In the autumn of Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the golden leaves were falling like heavy, heartbroken tears from the ancient trees surrounding the castle. The air was crisp, carrying the intoxicating aroma of damp earth and the subtle sweetness of pumpkin pasties from the bustling Hogwarts kitchen.


However, amid the familiar comfort of returning to Hogwarts, a sinister change had permeated the school's walls. The Ministry of Magic, keen on controlling the narrative of Lord Voldemort's return, had sent one of its own to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dolores Umbridge, with her saccharine smile and penchant for pink, appeared as a cartoonish figure; but beneath the surface lay a venomous viper, ready to strike at anyone who dared challenge her narrative.


Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was her prime target. He was a thorn in the Ministry's side, and therefore, a thorn in hers. Determined to quell his insistence on Voldemort's return, Umbridge used a unique, torturous form of punishment: a blood quill. Harry's nights were spent in her pastel-hued office, etching words of submission into his own hand. But Harry was resilient, his spirit unyielding despite the physical torment.


One evening, in early October, as the sunset painted the castle in hues of red and gold, Umbridge's patience finally snapped. The blood quill, she decided, was not enough. After dismissing her ever-circling cat plates, she turned to Harry with a sickeningly sweet smile. "It appears, Mr. Potter," she cooed, "that we need to... escalate your punishment."


Before Harry could react, Umbridge pointed her wand at him, her mirthful eyes now filled with a cruel gleam. "Crucio!" she uttered. An unimaginable pain tore through Harry, like a thousand white-hot knives stabbing him all at once. His body writhed on the cold, tiled floor, but his gritted teeth held back any sound of surrender.



Umbridge, her face alight with a perverse sense of satisfaction, let the curse hold for what felt like an eternity before finally lifting it. Harry collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath as the white-hot pain receded into a dull, throbbing ache. But Umbridge wasn't done. She cast the curse twice more, each time holding it until beads of sweat formed on her brow and her breathing became ragged from the exertion.


"Enough," she finally panted, lowering her wand. She wiped her brow with a delicate lace handkerchief, her smug smile returning. "I trust this has been an... enlightening lesson, Mr. Potter."


Harry, his body wracked with residual pain, pulled himself up to his feet. His legs were unsteady, and he had to brace himself against Umbridge's cluttered desk to keep from falling. He was unable to respond, his voice a mere croak, but his eyes remained determined, refusing to show the torment he'd endured.


"Off you go," Umbridge dismissed him, a wave of her hand gesturing towards the door. "I trust you'll find your way back to your dormitory and don't discuss your detention with anyone."



The journey back to Gryffindor Tower was slow, every step an agonizing ordeal for Harry. The castle that had always been a sanctuary, brimming with magic and whimsical wonder, now resonated with a heavy silence that pressed on him like a tangible weight. The warm glow from the enchanted ceiling seemed distant, the stars just pinpricks of cold light that offered no comfort.


His mind, usually captivated by the grandeur of the tapestries, the vibrant chronicles of the wizarding world woven with golden threads into the castle's very fabric, was preoccupied. His attention was drawn inward, focusing on the pain that radiated from every inch of his body. His limbs felt leaden, his bones ached as though they'd been shattered and hastily mended, and his nerves sparked with the phantom echoes of the Unforgivable Curse.


The portraits that once provoked his curiosity and offered companionship were merely smears of color in his peripheral vision. Their inhabitants, usually eager to offer conversation or advice, now stared silently from their frames, their painted eyes following Harry's laborious progress down the corridors.


Harry clung to the wall as if it were his only lifeline. His knuckles were white against the cold stone, the rough texture biting into his skin. The corridor stretched out in front of him, an unending path that seemed to mock his struggle. His body was screaming for rest, every muscle protesting the cruel torment they'd endured. He felt as if he were wading through a deep, viscous pool, each step demanding an insurmountable effort.



At long last, Harry reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady's portrait adorning the stone wall. The Fat Lady, a fixture of his daily life at Hogwarts, wore an expression of concern and shock as she surveyed his haggard appearance.


"My dear boy," she tutted, her painted eyes wide in the flickering torchlight. "You look positively dreadful! You should go straight to Professor McGonagall."


Harry managed a feeble shake of his head, a silent refusal that the Fat Lady seemed to understand. For once, she did not ask for the password, and with a sigh that echoed in the stone alcove, the entrance to Gryffindor Tower swung open.


He entered into the familiar circular room. It was late, the common room bathed in the warm glow of the dying fire. The scarlet and gold decor, usually so comforting and vibrant, seemed faded under his weary gaze. The room was deserted, the hustle and bustle of his housemates long gone, their laughter and chatter replaced by the whispering crackle of the fireplace.


Dragging himself up the winding staircase, Harry felt every creak of the old wood under his weight. The usually brief journey to his dormitory seemed to stretch out, mirroring his unending night. But the idea of collapsing onto his four-poster bed gave him the energy to trudge onwards.


Finally, he pushed open the door to his dormitory. The room was bathed in the soft, silvery glow of moonlight filtering through the mullioned windows. The heavy velvet curtains of his dorm mates' beds were drawn shut, their occupants lost in peaceful slumber, oblivious to the ordeal he had just survived. His own bed looked impossibly inviting, the emerald green covers thrown back in the haste of morning.


With the last ounce of his strength, Harry managed to undress and climb into his bed. The cool sheets felt soothing against his skin, the familiar scent of his pillow a small comfort in his world of pain. As he let his head fall onto the soft pillow, the weight of the night's events pressed heavily on him, pulling him down into the depths of exhaustion. As sleep began to claim him, the throbbing pain gradually faded into the back of his consciousness, replaced by the comforting darkness of oblivion.



