Pain. Guilt. Disgust. Fear. No, not fear - terror. 

Harry felt a lot of emotions as he stumbled down the corridor in the darkness, afraid to light his wand for fear that he’d be caught, but these were the main three. 

He’d been unsettled by the bars on his window and the locks on his door over the summer. He’d been lonely and sad that his friends hadn’t written, then angry when he found out they had and the letters had just been withheld. He’d been nervous when they’d flown the Weasley’s car to school and a bit more nervous as their disciplinary actions had been determined. He’d been downright scared when he heard the mysterious voice in the walls that no one else could hear. 

Tonight, though, none of those emotions compared to the ones surging through every fiber of his being. He had to run, he had to hide. He had to find somewhere safe…and Harry had to do it before he caught up with him again. 

The second year, much smaller than his peers though quicker than most, darted behind a statue to pause and catch his breath. He wasn’t sure how many hallways and staircases he’d passed through as he’d tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and him but he knew it would never be enough. As long as he was within the castle walls, he’d be in danger. It could happen again. 

He’d have gone straight to Gryffindor tower if he’d been absolutely sure that no one besides his housemates and Professor McGonagall could get in, but since he wasn’t sure if anyone else had access, he couldn’t return there. There was only one way in and one way out, and he couldn’t let himself get trapped somewhere that he may turn up. 

He shivered in the cold air, realizing he hadn’t even grabbed his shirt or robes in the mad rush to place as much distance between himself and his classroom as possible. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering more as his body began to cool off from the burst of physical activity, the moisture from his sweat chilling him even more. He wasn’t sure what hallway he was down or even what floor he was on in the dark, which only increased the terror pumping through his veins. 

He felt disgusting, not only on the outside, where blood dripped down his leg and awful bruises and teeth marks contrasted with the pale skin of his neck, but also on the inside, where guilt swirled and mixed with his fear in a sickening kaleidoscope of memories. 

He hadn’t said no. 

He should have, but he had been afraid to. The man had been so nice to him and had seemed like he really cared that Harry had been having a pretty rotten day so far. He’d said Harry wasn’t to blame for getting detention, that he understood what it was like for students to be cruel and spread rumors and it was only fair that Harry had retaliated. He told Harry that the other students were jealous of him, of his fame and his skills. 

Harry hadn’t really believed him; he knew he had earned that detention the moment his fist landed on the third year Hufflepuff’s cheek in a fist of rage. He had felt the guilt stirring with the anger in his gut when he’d been reprimanded for muggle-style brawling…as if the consequences would have been any different if he’d used his wand or something. 

Even though Harry was cynical of his words, he couldn’t deny that having someone on his side - someone justifying his feelings and actions, someone who seemed to really understand that he wasn’t inherently evil just because he talked to snakes - made him feel warm inside in a way that few adults ever achieved (mostly because most adults never took his side on anything). It was the same feeling he had when Dumbledore praised him, the same feeling he had when he did well in class and was awarded points, the same way he felt when flying and catching the snitch.

And it wasn’t even the first time the man had taken interest in him or shown kindness to him; he’d gone out of his way to make Harry feel special and wanted since term began. How could he have possibly said no to someone who had been so nice to him? At first, he hadn’t wanted to hurt the man’s feelings - he didn’t really understand what was going on. By the time he realized what the man’s intentions were, it was too late to say no. When Harry had tried to back off, the man told him he was a tease and looked so disappointed in him. Harry had felt bad about disappointing the one person who had been on his side this year and couldn’t run off like he’d originally intended. 

So not only had this awful thing happened to him, but it was his own fault. He could barely stand to be in his own skin with how dirty he felt. 

Harry could hear footsteps approaching and he stiffened, covering his mouth and nose with his hand in an attempt to stifle any sound of his breathing. He just needed to pretend he wasn’t there, then he wouldn’t be in danger. Well, not in as much danger - as long as he was at Hogwarts, he was still at risk for this happening again. 

“Who’s there?” A silky voice questioned in the dark, “Show yourself.”

It wasn’t him. Harry’s legs quivered and he locked his knees to keep from sinking to the ground, the relief that swept through him zapping all of his remaining energy as well. It wasn’t him, but he still couldn’t be found like this - bloody and half naked. If anyone saw him, they’d know. He couldn’t let that happen. No one could know, especially not Snape.

Harry should have known Snape wouldn’t give up so easily, and soon the hall was lit with the tip of the professor’s wand. Harry remained rigid behind the statue, hoping Snape would give up and continue with his patrolling.

Luck was never on his side. 

A cold, thin hand grabbed his arm, pulling him from his hiding space as Snape spat out, “Potter, of course, I should have known it would be you.” 

The professor paused, taking in the boy’s appearance, and then asked, “Where are your clothes?”

Harry shook his head, refusing to answer and refusing to look Snape in the eye. He couldn’t find out. No one could find out. 

“I require a verbal answer, Potter.” Snape continued, his voice taking on a hard edge that led any sane person to comply for fear of being pickled next to the toads in the potions cupboard. Harry only shook his head again. 

The man’s grip tightened and Harry whimpered, looking at the professor in confusion when Snape dropped his arm at the wounded sound. 

“It is well past curfew, Mr. Potter, yet here you are, wandering the corridors with only your trousers on. You will tell me what you are up to, and you will tell me this instant!” 

