ron said as he shouldered through several more throngs of students and led them to the Grand Staircase. “Maybe we did, but that makes me wonder how professors find anyone without the map. Do they just assume students will bump into each other?” He asked before muttering about Dumbledore’s eerie innate knowledge of his student's locations.



“Why is Snape giving you remedial lessons, by the way?” Hermione asked.



It took Harry a second to work out that she’d asked why he’d changed their meeting time, and he realized again that he probably ought to tell them what’d happened in Snape’s office. He’d kept Sirius and Lupin in the dark too much lately, but how many people should really know about Harry’s apparent madness?



A blonde girl with a thick plait hissed about Cedric before shoving past the three of them and sending Hermione tripping over her robe and nearly crashing to the ground. Several of her books spilled out before Harry snagged her elbow and helped pull her upright.



“Mr Potter!”



Harry flinched as Umbridge’s girlish voice cut over the crowd. He swallowed back a faint bubble of nausea.



“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered as he and Harry collected Hermione’s books. “That’s just what we need. Slip away or something, maybe see if you can hide with Lee?”



Hermione muttered a foul word beneath her breath and eyed the tear in her robes and frantically searched over shoulder for Lee. Neither Harry nor Hermione could spy him though.



“Well,” Umbridge said with a fussy huff as she caught up to them. She paused and gave Hermione a distasteful side eye after noticing the muggle jeans beneath her robes. “Miss Granger, this school requires pressed robes and a neat uniform when you’re out of your Common Room.”



Hermione gave Umbridge a dull look. “I fell.”



Umbridge stared for a moment before pulling out a thin roll of pale pink parchment and a fluffy quill. “I’m going to give you a warning then, dear, be glad it isn’t a detention.”



“I fell.” Hermione said again in a firm voice. “I didn’t just leave like this!”



Umbridge waved a hand at Hermione’s answer and scribbled a note before passing it over. “Be that as it may, there are spells that will prevent robes from tearing and not revealing quite as much of our inappropriate clothing choices.”



Hermione flushed. “They’re just jeans—”



“Off you go then, you two,” Umbridge said in a clear dismissal. “Mr Potter and I have some—”



“I have to go too, Professor.” Harry said quickly. He held the note up and swallowed back a trickle of worry at the sharp look in Umbridge’s eyes. He was reminded once more of the way she’d crept around her desk in his memory, and even more so of Aragog and the way he crawled atop his nest.



Umbridge’s lips pinched and twisted into her horrible small smile.



“I’ll let him know you’ll be late.” She said before her heels cracked down the stairs and she flicked a finger at Harry, gesturing for him to follow her.



A resounding sense of horror cracked over him as he realized she truly meant to ignore Snape’s note.



“Harry,” Hermione whispered nervously behind him. “We'll, we’ll get erm,” She glanced at Ron who looked equally worried. “We’ll get McGonagall?”



“What if she poisons you again!” Ron hissed nervously.



“Then Ruffles will have something to work with.” Harry hissed back. “I need them though, please.” He added as his stomach slipped into a knot. “I need—”



“Mr Potter, now please.” Umbridge called.



Harry felt an invisible tug on his navel and he lurched forward before nearly tripping down several steps. He twisted over his shoulder and tried to silently mouth the words ‘Avery’ and ‘Potion’, but neither seemed to understand. It wouldn’t make much of a difference why they got Snape anyway, as Snape would hopefully move fast upon hearing Harry might potentially be poisoned again.



The two rushed down the corridor they’d come from, hopefully bent on taking a faster route to Snape. He almost wished Ron would run to the Common Room and get the map, as that was truly the fastest way to find someone.



Harry tripped down several more stairs before catching up and trailing behind Umbridge until they made their way to her office. His mum’s necklace flared to life as Umbridge flicked her wand and unlocked the door.



Hives burst over his skin as he looked around her office, though he tried to act unbothered. Despite the nausea he felt, he tried to keep a constant guard up, and not let her confund him again. Umbridge’s China plates and taffy pink ribbons hadn’t changed and Harry rubbed a hand over his throat as he remembered the last time he’d been in here.



“Now, I’m sure you don’t need me to impress upon you the seriousness of which I’ve brought you to my office today.” Umbridge began as she settled into her chair. She gave Harry a firm look and held her hand out to the same overstuffed pink armchair Harry’d sat in during his first meeting with Umbridge. “Sit.”



“I think I should go to my lesson with Professor Snape.” Harry said again.



“I think you should take a seat,” Umbridge said as her small smile thinned. “Because we have a very serious matter to discuss, as I said.”



Harry’s throat dried up in seconds and he wondered if he might just try to run away. Snape had made it seem as if running away was a reasonable response, though one that should be more calculated than the last spur of the moment decision. He tried to guess at how long it would take Ron and Hermione to get to the dungeons, pull Snape aside and bring him back up to Umbridge’s office.



“Sit.” Umbridge said in an overly sweet voice. “When a seat is offered, Mr Potter, we sit.”



Harry’s legs felt as if they’d been made of wood, though he forced himself to walk closer and sit on the edge of the seat.



“Now, would you like to tell me your side of the story first?” She asked before tilting her horrible small smile at him once more and folding her hands atop her desk. “Do try to remember what I told you on your first night of term, I want you to feel comfortable around me.”



“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry said. He truly didn’t know, how could he? She’d given him no background into what she was talking about, and if she wanted for Harry to tell her every ‘bad’ thing he’d done then she ought to have tried a little harder. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had loved to ask Harry to explain himself before they told him why he was in trouble, they were able to add anything they’d missed to their list of crimes against him while he willingly confessed. That trick had stopped working around Harry’s fifth birthday, though they still tried it every now and then.