Harry awoke to a gentle shaking. His eyes fluttered open to find Ron's worried face peering down at him from the side of his bed. Ron's freckled face was paler than usual in the early morning light, his usual jovial expression replaced by deep concern.


"Harry, mate," Ron murmured, his eyes darting over Harry's pale and shaken figure. "You were twitching in your sleep. You alright?"


A surge of pain shot through Harry, making his body flinch involuntarily. His hands, clenched tightly into fists, were trembling, the residual effects of the Cruciatus Curse making themselves known.


"I'm...fine, Ron," Harry managed, his voice coming out as a shaky breath. He could see the doubt in Ron's eyes but forced a small smile onto his face. He had survived worse. He would survive this too.


With an effort that made his muscles protest, Harry pushed himself up and shuffled towards the bathroom. The cold tiles against his bare feet seemed to bring him back to reality. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes haunted and his face gaunt. But he was still Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.


Showering was an ordeal. His body was sore, aching in places he didn't even know could ache. But the hot water was soothing, washing away the remnants of the previous night's horror. He dressed slowly, every button a challenge, every move a test of his endurance. But he made it through, pulling on his uniform and running a hand through his perpetually untidy hair.


As Harry made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, his steps faltering and slow, he felt a comforting arm wrap around his shoulders. Hermione was by his side, her brow furrowed with worry. The sight of his two best friends, their worry so palpable, made something in Harry's chest tighten.


In the Great Hall, the students were buzzing with the usual morning chatter, but to Harry, it felt like an entirely different world. He moved as if in a dream, the noise of his fellow students a distant murmur. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances as they sat down beside him, but Harry merely shrugged.


"It's nothing," he said, forcing himself to reach for a slice of toast, his hand still trembling slightly. "I'm fine."


Their worried gazes lingered, but they seemed to accept his answer for the moment. Harry took a bite of his toast, the normally delicious taste dull and uninteresting. But he chewed and swallowed, the simple act of eating an assertion of his determination.


He was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and he would not let Dolores Umbridge take that away from him.



As breakfast drew to a close, the first bell of the day echoed through the cavernous Great Hall, calling the students to their morning classes. Harry pushed his half-eaten plate of toast away, feeling the dread curling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of a full day of lessons ahead. His body still hummed with the residual pain from the Cruciatus Curse, and his mind swirled with anxiety about what the future held.


Ron and Hermione, sensing his discomfort, stood up with him, sandwiching him in between them. Harry couldn’t help but feel grateful for their unspoken support. His body may be betraying him, but his friends were his unwavering pillar of strength.


The trio began their trek through the winding corridors, towards their first class of the day—Transfiguration. They were silent, the heavy atmosphere not lending itself to their usual banter.


As they made their way through the castle, Harry’s steps faltered. He felt as though his body was moving through water, every movement sluggish and heavy. Hermione, quick to notice the change in his stride, grabbed his arm to steady him.


“Harry,” Hermione started, her voice a hushed whisper, “maybe you should go to the hospital wing.”


He shook his head, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of pain. He had no intention of letting Umbridge see him weakened. “I’m okay, Hermione. Really.”


Both Ron and Hermione looked skeptical, but neither of them pushed the matter further. Instead, they helped him along, taking slow, careful steps to match Harry’s pace.


When they finally reached the Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall was waiting for them. Her sharp eyes immediately found Harry, a flicker of concern passing through them before her usual stern mask fell back into place.


The class passed uneventfully, the students quietly focused on their work, perhaps sensing the tension radiating from their usually vibrant teacher. Throughout the class, Harry caught Professor McGonagall stealing worried glances in his direction. Her gaze was searching, her normally composed expression betraying her concern.


When the bell rang signaling the end of the class, Harry was relieved. He longed to retreat to the solitude of his dormitory, where he could lick his wounds in private. However, as the rest of the students started to pack their belongings, Professor McGonagall asked Harry to stay behind.


Ron and Hermione paused, their worry clearly etched on their faces. Harry just gave them a reassuring nod, silently urging them to leave him. With hesitant looks, they finally exited the room, leaving Harry alone with Professor McGonagall.


The room seemed larger and colder with the absence of the other students. Professor McGonagall stood behind her desk, her face etched with deep lines of concern. "Mr. Potter," she began, her voice soft yet authoritative. "Please come into my office, and have a seat."



Summoning his strength, Harry rose, a wave of dizziness momentarily threatening to topple him. He locked his knees to steady himself, and then began to walk towards the office. Every step was an effort, the aftermath of the curse lingering in his nerves like an echo of pain. The normally bustling classroom appeared blurry and distorted, the stark black and white contrast of the castle's stone architecture seemingly grey and drab.


His eyes drifted to Minerva, who had turned to lead him towards her office, her usual sharpness softened by a maternal concern that was surprisingly comforting. The flickering light from the torches danced across her stern features, casting shadows that hinted at an inner turmoil matching his own.


As if propelled by a force beyond his control, his feet seemed to move of their own accord, mechanically covering the distance from the desk to the office door. The room's cold flagstones felt icy beneath his shoes, as though sucking away the scant warmth left in him. He was aware of the eyes on his back, the murmurs and whispers echoing around him, but they seemed to fade away into the background as he focused on the task at hand: to keep moving, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.


Slumping with relief, Harry's legs carried him to the chair across the professor's desk. As he sank into the seat, he did his best to maintain his composure, to not let the weariness and pain seeping through his every pore show on his face.



Professor McGonagall moved around the desk, pulling up a chair across from him. She wanted to meet him at eye level, to not tower over him in this moment of vulnerability. Her robes rustled against the stone floor, the sound unusually loud in the quiet classroom.


"Harry," she started, her voice barely more than a whisper, "are you alright?"