In response, Harry bent forward and vomited all over Snape’s boots and his own bare feet. 

Snape swore lightly, though Harry barely registered the words being said as the corridor seemed to distort and wobble around him. He was finding it hard to breathe and the taste of bile lingering in his mouth only made him want to sick up more. Every inch of his body throbbed, though the parts that had been…violated…earlier hurt the most. 

“Deep breath, Potter.” Snape instructed the boy, seeing the wild look of panic in the child’s eyes and the increasingly rapid breaths, “Were you on your way to see Madam Pomfrey? Are you unwell?”

Harry shook his head, murmuring, “No, no Pomfrey. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m-”

“You most certainly are not fine, Mr. Potter.” Snape retorted, cleaning the mess the boy had made before giving the child a scrutinizing look, “There is little you could say or do to convince me otherwise. If you weren’t heading to the hospital wing, where were you sneaking off to?”

Harry looked down at his shaking hands, unable to formulate a response. He didn’t know where he was going; there was nowhere safe to go. 

“Answer me!” Snape demanded, raising his voice to try and retain the boy’s attention. Something was definitely wrong with the boy; the Potter he knew would have uttered six excuses by now and mouthed off at least twice without even realizing it. 

Harry remained silent, which ignited a flame of fury in the professor. He reached forward, grabbing the back of Harry’s neck to pull him along when Harry panicked, a surge of magic pushing Snape away while Harry shouted in pain and fear, curling in on himself even further.

Something was definitely wrong here. 

“What’s wrong with your neck, Potter?” Snape asked in a no-nonsense tone, crossing the distance back to the boy and shining his wand at the boy’s throat. 

There was no mistaking what he saw - fingerprints on both sides of the boy’s throat and collarbone. Further inspection showed matching marks on the boy’s jawline. A wave of nausea crashed through Snape and he forced himself to remain calm as he asked, “Where did you acquire those injuries, Potter?”

Harry shook his head, numb and barely hearing the Professor’s questions through the buzzing in his head. His body hurt and he didn’t know why his magic had pushed Snape away - was it because the professor had aggressively pushed down on a bruise? But if his magic cared about who and how he was being hurt, why hadn’t it pushed away him? 

“Potter! Look at me!” Snape demanded, panic rising as the boy still wouldn’t respond to him. He had a very good idea how those bruises came to be, especially paired with the boy being half-dressed and clearly in a state of panic and/or shock. He needed the boy to tell him he was wrong before Potter’s magic wasn’t the only thing making waves in the castle. He didn’t want to think about a child being violated in such a way within the castle, especially not a child he had vowed to protect. Lily’s boy could not have been harmed in such a manner, not within these walls. 

Footsteps echoed at the far end of the corridor, taking both by surprise.

Harry flung himself at the potions professor, burying his face in the man’s robes and whispering so softly that Snape had barely been able to register the words, “Don’t let him get me. Please.” 

Snape looked down at the boy in surprise, intending to ask more questions now that he seemed to be coherent, but all plans died on his lips as he noticed a small puddle of blood where the boy had been standing.

“Where are you hurt?”

The footsteps were getting closer, and Harry tensed, his small hands balling Snape’s robes in his fists. 

“Potter - Harry. I need to know where this blood is coming from.” 

Harry shook his head violently, trying to block out Snape’s voice and questions. He didn’t want to think about that. He couldn’t think about that. He started to shiver again, increasing his grip on the stern professor’s clothing. Snape may not be the nicest teacher, but Harry had no doubt that the man could be equally as terrifying to adults as he was to children and could think of no one better to protect him. 

“Potter, listen to me. If someone hurt you--”

“Severus?”

The footsteps had finally arrived, the Deputy Headmistress’s voice echoing in the otherwise empty corridor, “What is going--Mr. Potter! What happened?”

It wasn’t him. Harry felt relief wash through him and this time his legs could no longer support him. He would have fallen straight to the ground if the strong arms of the potions master hadn’t caught him and steadied him on his feet. 

“I was wondering the same thing, Minerva.” 

Harry shook his head again, trying to bury his face in the professor’s long black robes once more, but Snape wouldn’t allow it, holding the boy out at arms length, “Potter, we cannot help you if you don’t tell us what happened.”

“Is that blood?” McGonagall asked sharply, “Potter, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Harry wanted to tell her off for just assuming that he was doing something wrong, but then that pesky guilt flared again, reminding him that this was his fault, that he hadn’t said no, and all he was able to produce was a whimper. 

“Minerva, a word?” Snape asked, with a tilt of his head. He wanted to share his suspicions with his colleague, but was hesitant to do so in front of the skittish boy. 

“No!” Harry shouted, his disoriented and exhausted mind able to connect the dots through the fog to tell him that if they were going to talk in private, they wouldn’t be there to shield him, “No, please, no.”  

The boy’s shouts had quickly faded to whispers and both professors looked at each other, silently communicating their concern over the child. After a moment, McGonagall replied gently, “You’d rather I not talk to Professor Snape, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, panic over possibly being left alone to his defenses still guiding his responses. He was barely aware of his surroundings and the words spilling from his mouth as he replied hastily, “No, please Professor, you can’t - if you leave me alone, he’ll find me.” 