“Come now,” Umbridge said sweetly. “There’s no sense in denying it, there were several witnesses.” She added before pulling a few rolls of parchment from a pile on her desk. “You cursed Mr Malfoy.”



Harry blinked stupidly for a moment and tried to guess at why Umbridge would be the one to question him on Malfoy, and not Snape or McGonagall.



Even Dumbledore would have made more sense than Umbridge.



She set the parchment aside and folded her hands once more. “Do you admit to it?”



Harry couldn’t think of what Snape or Ms Eileen would do in this instance, nor could he seem to push past his fear of being gagged, poisoned or otherwise hurt by Umbridge. He couldn’t tell if the nausea building through him related more to his fear or his mismade potion, and he wished for the first time that he kept the antidote on hand, rather than in his trunk, where he could easily take it in the morning, or in Snape’s Chambers. He despised himself for having left the antidote there this morning.



“I didn’t cast anything.” Harry said. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore knew where the spell came from, and frankly, that alarmed Harry more.



Umbridge gave him a flat look, though her smile remained taught. “I should think that if you’re trying out secret curses, ones that are of a significantly darker nature than those found in Hogwarts library books, you’d have utilized your resources sooner.”



Harry shook his head ‘no’ and immediately regretted it, as the room spun into a blurry mess of pink. An unsettling worry sprang over him, and he dreaded again how long Lee had meant when he’d said ‘a while’. He hadn’t kept track of his potion since he’d been forcibly transfigured by Dumbledore two days ago. It was the weekend and he’d had a plan to visit Snape.



He’d let it go too long.



“I am a resource, Mr Potter.” Umbridge said in a whisper. “I am your professor, much as you seem to dislike it. I am here to help regulate your defense education, for your benefit.”



A faint burning began to grow in Harry’s chest when he realized that she’d cornered him because of what Snape had brought up several days ago. She worried someone was teaching them defensive magic and was raising her ridiculous student army. She probably thought he’d learnt a dark curse for the fun of it and wanted to try it out on the first person he hated.



“I didn’t curse anyone.” Harry said through his climbing nausea. How long had the two of them been in her office for? Had it been long enough to expect Snape to come through the door?



“Do you know, I knew you’d be trouble,” Umbridge said with an overly sweet laugh. “Ever since the beginning of the term, when I graciously opened my door to you, and yet, here you are, cursing innocent students—”



“Not all of us curse people to prove a point.” Harry snapped.



Umbridge’s face soured and twisted into a foul look as her brown eyes darkened. The taffy pink bow on her head was almost too bright to look at, and Harry struggled to keep his eyes on open and cautious, for fear of Umbridge doing something terrible the moment he looked away.



“I beg your pardon, Mr Potter?” She asked after a moment. Her eyes brightened as if she’d won something as she looked down at Harry, despite being shorter than him. “That’s a serious accusation, one I would intend to see through personally.”



Harry swallowed heavily and shuddered as it came back up.



“If you believe yourself, or someone else has been cursed, as your defense professor, I would expect you to inform me.” She said with a pointed finger at Harry. “Anything less would be reckless, Mr Potter, though that wouldn’t be the first time we’ve experienced recklessness from you before, would it?”



Sweat dripped down Harry’s back and he wished desperately for Snape or anyone to throw the door open and help him.



“I feel sick.” Harry said as his nerves raced over his skin. “May I be excused until tomorrow?”



“So you can confer with whomever it was who taught you the curse, certainly not.” Umbridge said with an unkind laugh. “Goodness, I shall have to impart upon you the severity with which I’m speaking today, you, Mr Potter—”



Harry shook his head again before remembering that it was a dreadful idea.The room rocked and he sicked up on the floor before he could stop himself.



“Mr Potter!” Umbridge blanched and her coiffed hair fell into her eyes as she flinched backwards.



“I’m sick, professor,” Harry said thickly. He flicked his wand and cast a scouring charm. A bitter, but pleased feeling trickled through him at the thought of ruining the floor in her office. He needed to leave quickly though, or else Umbridge would find out everything and Harry'd be in far worse trouble for it. “I don’t feel well, I—”



“You were sick last time as well, Mr Potter,” Umbridge said in an overly caring voice. “Perhaps you are sick to your stomach because you know deep down that you’re actually guilty.” She said. “Guilty of lying to the public for attention, guilty of cursing your classmates when they rightfully don’t believe you, and guilty of lying to me.”



“I’m not!” Harry half shouted. His mouth watered again and he dreaded how much longer Umbridge would keep him.



An oddly muffled sound echoed from somewhere around the room and Harry blinked at the sound. He scratched at his knuckles and couldn’t help but worry that the sound was actually muffled buzzing, like he’d heard in his memory and his first experience in Umbridge’s office had returned.



“Professor,” Harry started thickly. “I really am sick and I don’t feel well.” He inhaled slowly and tried to soothe his pounding heart. An uncomfortably thick feeling came over him, and he tried to push past it to continue speaking, but found his voice slipping higher around him. The only time Harry’d been awake during his transformation in age had been when Snape gave him the antidote, and Harry remembered it well enough to recognize the feeling again.



He flicked his wand and tried to shrink his clothes in the same way Snape had done in Dumbledore’s office, and he mildly succeeded, though he found they were all far too large and baggy.



Terror engulfed him and Harry shuddered beneath the weight of it as Umbridge’s eyes widened.