"I'm fine, Professor," Harry replied, although his pale face and shaking hands belied his words.


Minerva wasn't just a seasoned professor; she had been through wars and had seen countless students walk the halls of Hogwarts. She had seen fear, pain, joy, and hope in those young eyes, and right now, she saw a boy trying to be brave.


"Harry," she said gently, reaching across the desk to take one of his trembling hands. It felt cold to her touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of life that usually radiated from him.


She held his hand, her thumb gently rubbing the back of his palm in an attempt to soothe him. This boy, the Boy Who Lived, who had been through so much at such a young age, was once again facing challenges that no one his age should face. But she knew him, knew his resilience and his courage. And she knew that he would get through this, as he always had.


"Harry," she repeated, locking her eyes with his. "It's okay to not be fine. It's okay to ask for help. And at this moment it's obvious you need some. Now please tell me what happened."



Closing his eyes for a moment, Harry took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. As he opened them again, his emerald green gaze met Minerva's stern yet understanding eyes. He tried to summon the energy to form the lie he had rehearsed, to deny that anything was wrong again.


He knew that if he told her what Umbridge had done she would become mad, and he knew Umbridge could cause her trouble too. Umbridge was the Ministry's hand within Hogwarts, her authority as absolute as it was terrifying. Harry didn't want to get Minerva in trouble over him. He wasn't worth it.


"I..." Harry started, his voice hoarse, "I'm just tired, Professor. Nothing else."


The silence that followed was heavy. Minerva's eyes were unwavering, holding his gaze. There was something in her eyes that Harry couldn’t put into words. It wasn't pity, for he knew Minerva never pitied him. It was empathy, perhaps. A sense of understanding that transcended the teacher-student bond they shared.


He lowered his gaze, suddenly feeling like a small child under the scrutiny of her gaze. His fingers twitched, a phantom pain from the Cruciatus curse shooting up his arm. He withdrew his hand from Minerva's grasp, clenching it into a tight fist on his lap.


"Harry," Minerva's voice was gentle, a stark contrast to her usual stern tone. "You can't lie to me. Not when it's this important."


He felt a lump forming in his throat. The words stuck there, too heavy to voice out. He felt vulnerable, exposed. A sense of defeat washed over him. He was too tired to maintain the façade, too worn out to keep lying.


“Professor…” Harry started, his voice barely audible. “I can handle this.”


“I know you can, Mr. Potter.” Minerva replied, a soft smile gracing her features. “But you don’t have to. Please tell me what's wrong.”



A quick glance at his hand made the decision for him. The neat, precise lines of ‘I must not tell lies’ were etched deeply into his flesh, a chilling reminder of his punishment at the hands of Umbridge. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d endured, he knew that, but it was still something. Something that he could share, without putting Minerva in direct conflict with Umbridge.


With a resigned sigh, Harry uncurled his fist, extending his hand towards Minerva. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the raw, inflamed skin, the cruel inscription carved so deeply into his flesh.


“Umbridge,” he murmured, the word bitter on his tongue. “Her detentions.”


Minerva's hand shot out, gently taking hold of Harry’s. Her touch was soft, her fingers tracing the edges of the scarring. She was silent for a long moment, her gaze hardening.


“This is unacceptable,” she whispered, her tone icy. She looked up to meet Harry’s gaze, her eyes filled with a potent mixture of anger and determination. “This is abuse, Harry. I will not let it stand.”



She closed her eyes for a moment to reign in her anger and then looked gently at Harry. She knew there was something else Harry was not telling her. "Harry," she said, her voice soft but firm. "What else is wrong?"

Harry's breath hitched and he looked away, but Minerva reached out and placed a hand gently on Harry's cheek making it so that Harry couldn't look away from her. "Please Harry, let me help you."

Tears formed in Harry's eyes and he closed them, unable to keep looking into the professor's eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, as if it was echoing the agony that was threatening to break loose from the depths of his soul.


Finally, he pulled his face away from Minerva's gentle touch and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He drew in a shaky breath, the air filling his lungs like icy fire.


"I..." Harry hesitated, then very quietly told her, "Umbridge cast the Cruciatus Curse on me."


Minerva's eyes widened. For a moment, she was speechless, her mind struggling to process the horrific admission. But she quickly composed herself, her expression hardening into one of pure determination.


"That vile woman," she muttered under her breath, her voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. She knew she had to remain calm, for Harry's sake. The last thing he needed was to see his professor lose control.


"Harry," she said after a moment, her voice firm yet gentle. "You have been incredibly brave. You've endured something that no one, especially not a child, should ever have to. I promise you, Umbridge will pay for what she's done."


Seeing the fear flicker in Harry's eyes at her declaration, Minerva quickly added, "And I assure you, she won't be able to harm you or anyone else at this school. We won't let her."


Harry merely nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. His gaze dropped to his scarred hand, the words 'I must not tell lies' a cruel reminder of Umbridge's torment.


Minerva squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly, getting up from her seat. Her eyes were full of resolve as she strode to the corner of her office, her destination the large fireplace there. "Stay where you are, Harry," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument.


The fireplace flared to life as she approached, emerald flames licking at the dark wood within. She reached for the Floo powder kept on the mantle, scooping a small handful into her palm. "Severus Snape," she stated clearly, throwing the powder into the flames. They flickered, turning from emerald to a bright, searing green as the face of Severus appeared within.



"Minerva?" Severus questioned, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I'm in the middle of trying to knock some sense into dunderheads. Can it wait?"


The stern look in Minerva's eyes caused him to reconsider his position. "Where is Potter?" Severus inquired, his tone heavy with irritation. "He didn't show up for Potions."