McGonagall took in the child’s pale complexion, the dark bruises standing out even moreso as they continued to talk, the child’s state of dress and the child’s clearly fragile and anxious mental state and quickly came to the same conclusions as Snape had moments prior to her arrival. She was silent for a moment as she wrapped her mind around this information, but then quickly jumped back into her leadership role and stated firmly, “Mr. Potter, I can assure you that whoever--” she paused, looking for the right word, “--harmed you will most certainly not find themselves anywhere near you again.”

“As soon as we get this sorted out, he will have a one-way ticket to Azkaban.” Snape added, his tone clipped as he began to think of other possible outcomes for the predator that would be less legal but more satisfying to enact, “You are no longer in danger. You have our word.”

Harry shook his head, panic still pumping through his veins like blood, “No, no, no…” 

“Mr. Potter--Harry!” McGongall said firmly, trying to make sure she had the boy’s attention, though it was all for naught since he refused to look at them and only continued to whisper the word ‘no’. 

The two professors looked at each other once more, momentarily at a loss, then Snape stepped forward, crouching down to be on eye level with the distraught boy, “Listen to me.” he paused, giving Harry a moment to collect himself, “We will keep you safe; we just need you to talk to us. Can you do that?”

Harry shook his head, lifting his head. His eyes were bright with tears and wild with panic. Snape could tell just by his expression that though Harry was looking in his direction, he wasn’t really hearing their words. The child’s gaze shifted so he could peer down the dark hallways, on edge and seemingly ready to bolt. Snape knew they had to do something; they couldn’t remain here in this dark, chilly corridor with Harry half-dressed and waiting for his attacker to return. 

“Professor McGonagall and I will bring you to the hospital wing, Harry.” Snape told the boy, leaving no room for argument though his voice lacked most of the acid it normally held. Harry instantly opened his mouth to respond, but Snape cut him off by continuing, “And we will remain with you, to protect you. We won’t let anyone in.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, wondering if he could believe the stern professor. Why would Snape care enough to stay with him and guard the doors? Why would McGonagall, for that matter? Then again, why would Snape lie? Snape was a lot of things, but Harry had never known him to be a liar, he was more likely to tell the truth, even if it was painful and awful to hear.

But did Snape and McGonagall even have the power to keep everyone out of the infirmary? Wasn’t that Madam Pomfrey’s decision? He looked from his previously-most-hated professor to his head of house, desperately wanting to believe they’d protect him, but finding it hard to trust them because historically adults never meant it when they said that. 

“What if someone is sick or hurt? They’ll have to come in, then.” Harry reasoned, his voice wavering slightly, “You can’t keep everyone out.” 

“Then Madam Pomfrey can tend to them in the hallway, for all I’m concerned.” Snape reassured the boy, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders and forcing the child to meet his gaze, “We will accompany you and then while Madam Pomfrey is tending to your injuries I will guard the doorway at wand-point. Anyone who tries to get past me will leave in a matchbox. Do you understand me?”

Harry nodded slowly - he was fairly certain Snape would take great joy in sending people away in matchboxes - and he braced himself for what was to come. They’d have to cross the castle to get to the infirmary and he could be lurking around any corner. Then he’d have to be examined and they’d all know what had happened, how filthy and dirty he is. 

He wanted to refuse to go, to ask them to take him anywhere else where he wouldn’t have to confront what had happened. He didn’t know if he could even say the words, he wanted to forget about it completely…but everything that had been violated hurt so terribly that he felt like his insides were going to fall out and he desperately wanted Pomfrey to wave her wand and fix him, to take all of the pain away so he could resume pretending like he was okay. 

“That’s a good lad.” McGonagall said gently, both she and Snape flanking the child as they began their journey to the hospital wing, “We’ll keep you safe, you just leave it to us.”

~*~

Harry had many regrets, especially revolving around the events that had taken place on this very night, but going to the hospital wing was probably going to rank within the top ten most regrettable moments of his life. 

It wasn’t bad enough that he had to strip down with shaky hands and feeling like his body was on display for the world, but then he had to watch Pomfrey tend to him through teary eyes. He hadn’t meant to make anyone cry, he felt awful for doing so. And once Pomfrey’s tears started, McGonagall got a bit weepy as well, which mortified Harry even more. Why were they crying over him like this? 

His heart raced as he wondered if maybe they were crying because he was broken now, maybe they couldn’t fix what he had broken - and Harry was sure something had been broken because walking was excruciatingly painful. 

“For Merlin’s sake, where is your professionalism?” Snape had told the two women in the same tone he used when telling Harry he was an idiot in class. It may have been comical, watching someone besides him getting told off, but Harry was still too worried about what parts could possibly be broken inside of him to find the humor in the situation as he would any other time.

The tears dried up quickly, indicating to Harry that he wasn’t broken or dying and his head out of house and the mediwitch were probably just emotional, though he really didn’t understand that, either. He’d never met an adult who cared enough about what happened to him to cry over him. It was really unsettling. 

The exam was uncomfortable and embarrassing. Pomfrey felt the need to verbally document all of the abuse his body had suffered over the evening - Harry knew it was for recordkeeping sake, as a quill was writing everything she dictated, but he really wished McGonagall and Snape hadn’t been there to hear it…though he also didn’t want them to break their promise and leave him. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted, his head still felt foggy, as if his brain was functioning about thirty seconds behind everyone else’s. 