Severus paused, his annoyance clear. "It's not enough that he disturbs the class with his persistent disregard for instructions, but now he skips my class entirely? I swear, that boy..."


"Severus, put a student in charge and step through," Minerva instructed, ignoring his irritation. "Bring an anti-cruciatus potion, a pain potion and a healing balm. It's urgent."


Her abrupt request caused Severus to raise an eyebrow. "Those are not the normal potions for a headache, Minerva," he said, his tone measured but the concern unmistakable.


"Is something amiss?" he asked, his dark eyes probing the firelit space behind her. "Are you alright?"


For a moment, Minerva's stern face softened. She hesitated, then said, "Just step through with the potions, Severus. I'll explain when you're here."


With a curt nod, Severus disappeared from the flames. The fire reverted back to its ordinary warm glow. Minerva turned back to face Harry, her expression unreadable.


"Just a few more minutes, Harry," she said, offering a reassuring smile. "Professor Snape is coming with some potions that will help you."


Harry, still in a state of shock, simply nodded. He watched as Minerva paced the room, her wand twirling between her fingers. She moved with a purpose, as though preparing for battle, her expression hardening with each passing second.


There was a whoosh of flames, and Severus stepped out of the fireplace, his robes billowing around him. In one hand, he held a small case of potions, their different colors shimmering through the glass bottles.


"Minerva," Severus began, taking in the sight of Harry sitting in her office, his face pale and drawn, "what happened?"



Minerva gave him a brief, hard look before motioning him towards Harry. "Just see to Harry first, Severus. We can talk after that."


His dark eyes flickered with concern as he looked at Harry, who was still sitting in the chair, his green eyes glassy and distant. His gaze was drawn to Harry's hand where the scarring was visible, a glint of understanding flashing in his eyes before he schooled his features into the usual impassive mask.


Severus moved briskly to Harry's side, his gaze appraising. He reached out, checking his pulse. It was quick, much too quick. He rested a hand on Harry's forehead, feeling the heat radiating off him. "Fever," he muttered, mostly to himself.


Pulling the anti-cruciatus and pain potions from his case, Severus uncorked them. He held the vials up to Harry, saying softly, "Drink these. They will help with the pain."


Harry looked at the potions for a moment before taking them and downing them in two quick gulps. Severus watched him carefully, ready to intervene if Harry reacted badly to the potions.


Next, he transfigured the chair into a couch with a flick of his wand. He gently eased Harry down onto it, before turning his attention to the raw, inflamed skin on Harry's hand.


Severus inspected the wound carefully, a frown marring his features. "This is infected," he said tersely, his eyes flashing with barely concealed anger.


As he started to apply the healing balm to Harry's hand, Minerva began to relay what had transpired. She told him about Umbridge's detentions and the cruel punishment she had inflicted on Harry. She told him about the Cruciatus Curse.


Severus's expression remained impassive throughout her account, but his eyes hardened at the mention of the Unforgivable Curse. Once Minerva finished, he was silent for a moment before he finally spoke. "This woman will not get away with this," he said, his voice cold and deadly.


As he finished tending to Harry's hand, Severus looked at Minerva, a rare note of uncertainty in his voice. "What are we going to do, Minerva?"


With a determined glint in her eyes, Minerva replied, "We fight, Severus. We protect our students and we make sure this never happens again."


She held Severus's gaze for a long moment, her resolution steeling itself in the face of the daunting task ahead. "We will take her down."


Harry had been watching the exchange between his two professors, his eyes glazed and half-closed, struggling to stay alert despite the fatigue weighing him down. He felt a sudden surge of panic at Minerva's words, and found the strength to push himself off the couch slightly.


"But... she told me... not to tell..." His voice was weak and raspy, but his fear cut through it, reaching the two adults clearly.


"Umbridge said you'd get into trouble with the Ministry... she'd fire you..." The panic was evident in Harry's voice, his words tumbling out in a rush.


He just pushed him gently but firmly back down onto the couch, Severus's dark eyes glinting with a rare flash of reassurance. "You've done your part, Potter," he said quietly, his voice softer than Harry had ever heard it. "Now it's our turn."


He quickly uncorked another vial, a potion to reduce the fever. "Drink this," he instructed Harry, "and try to rest. Let the adults handle this."


"But you don't understand," Harry protested weakly. "Anything you do... it'll just make things worse. I can take it."


Severus looked at him, a rare, soft expression crossing his normally stern face. "You shouldn't have to, Potter," he said quietly. "No child should."


Minerva nodded, a look of profound sadness in her eyes. "Severus is right, Harry," she added, her voice barely more than a whisper. "This is our fight now."


"But--" Harry tried to protest again, but Severus cut him off.


"No buts, Potter," he said, a hint of his usual sternness returning to his voice. "You need to focus on healing. We'll handle Umbridge."



Even as Severus's firm words hung in the air, Harry tried to voice another weak protest, but it was cut off by a deep yawn. His green eyes were struggling to stay open, his body's need for rest becoming evident.


Severus, once more ignoring Harry's weak protest, reached into his potion kit. His fingers closed around a small, squat bottle filled with a shimmering, blueish potion. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he uncorked it and brought it to Harry.


"Here," Severus instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. "This is a Dreamless Sleep. It will help you rest."


Harry eyed the potion warily, looking from Severus to Minerva and back again. It was clear he didn't want to sleep, didn't want to surrender his awareness when so much seemed to be at stake. But he also understood that he was fighting a losing battle against his body's exhaustion. With a sigh, he reached out for the potion and drank it. His eyelids drooped almost instantly, his breaths evening out as he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


Severus watched him for a moment longer, before turning his attention back to Harry's injured hand. The skin was red and inflamed around the still visible words, a grim reminder of the pain Umbridge had inflicted. He applied another thick layer of healing balm to the hand, his expression grim.