Harry knew most of the injuries she was cataloguing; bruises on his face and his neck. He remembered getting those clearly, the man with his hands tightly on Harry’s face, forcing him closer as Harry squirmed to get away. He remembered what had happened next, his mouth being pried open, and--

Harry bent forward, throwing up into his lap as memories assaulted him. Ironically, that was the same result that had happened when he had done that to him. He was cleaned up in the blink of an eye, though he barely even noticed as his blood pounded in his ears, the sounds of the room growing muffled as his vision greyed around the edges. His chest hurt as he struggled to pull in a breath, but choked on the air before it could make it to his lungs. 

“Move!” He heard Snape’s voice snap followed by a sigh of exasperation, his footsteps approaching the bed, and Harry wanted to remind the professor that he was supposed to be guarding the door, though he couldn’t get his brain nor mouth to work properly. A vial was pressed to his lips and Harry automatically swallowed, relieved to get the nasty taste of sick and the memories of the tastes of other things out of his mouth. 

Within moments, the room had come back into focus and his lungs began to work again. He rubbed his eyes with shaky hands before stealing a glance towards his two protectors. 

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I should have thought of giving you a potion before we even began.” Pomfrey apologized kindly, gently pushing Harry back against the pillows, “That was just a calming draught, it should help with some of the big feelings you’re feeling right now.”

Harry couldn’t do anything other than nod, his body feeling heavy and his eyes trying to close, though he tried to fight them. He was relieved to see Snape had returned to his guard post, and his last conscious thought was that he did finally feel like maybe he was safe. 

~*~

“Did he say who did this to him?” Poppy asked quietly, her voice trembling with rage. She’d just confirmed everyone’s speculations over what had happened and was very glad that the child had fallen asleep after his potion, because the magic in the room was practically tangible and she knew it would frighten him.

Severus took it upon himself to respond, since he had been the first to come across the distraught boy, “No, only that it was a male. Judging from the bruises, I would assume it had to be a teacher or an older student, those are the marks of adult-sized hands.” 

“He served a detention with Gilderoy tonight.” Minerva gasped, puzzle pieces starting to fit together to paint a gruesome scene in their minds, “You don’t think…”

“That is a logical assumption.” Severus sighed, “Although it easily could have been an older year out after curfew. I suppose there’s one way to find out.” 

At the curious glance of the two women, Severus continued, “Mr. Potter is missing his shirt, his socks, and his shoes, if you haven’t noticed. If we find those belongings in Lockhart’s possession, it would hardly be coincidental.”

“Do you have any veritaserum in your stock?” Minerva asked, her Scottish accent heavier than usual due to the emotion held in her voice, “I believe the fact that he had access to Mr. Potter alone tonight warrants an interrogation.”

“We need to call in the Headmaster.” Poppy interrupted before the conversation could get out of hand, “Albus can take the documentation from my exam and call in aurors to question him.”

“No, no one enters this room.” Severus insisted, “You may go to him, but he is not to come here.”

“Honestly, Severus, he needs--”

“We gave him our word.” Severus interrupted the mediwitch, “No one comes in unless Harry has given his approval. This is non-negotiable.” 

“He’s the headmaster!” Poppy retorted, sounding scandalized, “Surely Potter would be fine with the headmaster being here.”

“No, Severus is right.” Minerva countered, “We gave Potter our word. No one is to enter. We failed to keep this child safe when it mattered most; the least we can do now is make sure he feels safe while he heals.” 

“Go on, go inform the headmaster of what has transpired. We will watch over Potter until you return.” Severus insisted, “But remember, no one comes in until he’s awake and can make that choice.” 

Clearly upset to have such restrictions placed on her post, but knowing she was unable to sway their decisions, Poppy left at once to alert the headmaster to the danger residing within the castle. In the hospital wing, Minerva took a seat next to her students’ bed while Severus set up his own chair near the doorway. Both knew without doubt that this would be a long night.

Harry felt like a completely different person. 

That’s really the only way he could think to describe it and he couldn’t quite place what it was that made him feel this way, aside from the obvious - clearly the events with Lockhart had played a monumental role in this shift from Harry to new-Harry. 

He’d been released from the hospital wing that morning, feeling an odd mixture of dread and relief at the news. Before he had even come up with a reason why he needed to stay just a bit longer, Snape and McGonagall had reassured him that Lockhart had been escorted off property by aurors and was no longer a threat. Snape had gone as far as to escort Harry to the Great Hall for breakfast - not directly, of course, as that would have been embarrassing, but following at a safe distance to watch over him. 

Harry tried to ignore the warm and fuzzy tingle of feeling cared for that the gesture caused; after all, the last person who cared for him so openly had then done this to him. He didn’t think Snape would ever do the same, not after how angry Snape had been with Lockhart, but being prepared didn’t cost a knut, so Harry decided to pretend like he didn’t care either way. 

He had no idea that the apprehension and following relief had been as clear as glass on his face. 

The walk to the Great Hall was over quickly and Harry lingered in the doorway for a moment, the noise and chaos of breakfast in the hall causing his heart to race and his palms to sweat. He’d felt calm and safe hidden away in the hospital wing with only Snape and McGonagall around. He felt a bit less once Pomfrey and Dumbledore had arrived, though he appreciated that they’d asked him for permission to let Dumbledore enter - as if the headmaster wasn’t allowed to go anywhere he pleased anyway; but he felt decidedly less calm and unsafe as he approached the rest of the student population. 

Could they see how dirty he was? His shame? Would they be able to tell that he was new-Harry now and not the same Harry that had been there just the day before? Were they always so loud?