The balm would alleviate some of the pain and help the skin heal, but Severus knew it wouldn't be enough. The nature of the curse Umbridge had used left a deeper, more sinister kind of injury. Harry would need a curse removal specialist to fully heal the hand.


"He'll need to see a curse healer," Severus said quietly, looking up at Minerva.


Minerva nodded solemnly, her eyes still on the unconscious boy. "I understand," she said quietly. "And in the meantime, we need to keep him safe."


Severus sighed, steepling his fingers together. "We can't keep him in the hospital wing, that would be the first place Umbridge would look," he said. "And his dorm room would be no better. With her power, she could easily get past the Gryffindor tower's protections."


"The same would go for my quarters," Minerva conceded, her brow furrowed in thought. She was quiet for a moment before she suggested, "Your quarters, perhaps?"


Severus looked taken aback. "My quarters? With the Potter brat?" he asked, a hint of distaste in his voice. However, the concern in his eyes betrayed his apparent nonchalance.



"It's the least likely place Umbridge would look," Minerva insisted. "And you're the best person to take care of him in his current state."



Again, Severus protested. "Minerva, I must protest--" he began, his usual sneer more pronounced. "You know very well that my quarters are not a haven for stray Potters. He will ruin the decor with his constant brooding."


Resolute, Minerva cut him off with a stern look. "Harry needs us now, Severus. Your personal feelings toward him must be set aside for the moment."



After a moment, Severus sighed again, a long suffering groan that echoed in the silence of the room. "This is not about personal feelings," he grumbled, his hands clasping together tightly. "This is about my peace, my quiet, being infringed upon by the Potter boy and his incessant trouble magnetism."



Breaking the tension, Minerva merely raised an eyebrow at his protest. She knew he was only putting on a show to keep his reputation now. It was obvious the way he cared for Harry that he was just as upset as she was that Umbridge had hurt Harry, had hurt any student.


"Alright, alright," Severus grumbled, looking as if he had swallowed something particularly unpleasant. "Potter can stay in my quarters. Temporarily. And only because you asked."


Minerva's stern expression softened into a small, grateful smile. "Just until we can make sure he is safe, Severus," she said, her voice gentle. "Thank you."


"But Minerva," Severus said, turning to look at the woman, his face a picture of deep-set annoyance. "I swear if Potter touches any of my belongings, breaks anything, or so much as looks at my potion ingredients the wrong way, I will hex him into the next week."


"I'm sure you will, Severus," Minerva replied, a knowing glint in her eyes. She glanced back at the sleeping boy, her heart heavy with worry. But with Severus grudgingly agreeing to house Harry for now, it was one less worry to carry.



They spent a moment longer looking at Harry's slumbering figure, the weight of the situation pressing heavily upon them. Their students were their responsibility, their charge, and the severity of what had happened to Harry under the watch of one of their own was a stark reminder of the stakes at hand.


As if reading her thoughts, Severus let out a soft sigh. "Very well, then. Let's get this over with."


Without any further ado, he scooped Harry up into his arms, the young wizard barely stirring in his sleep. The sight was so unusual - Severus Snape, the strict, often unkind potions master, cradling the school's hero in his arms - that Minerva could not help but blink in surprise.


Severus's eyes met hers, and he arched a single eyebrow, a silent challenge. "Are you going to assist me, or merely gawk?"


A faint smile tugged at Minerva's lips. She nodded and drew her wand, casting a quick charm to lighten Harry's weight. "After you, Severus."


He moved swiftly and efficiently, his steps echoing in the stillness as he made his way to the fireplace. With a brisk movement, he threw in a handful of Floo powder. Green flames sprang up, illuminating the room with their ghostly light.


"Hogwarts' dungeons - Snape's quarters," he announced clearly. The green flames leapt higher, enveloping Severus and the sleeping boy. With a swirl of emerald fire, they disappeared.


Back in her office, Minerva sighed, a strange mix of worry and determination welling up within her. She glanced once more at the spot where Harry had been laying just moments ago. "Be safe, Harry," she murmured, before turning back to her desk. She had letters to write, plans to make.


Severus, on the other hand, emerged in the dark, stone-walled interior of his quarters. The green flames died down, leaving only the soft, ambient light of his quarters. With careful movements, he carried Harry over to his couch, setting him down with surprising gentleness.


He then quickly cast a monitoring charm on Harry. The charm would alert him if Harry's condition worsened or if he woke up. He quickly made sure that everything was in order before swiftly exiting his quarters.


As he made his way back to his classroom, he could not help but mutter under his breath. "Damn kids... I swear if Potter touches anything..."


Back in his classroom, he hoped for the best but prepared for the worst. As expected, the class was in complete disarray. Severus sighed, drawing himself up to his full height. The class fell silent at his entrance.


"Back to work," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. "And for Merlin's sake, don't blow up the classroom."


Severus, the irritable potions master, was back in his element. But in the back of his mind, a thought lingered.



A thought about Umbridge, about what she had done to Harry and possibly to other students. And most unsettling of all, the realization that perhaps his treatment of the students might not be so different to some eyes. Harsh, certainly, but never abusive. Yet, the line seemed blurrier than ever before.


He snapped at a Gryffindor who had been adding powdered bicorn horn instead of crushed. He was short with a Hufflepuff who seemed more interested in his classmates' potion than his own. Every minute mistake was met with biting remarks that left no room for further argument.


While he berated and glared, his sharp gaze also observed. He was watching for signs, any sign of fear or pain that might be similar to what Harry had experienced. Any sign that Umbridge had abused her power with other students. The thought of it tightened something in his chest, making it harder to breathe. It was unfathomable, unthinkable, and yet he knew it to be possible.