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned around with a gasp, instinctively grabbing his wand when he heard a voice behind him. 

Snape took a step back, holding his hands up placatingly, “Calm down, Potter - I just wanted to talk.” 

Harry lowered his wand, his face flushing with embarrassment. He was sure that any other day, he’d be hauled off to an immediate detention by his ear if he had drawn his wand on a professor, especially this one! 

“I’m sorry, sir.” Harry said quietly, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. The hall was still as noisy as ever and he hated to have his back to the crowded room, not knowing who would walk up and take him by surprise. “You wanted to talk…to me?”

“Obviously.” Snape replied dryly, pausing to hurry along a few students who had just approached the entrance. He studied the boy for a moment before asking, “Have you ever been to the kitchens, Potter?”

Harry looked at the professor, clearly confused, and asked, “The kitchens, sir?”

“Did you think the food just materialized?” Snape asked with a slightly amused expression, “The kitchens, Potter. Downstairs. It’s where the house elves prepare the food.”

Harry stared blankly at the man, trying to figure out why Snape was telling him this. 

“The elves practically fall over themselves to make a student happy when they go to the kitchens for a meal.” Snape continued slowly, as if waiting for Harry to connect the dots to a puzzle he couldn’t quite see in the current state he was in.

After a few moments of the pair looking at each other in silence, Snape’s implications finally breached the fog that had taken over Harry’s rational mind the night before, and he nodded slowly, “That’s really good to know, sir.” 

“If you find that being in the Great Hall with all of your schoolmates is too overwhelming, there is no shame in seeking a more peaceful meal elsewhere; Merlin knows some days the only way to keep my sanity is to dine in my personal quarters instead of with the neanderthals you call classmates.” Snape continued, “If you desire to relocate to a more peaceful setting, such as the kitchens, simply walk to the exit door and I will find a reason to excuse myself and accompany you there.” 

“What about your breakfast?” Harry asked with a frown, “Won’t you be hungry?”

“The elves practically fall over themselves to make a professor happy when we go to the kitchens, as well.” Snape reassured the boy, giving the child an appraising look as if he wasn’t quite sure to make of the student he had always thought he’d known. 

Harry was surprised that the potions master had even volunteered to escort him across the castle, much less imply that he’d stay and eat with him. That warm feeling was returning, but Harry pushed it down firmly. Snape was just doing his duty as a professor, nothing more. He’d promised to keep Harry safe, and probably thought doubling as his bodyguard in the hallways was a good way to keep that promise. 

Harry glanced over his shoulder, wishing he could skip trying to sit with his peers and just go straight to the kitchens, but he knew that wouldn’t be an option. 

Sure, Snape would probably escort them there right this moment if Harry asked him to, that much was obvious by the professor’s patient tone and offer of assistance, but Harry knew if he didn’t walk through those doors and face his friends right now it would only just get harder. They’d ask more questions, they’d demand more answers. Hermione would look at him all concerned and motherly and Ron would do the same, just more discreetly so Seamus and Dean didn’t take the mick. 

Of course, there was the issue of knowing where the kitchens were in general; if he ran away now and found a place where he could escape whenever he deemed it necessary, he’d be more likely to do so in the future, and hiding from his problems had never really worked out well for him in the past. 

Maybe it was his Gryffindor bravery, or maybe it was just his desire to blend in and not attract any attention to himself, but he took a deep breath, steadied his shaky hands, and then replied, “Thank you for the offer, Professor.”

“After you, Mr. Potter.” Snape told the child, giving him one final appraising look before gesturing to the Great Hall. 

“Look, there’s Harry!” 

Harry tensed, glancing to his left as Snape passed him to walk towards the staff table, his long legs making much more progress across the hall than Harry’s short stature allowed. He quickly turned his attention back to his friends, who were clearly very happy to see him. 

“Where were you?” Ron demanded, a few crumbs of toast spraying from his full mouth as he spoke, “You didn’t come back after detention. Hermione and I waited in the common room forever and then we went to check with McGonagall to let her know you were gone, but she was gone, too!”

“Then we went back this morning and she was still gone. We thought something had happened to you!” Hermione added worriedly, “So we went to the hospital wing to see if you’d gotten hurt or something and Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t even let us in the door!” 

Harry swallowed thickly, acutely aware that his entire body had broken into a cold sweat at the mention of his detention the night before. He glanced towards the head table, surprised (but at the same time relieved) to find that Snape’s eyes were on him. Maybe he did need a place to escape to after all. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked, frowning at Harry’s unease and following his gaze to the head table, “Did you get into trouble? Is that why Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall won’t stop looking at you?”

“If you wanted to go out after curfew, you could have come and got me - I could have been your lookout and then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten caught.” Ron added, sounding slightly put out at the idea of missing an adventure.

“I wasn’t in trouble.” Harry muttered, wiping his sweaty hands off on the legs of his trousers, “I wasn’t feeling well. I went to the hospital wing after detention.”

“Did Professor Lockhart send you?” Hermione asked at the same time as Ron commented, “You looked fine at dinner.” 

Harry took a deep breath, glancing back at the head table - this time at his head of house, who gave him a reassuring smile. He turned back to his friends, “No, McGonagall and Snape were out in the halls after my detention--”, even the word detention felt like poison in his mouth after the previous night’s events, and he couldn’t stop the small tremor that flowed through him as he said it, “--they said I looked ill and made me go get checked over.”