"Five points from Slytherin for nearly setting your partner on fire, Nott!" he snapped, moving quickly to prevent a disaster. As he corrected the error and ensured the safety of his students, he found himself, ironically, grateful for the normalcy of these missteps, grateful for the typical teenage lackadaisical approach to potions rather than something more sinister.


The class dragged on, an hour that felt like several. And as it finally ended, as the students rushed to leave, to escape his snappish temperament and steely gaze, Severus found himself exhausted. But there was no time to rest, no time to dwell on the exhausting thoughts that plagued him.


He tidied up the room, setting it in order for the next class before his eyes drifted back to the clock. He had to check on Potter. He sighed. A part of him was hesitant, fearing the intrusion on his personal space, but another, larger part of him, recognized the necessity. He couldn't let his personal feelings for the boy hinder him from doing what was right.


Swiftly, he made his way back to his quarters, the silent corridors a sharp contrast to the bustling classroom he'd just left. His mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead. What was the best course of action to protect the students? To fight Umbridge and the Ministry?


As he reached his quarters and saw Potter still asleep on his couch, he couldn't help but feel a pang of... something. It was not pity, he assured himself, but a simple recognition of injustice. This was a war not of Harry's choosing, yet one he was in the center of.


He sighed again, this time a little softer, a little quieter, the sound almost lost amidst the crackling fire in the hearth. Stepping closer, he draped a blanket over Harry, a faint wrinkle appearing between his brows as he muttered, "I'll have to wash that... Potter all over it..."


A vague annoyance prickled at him, but Severus knew it to be superficial, a poor mask for the concern he felt but refused to fully acknowledge. He watched Potter for a moment longer, seeing not the arrogant brat he often pretended the boy to be, but the child thrust into an adult's war. He saw a mirror of his own past, his own lost innocence. It was a disturbing thought, one that left a bitter taste in his mouth.


Grimacing, he turned and left his quarters, once again heading towards his classroom. The worry for his students, the Potter boy included, gnawed at him, making his normally brisk pace slightly more hurried. The dark corridors of Hogwarts, once so familiar and comforting, now seemed to whisper threats in his ear, each shadow a potential danger.


Reaching his classroom, Severus took a moment to steady himself before entering, sweeping into the room with his usual air of stern authority. His third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs awaited him, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation clear on their faces. He wondered briefly if they were always this nervous, or if his recent mood had heightened their apprehension.


The class began, the usual lectures and demonstrations taking on a more serious undertone as Severus watched them, his gaze sharp and assessing. Each hesitant movement, each fumbled ingredient was scrutinized, his mind trying to discern any signs of trauma, any hint that Umbridge had turned her cruel hand on them.


But amidst the worry, the paranoia, the confusion, there was also anger. Anger at Umbridge for what she had done, anger at the Ministry for allowing it, and perhaps most surprisingly, anger at himself for not seeing it sooner. This anger simmered beneath the surface, flaring occasionally when a potion was mishandled or instructions were not followed.


The culmination of it all was when a Ravenclaw boy, visibly nervous under Severus's relentless scrutiny, added an erroneous ingredient, causing his cauldron to explode. Severus was quick to prevent any injuries, his wand cutting through the smoke to halt the spreading damage, but the damage to his temper was irrevocable.


He rounded on the boy, his voice a harsh whip. "What did I tell you about double-checking your ingredients? This is not some leisurely activity, this is Potions, a subject that demands concentration and precision!"


The class was silent, each student frozen as they watched Severus berate their classmate. When he was finished, he turned to the rest of them, his eyes hard. "Class dismissed," he said tersely, "And I expect all of you to review your notes for next time."


As they filed out, some casting sympathetic glances at the Ravenclaw boy, Severus couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. It wasn't the boy's fault. It wasn't any of their faults. They were just children, children caught in a storm of power and politics they couldn't fully understand. And as much as he wished he could protect them, Severus was painfully aware of his own limitations.


After the last student had left, Severus sank into his chair, running a hand through his hair. His gaze landed on the ruined cauldron, a stark reminder of the tumultuous day.



In the end, he found himself not in the comforting solitude of his classroom, but in the troubling silence that echoed with the weight of his responsibilities. He had a brief respite before the next class filtered in. Barely enough time to compose himself, to collect his fraying patience and anger. He would do well not to let his temper flare too easily; it wouldn't do any good, not for the students, and certainly not for him.


In what felt like no time at all, the doors of the classroom opened again, allowing in a small flood of fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. They took their seats quietly, casting wary glances his way, no doubt having heard about the earlier incident. Good, Severus thought, it meant they would be more attentive, more careful. Or so he hoped.


He started the class as usual, his gaze sharp and assessing as he gave instructions. His attention, however, was particularly focused on one student. A Gryffindor boy who seemed to favor his left hand, attempting to do most of his work with his left. His brows furrowed, worry and anger simmering beneath his stern expression. Not another one...


Severus managed to keep his anger in check throughout the class, his voice steady, though colder than usual. The students worked quietly, with an intensity and concentration he hadn't seen before. There were no accidents this time, no mishaps that required his intervention. For that, he was grateful.


Once he had dismissed the class, he gestured for the boy to stay behind. "You," he said, his voice ringing in the now empty classroom, "Stay."


The Gryffindor boy, a round-faced child named Fincher if he wasn't mistaken, turned around, his face pale under the weight of Severus's gaze. Severus waited for the rest of the students to leave, his mind trying to come up with the right words. It wasn't an easy task, being gentle.


"Show me your hand," he commanded once they were alone. Fincher hesitated for a moment before slowly extending his right hand. The back of it was marked with red, angry lines, clearly caused by the blood quill.


A pang of sympathy shot through him, quickly replaced by a burning anger. He was a harsh teacher, yes, but he would never stoop to this level of cruelty. Umbridge's actions were beyond reprehensible. They were barbaric.


With a wave of his wand, he conjured a healing bal, the same he had used on Harry. "This will help with the pain and help it heal," he said, his voice softer than Fincher had probably ever heard.


The boy just nodded, his eyes wide as he carefully applied the salve. "Thank you, sir," he whispered, and the gratitude in his voice twisted something in Severus's chest.


"Report this," he instructed, his tone brooking no argument. "Go to Professor McGonagall. Tell her what happened. Understand?"


Fincher nodded again, his eyes still wide. "Yes, sir."


With that, Severus dismissed him, watching as he hurried out of the classroom. He sat there for a moment, staring at the empty room, the silence heavy around him. He had done his duty, done what he could. But it didn't ease the sickening feeling in his gut.


The students were supposed to be safe in Hogwarts, supposed to be protected. And yet, one of their own was inflicting harm upon them. It was enough to make his blood boil. They would have to do something more immediately.


The silence of the corridors was abruptly interrupted by the high pitched, pulsating hum of the monitoring charm Severus had placed on his quarters. It was a tell-tale sign of intrusion, something he'd never imagined would go off. Pausing for a moment, a feeling of dread washed over him. His eyes narrowed with apprehension and disbelief as the name appeared in his mind. Potter.


A deep sigh escaped him as he thought of the irony. His rooms, the one place in the castle that had been Potter-free, invaded. Yet, he had no time to dally on the thought. His seventh year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were due to arrive any moment for their potions class.


Quickly, he scribbled a note and pinned it onto the classroom door, instructing them to use the period for independent study. He knew they would grumble about it, but their complaints were the least of his worries at the moment.


Steeling himself, he swept through the castle, his mind full of questions. What could possibly have led Potter to his private quarters? The journey was brief, but every step felt heavy with the weight of the unknown.


The door to his quarters swung open at his command, revealing a scene he was not prepared for. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, sat awkwardly in his personal space, his face ashen and his green eyes wide with a mix of fear and defiance. His mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again, clearly unsure of how to proceed.



Severus swept into the room, his robes billowing around him as he shut the door behind him. His quarters, normally a sanctuary of solitude, felt invaded with the presence of the Gryffindor boy. His gaze narrowed as he took in the scene; Harry sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his sofa, the blanket he had draped over him earlier haphazardly thrown aside.


"Potter," he began, his voice as icy as his gaze, "I didn't expect to see you awake so soon."


He watched as Harry shifted, glancing away before looking back at him, defiance glinting in his eyes. "I didn't plan to wake up in your quarters, Professor," he retorted, his voice a shade quieter than his usual brash tone.


Severus merely raised an eyebrow at the response, crossing his arms over his chest. He was used to their banter, their exchanges that more often than not led to pointed jabs and reprimands. But today, the gravity of the situation overshadowed their usual antagonism.


"Believe me, Potter, this was not my first choice either," Severus replied, the irritation in his tone only slightly feigned. "But under the circumstances, it was necessary."


He watched as Harry seemed to swallow, his eyes flickering down to his bandaged hand before returning to Severus. It was clear the boy was uncomfortable, wary even, but Severus could also see something else. Determination. It was a trait he had come to begrudgingly admire in the boy. It reminded him, though he'd never admit it, of Lily.


"Why?" Harry asked, his tone indicating he was trying to keep his cool.


"Because Umbridge has proven herself to be a threat," Severus responded bluntly, not mincing words. "Your safety, as well as that of the other students, is at risk."


Harry seemed to mull over his words, his expression hardening. "I can handle myself," he finally said, his jaw set stubbornly.


Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Your bravado is noted, Potter, but this is not a matter of your personal courage or skill. This is a matter of a person in power abusing that power, using it to inflict harm. This is a matter for adults to handle."



Harry looked as if he wanted to argue, but he deflated somewhat, looking at his hand. "I don't like being caged, Snape," he muttered, almost too low for Severus to hear.


"Well, Potter, I don't particularly enjoy playing nursemaid," Severus retorted, a hint of his usual sneer curling his lip. "But you will stay here, under my protection. This is not a discussion. This is not a negotiation."


Harry looked up, a spark of anger in his eyes. "I won't be your prisoner—"


"This is not a prison, Potter," Severus interrupted, his voice low and stern. "This is a safety measure. It's the last place Umbridge would think to look for you. The idea of the Potter brat willingly staying with the dungeon bat would be utterly ridiculous to her."


Harry's mouth twisted in a grimace at Severus's words, but he didn't interrupt. Severus continued, "I understand you're used to your independence, your... reckless bravery. But while you're here, you'll follow my rules. And that includes not destroying anything."


"I don't plan on being here long enough to destroy anything," Harry shot back defiantly.


"That's where you're wrong, Potter," Severus replied coldly. "You'll stay here as long as it's necessary. I won't have you endangering yourself or others with your foolhardy heroics."


They locked eyes for a long moment, both sets filled with defiance, understanding, and a begrudging respect. Neither spoke, but a strange understanding passed between them.


Finally, Harry broke the silence. "I'll stay," he muttered reluctantly. "But I won't like it."


"Trust me, Potter," Severus said dryly, "the feeling is entirely mutual. Now let me see your hand."



As his fingers traced the contours of the marred skin, his expression remained unreadable. His touch, despite being firm, was far from harsh - something that took Harry by surprise. There was a level of tenderness that the young wizard had never seen from the usually stern professor.


"How are you feeling, Potter?" Severus asked in a low voice, his onyx eyes meeting Harry's emerald ones.