“You do look a bit pale, mate.” Ron commented, studying his friend for a moment before returning to his sausages, “What did she say was wrong?”

“He’s right.” Hermione agreed, curiosity practically oozing from her expression and she studied Harry a bit more closely, “She let you go? Or did you just escape?”

Harry rolled his eyes with a slightly indignant huff, “She let me go. I’m fine.” 

“Sure you are.” both friends said in disbelief. 

Harry tried to look offended, but was unable to keep the expression held long enough for it to be believable, and the three of them laughed it off, finding the predictability of their conversation amusing. It was commonly known that Harry could be fighting for his life and still claim that he was fine, just as Harry knew that nothing he said to defend himself against their accusations would work since they had a tendency to overreact to things regarding his health and safety. 

The tension between Harry and his friends was broken through the laughter, though Harry still felt like a stranger in his own skin. How could he be laughing with his friends just 12 hours after what had happened? It felt wrong to sit here and pretend like he was okay. It felt wrong to find enjoyment in anything when he knew what dangers could be waiting for him within the castle walls. It also felt wrong to lie to Ron and Hermione; he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up the charade forever, they knew him almost as well as he knew himself and he just knew they’d be able to tell he was new-Harry and not their normal, previous friend sooner or later. 

Did new-Harry laugh? Did new-Harry have friends? Could new-Harry trust them with his secret? How could he even tell them about it when he couldn’t bring himself to say the actual words? He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling an echo of the aching and throbbing pains from the night before even though he’d been fully healed and knew he wasn’t really feeling any discomfort other than his racing thoughts and worry that he’d be ambushed.

“Harry!” 

Harry looked up, snapped out of his thoughts by Hermione’s voice. Clearly she had already said his name a few times. 

“What?”

“Are you sure Pomfrey said you could go, mate?” Ron asked with a frown, “You still seem a bit out of it.” 

More sweat pushed through Harry’s pores at the idea that they already had seen through Harry’s facade and realized he was new-Harry and inherently different than he’d been before. He again wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers and swallowed back the panic that had been steadily rising in his chest since he’d sat down. 

“I’m fine.” Harry lied, “Honestly. I’m just tired, I guess.” 

Hermione had been studying him carefully, and was just about to respond with something Harry was sure would be incredibly brilliant and observant enough to push the panic he was barely able to contain over the edge. Instead, though, she was interrupted by Dumbledore, who rose to his feet to command the attention of the students. 

“Good morning, students. In the time since we convened for dinner last night, we’ve had some abrupt changes made to our staff.”

Harry felt bile rise in his throat and he swallowed it down, clenching his fists tightly under the table and wishing he was anywhere but the Great Hall right now. What if Dumbledore told everyone his secret?

“Look, Lockhart’s missing.” Lavender Brown said from a few seats over, “I wonder what happened to him?”

“We saw him being escorted out of the castle by aurors this morning.” George announced to the table in an animated whisper. Harry hadn’t even noticed that the twins had been seated on the opposite side of Hermione.

“In his pyjamas.” Fred added, a hint of excitement in his voice that usually accompanied gossip at their table, “What do you think happened?”

“Oh no, I hope he’s alright!” Hermione contributed softly to the discussion. It was no secret that the entire female student population thought he was beautiful and brilliant. “He had so much left to teach us!”

Harry shuddered as he swallowed rising acid again, wondering if being sick at the table would be enough reason to flee the room in the middle of the headmaster’s speech. He wanted to slam his hands angrily down on the table and tell Hermione to shut up, that she had no idea how vile that man was and how she was lucky it wasn’t her that he’d been interested in, but there was no way of telling her off without revealing his secret. 

“Alright there, Harry?” George had asked, noticing the boy’s pallor for the first time and obviously concerned for the boy who was more or less another little brother to him.

Harry shook his head before even realizing he was answering George’s question. The intense gaze of three Weasleys and Hermione at his confession made him feel even more on edge and sweaty, and he crossed his arms on the table, lowering his face onto them in defeat. They were all going to know. Hermione was incredibly talented in solving puzzles, he had no doubt that she’d have connected the dots between Harry’s detention, Harry’s disappearance and Lockhart’s disappearance before the end of the day’s classes.

The table fell silent as the four Gryffindors silently mouthed questions and suggestions about their friend over his head while he tried to remember how to breathe properly. 

Dumbledore still spoke at the front of the room, “All Defence classes will be halted until a suitable replacement can be made. I suggest you all continue to read your textbooks and review the material you’ve already learned. As we determine a time and place where you may practice the spells you’ve learned, I want to remind all students that magic is not allowed in the corridors. Once we have a practice location established, I will update you on the times and dates it is available.”

Dumbledore sat once more, and the room burst into conversations speculating why their professor had suddenly disappeared. 

Harry jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder and for a moment he was lost in the memories of a dimly lit classroom. 

“Woah, careful.” 

Fred. It was Fred’s hand and Harry was in the Great Hall. He really needed to pull himself together. 

“Come on, up you get.” Fred continued, pulling Harry to his feet with a concerned frown, “You’re looking a bit off colour, mate, you need to lie down for a bit.”

George was at his side a moment later, “Unless you’d prefer Pomfrey?”

Harry glanced at the twins, then at Ron and Hermione, who had risen to join them. He didn’t know how to respond. Did he want to go back to the hospital wing and remain under the watchful eye of the matron? Not particularly. But at least there he knew there was an adult nearby and no one would get to him. He wasn’t sure he felt that same sense of security in his dormitory. What if someone came to hurt him and no one could hear him screaming?

The decision was made for him when the stern voice of their Head of House appeared, “And what, pray tell, are you lot involved in this early in the morning?”

“Harry’s not well.” Hermione informed her, “Fred and George were going to take him--”

“I see,” McGonagall interrupted, taking Harry by the arm and giving a stern look to the other four of her lions, “I’ll escort him to the hospital wing. You four finish your breakfast and get to class.” 

“But--”

“No buts, Miss Granger.” McGonagall insisted firmly, “Second years have a free period this afternoon, I’m sure you will have plenty of time to check in on Mr. Potter at that time.” 

Once they were in the hallway, McGonagall released Harry’s arm, gazing down at the boy with affection and concern, “I’m sorry you had to be there for Professor Dumbledore’s speech this morning, Mr. Potter. Had I known he would be making that announcement, I would have had you remain in the infirmary through breakfast to avoid it.” 

Harry nodded, suddenly blinking back tears and unable to find his voice. Where had the tears even come from? New-Harry was apparently a lot easier to overwhelm than old-Harry had been. With one last look over his shoulder at the loud, chaotic hall, Harry sighed and followed his head of house back towards the hospital wing. He was a coward. A coward for not saying no to him, a coward for not confiding in his friends, and a coward for running away from his problems. 

~*~

“I wish you’d just tell us what’s going on.” Hermione said softly, sitting on the ground next to her friend, and laying her head on his shoulder, “It’s not good for you to keep everything bottled up. We know something’s bothering you.”

Harry stared out over the lake, refusing to even look at her. This was the 47th time she had tried to get him to open up to her over the last week; he’d been keeping track. 

“Hermione, leave it alone.” Ron muttered when it was clear Harry was going to ignore her completely, “He’ll talk to us when he’s ready.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you.” Harry told his two best friends softly, “I just…I can’t.”

His response only seemed to worry them more, and Harry pulled away from Hermione, rising to his feet. He wanted to flee, to escape their probing questions and concerned expressions. He wanted to run as fast as he could - until his legs ached and his lungs burned. He could feel the desire to escape stirring inside of him, occasionally flaring and rising to the surface in a way that made him feel like he was completely out of control. 

He couldn’t flee, though. He was still too scared to go off on his own. 

He knew they had to have noticed - if it wasn’t McGonagall or Snape flanking him everywhere, Ron and Hermione had to realize that he had developed an unhealthy codependency of not being able to go anywhere without asking one of them to tag along. It was a testament to their solid friendship that they hadn’t questioned him and just went along with his crazy - and they were absolutely mad -  requests; since when did 12 year old boys need to have a companion to go to the loo?

“Ready to go inside, mate?” Ron asked, giving Harry a smile that they all knew was fake to cover up his concern. 

Harry couldn’t ask for a better best friend. 

Harry shook his head. He was quiet for several minutes, lost in his thoughts and desperately searching for a way to stop feeling so stir-crazy and uncomfortable in his own skin, then looked to his two friends with a thoughtful expression, “Want to have a race?”

He still had energy he needed to burn off, he still had the desire to run and never look back, but this is the closest he would be able to come to achieving that if he didn’t want to find himself alone with no one to have his back if (unlikely as it was) Lockhart showed up again. 

“What?” Ron asked with a half-laugh, “You’re mad!”

“Scared you’re going to lose?” Harry goaded, a true smile gracing his features for the first time since the incident, “Afraid to lose to me and Hermione both?”

“I’m not racing.” Hermione scoffed, holding up her textbooks, “It would be futile anyway with all of these books.”

“Leave the books, we’ll come back for them.” Harry insisted, “Don’t you want to show Ron that you’re faster than him?”

“I don’t think I am.” Hermione laughed, though she did gently place the books on the ground, “But if you really want to…”

“I do.” Harry insisted, “It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, alright.” Ron agreed, seeing that he was now outnumbered two-to-one, “To the castle and back?”

“That’s less of a race and more of a marathon,” Hermione laughed, “How about to the edge of the forest and back?”

“Last one back has to jump into the lake!” Harry decided, feeling a bit lighter and more familiar in his own skin than he had in awhile. 

“Robes and all.” Hermione added, then teased, “Have you been for a swim lately, Ron?”

~*~

Not too far away, Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall watched as the three second year students shouted gleefully at each other as they ran, reaching their goal and doubling back to the start moments later. Harry reached the end first, doubling over slightly as he caught his breath and waited for Ron and Hermione to catch up. 

“He looks happy.” Minerva told her colleague, the hint of a smile on her normally stern face as the Weasley boy accused the other two of cheating, though the children were all laughing through his accusations. 

Severus was silent, watching Harry carefully as the boy resumed his position seated in the grass, “I’m happy to see he is spending time with his little fan club. They will help pull him through this.”

“He won’t even talk to them about what happened. Granger comes by daily to ask me what’s wrong with him or if I can do something to help.” Minerva admitted, “I told him that talking about it may help him begin to heal, but he refused to even consider it.”

“He’s got a long recovery ahead of him.” Severus acknowledged, “It’s not an easy process. It’s encouraging, though, that he is making an effort to connect instead of hiding away from them. In time he will feel comfortable enough to open up to them. He’s worried what they will think of him; he still feels like this was his fault, despite being told repeatedly that he holds no blame here.”

“Oh?” Minerva asked, surprised. She hadn’t been aware that her little lion had spoken to anyone about the ordeal he’d been through. 

Severus’s lip quirked slightly upwards, “Potter is still apprehensive of walking the corridors alone. I sometimes accompany him, especially when his friends are unable to. He talks, rambles even, when he’s feeling nervous.”

He wasn’t about to tell her that he and the boy ate breakfast and dinner together in the kitchens daily and had been since his panicky attempt to join his peers the morning after the attack. She was an intelligent witch and knew both had been absent from meals, if she truly wanted to she would be able to put two and two together. 

“He’s never talked to me about those things.” Minerva commented lightly, “Perhaps he finds you to be a safe confidant?”

“Perhaps I just make him more nervous than you do.” Snape retorted dryly, “I highly doubt the boy will ever consider me someone to confide in.”

“Yet he does it anyway.”

Snape rolled his eyes at the absurdity of her statement, then turned his attention back to the students. Potter and Granger were laughing so hard that neither could fully support their own weight and Weasley had just thrown himself dramatically into the lake. While a few weeks ago, he would have been repulsed by the attention-seeking noise the trio were making, today he couldn’t help but feel the concern he’d felt for the boy loosen in his chest. He’d never admit it, but he was relieved that the boy had found even a few moments of joy during this trying experience. 

~*~

“Has it never occurred to you that they wouldn’t question you so much if you were truthful with them?” Snape asked Harry as he finished cutting a piece of carrot with his fork, “Even if you leave out most of the details and just tell them that you were harmed during your detention with him - giving them something will make them feel like you’re opening up to them and then they’ll stop asking you about it.” 

Harry shook his head, pushing his plate away as his appetite vanished, “Hermione won’t let it go until she knows the details. She always wants to know everything so she can analyze all of it.”

“Finish your chicken.” Snape directed, pushing the plate closer to Harry, “You aren’t going to starve yourself because you’re apprehensive about your friends.”

“I’m not hungry.” Harry replied sullenly, “I don’t understand why they can’t just let it go. I just want to forget it.”

“This isn’t something you can just forget.” Snape replied. Harry could tell he was trying to keep his voice calm, though he knew Snape was probably tired of having this same conversation with him over and over again. He bit his lip in an effort not to interrupt the professor as Snape continued speaking, “They continue to inquire about it because they care for you and they can tell you’re upset. You’re lucky to have friends who care so deeply for you that they won’t rest until they know for sure that you are okay.” 

“But I’m not okay.” Harry mumbled, “I just don’t want to talk about it to them.” 

“And they know that, hence the barrage of questions. Wouldn’t you be asking them questions if they were clearly not okay and continued to insist nothing was wrong?” 

Harry was quiet, pushing around his food with a scowl on his face. Feeling the professor’s gaze drilling into him, he sighed and had to agree, “You’re right. I would want to know and I’d want to know even more if they said it was nothing and I knew it was something.” 

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Snape scoffed, “Stop playing with your food and eat. The house elves work hard on our meals and it would be a pity for their work to go to waste.” 

They sat in silence for several minutes, Snape finishing his meal while Harry gave a half-hearted attempt to work on his own. 

“Do you think they’ll look at me differently?” Harry asked quietly - so quietly that he wasn’t even sure Snape could hear him. 

He clearly underestimated Snape’s superior listening skills, as the man’s response was instantaneous and firm, “Your friends have stood by you without hesitation and with little regard for the consequences of their actions. That stunt last year with the stone? Never faltering when you were discovered to be a parselmouth. Late night duels, sneaking around, flying a car to school…I have zero doubt that anything you could do at this point would cause them to think less of you.” 

Harry looked up, trying to decide if Snape was being snarky, honest, or both. Hesitantly, he asked, “Because I’m famous Harry Potter and they’re my adoring fan club?” 

Harry tensed after speaking, looking down nervously while expecting a nasty response from his professor - after all, Snape had never hesitated to accuse him of getting whatever he wanted without consequence because of the scar on his forehead. Just because they’d been able to get along decently for the last week didn’t mean that their truce would last. 

“Cheeky brat.” Snape sighed before reaching across the table and using a finger to lift Harry’s chin so the boy was looking him in the eye, “Because you’re Harry Potter and you are their friend. They won’t think less of you because they care about you for who you are on the inside and not because of whatever the rumors and press are circulating about you at any given point in time. The things that happened to you won’t change the way they feel about you because you’re still you.”

“I don’t think I am.” Harry admitted quietly, “I don’t feel like I’m the same person I was before.” 

“Single moments in our lives don’t define who we are, Mr. Potter. How we react, how we adapt, how we recover - our character defines who we are. You have overcome many obstacles in your lifetime and you will overcome this as well.” 

“I don’t know if I can.” 

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to help you.” Snape countered, placing his fork down and laying his napkin on top of his plate, “You’re stronger than you think, you just don’t realize it yet.” 

“Do you really think so?”

“Do I look like someone who would offer platitudes just to make you feel better?” Snape scoffed, “I’m absolutely certain.” 

Harry felt something loosen in his chest at the stern professor’s words and for the first time in a week he felt like maybe things might be okay after all.