"I'm... I'm okay," Harry responded, although the discomfort in his face told a different story. He was shivering slightly, the effects of the Cruciatus Curse still lingering.


"Potter," Severus's voice was softer, "It's evident you're not 'okay'. It's Crucio after all. And that fever... You're still in pain and we need to get your fever down."


Harry remained silent, looking away, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. Severus's concern was as surprising as it was unsettling, but it was also oddly comforting.


The potions master stood up and walked towards his cabinet filled with glass vials and jars of potions. He selected two: a purple one and a green one. The purple one was a potent Pain Relieving Potion and the other was Fever Reducer.


"Drink these. They should help with the fever and the pain," he said, his voice returning to its usual curt manner, though a touch softer than it typically was.


Severus watched as Harry took the potions with slight hesitation but did not protest. The boy knew better than to ignore medical advice, especially when it came from the potions master himself. His stern gaze didn’t leave Harry until he was sure the boy had taken every last drop.


"The fever should break soon, and the pain should subside considerably. Come with me," Severus instructed, rising from his seat. "I guess you should get comfortable in the guest room."

"Guest room?" Harry echoed, looking rather taken aback.


Severus nodded, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "Yes, Potter, a guest room. Did you think I would have you sleep on the floor?"


"No, but..." Harry's voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words. He hadn't expected to be treated like a guest. He'd thought he'd be more like a prisoner.


Severus rolled his eyes, ignoring Harry's obvious confusion. "Follow me," he commanded, leading Harry down a narrow hallway.


The guest room was small but comfortable, with a large four-poster bed dominating the space. Severus had taken the time to clean and prepare the room, and it was far more welcoming than the dank, stone-walled dungeons many might associate with the Potions Master.


Harry stepped into the room, looking around with wide eyes. There was a wardrobe on one side, a small desk with a lamp on the other, and a set of shelves with a few books and scrolls.


"I know it's not as lavish as Gryffindor tower," Severus said dryly, watching Harry. "But it should be adequate for your needs. The washroom is through that door there."


Harry simply nodded, his gaze roaming over the room. He looked surprisingly shy, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor. "It's... It's nice," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Thank you."


Severus simply nodded, turning to leave. "Get some rest, Potter," he said, not unkindly. "Dinner will be brought to you. Don't fly a broom through my quarters while I'm away."



With that, Severus swept out of the room, leaving Harry to settle in. He had much to do and not a lot of time to do it. As he returned to his classroom, his thoughts raced. He had known Hogwarts was no longer safe, but to have it hit so close to home... It was more than concerning.


Upon entering his classroom, he found the seventh years deep in their independent study. Several pairs of eyes turned towards him, a few raising their hands, likely with questions about their self-guided work. Severus simply raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks.


"Your work for the day is complete," he announced, a collective sigh of relief rising from the room. "You are dismissed." The students were quick to gather their belongings and scurry out of the room, a few throwing uncertain glances in his direction. He dismissed them with a wave of his hand and turned towards the staffroom, deciding he'd better update Minerva on the recent developments.


As he moved through the corridors, he noticed Dolores Umbridge standing in his way. Her pink attire and toad-like face always did bring a sour taste to his mouth. She looked at him sweetly, but the sugary facade couldn't hide the venomous character within. "Severus, have you seen Potter?" She inquired, her voice coated with feigned worry. "It's such a shame, him skipping his classes."


Severus's eyes flicked towards her, a frosty smile etching itself onto his face. "Indeed, Dolores," he replied, using her first name in the way that always seemed to irk her. "Unfortunately, I've been caught up in my own classes. Perhaps he is just lost."


A brief flicker of annoyance crossed her face before it was replaced with that faux sweet smile. "Yes, perhaps. Do let me know if you see him."


"Of course," Severus agreed, nodding politely before sweeping past her. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but it was a necessity. He couldn't risk Umbridge finding out about Harry's whereabouts.


With the encounter behind him, Severus moved through the corridors swiftly, making his way to Minerva's office. As he rapped lightly on the door, he heard her familiar voice bidding him enter.


"Severus," she greeted, looking up from the pile of paperwork on her desk. Her gaze was steely, yet held a hint of worry. "Thank you for sending Fincher to me. I fear I found two more who have suffered the Blood quill, a Ravenclaw and another Gryffindor."



Severus's scowl deepened at her words. "That woman is causing more harm than even the most stubborn members of the Ministry would dare to ignore," he said, his voice dripping with disdain.


"Unfortunately, Fudge and his lackeys are turning a blind eye," Minerva responded grimly, "They believe that she's instilling discipline and order."


Severus snorted derisively. "Torture is not discipline."


"No, it's not," Minerva agreed, her expression mirroring his own. "We need to take action, Severus. With Albus's hands tied, it falls on us."


Severus nodded, his mind already turning over their options. "We can't involve Albus, but we'll need others we can trust."


Minerva sighed, "We need strength in numbers, but also secrecy...We should bring in Filius and Pomona, the other Heads of Houses. I trust them implicitly."


Severus nodded in agreement. Flitwick and Sprout, though not as outwardly stern as he or McGonagall, were no less dedicated to their students' well-being. "I agree. They'll need to know."


"But we must be careful, Severus," Minerva warned, "If word gets back to Umbridge, or worse, Fudge..."


"It won't," Severus cut in, a grim determination in his voice. "We'll meet under the cover of night, in my quarters. Umbridge wouldn't dare step foot in there, and it's the last place anyone would look."


Minerva nodded. "Very well. Tomorrow night, after the students have gone to bed. I'll inform Filius and Pomona. In the meantime, Severus, please keep an eye on Harr."


Severus sighed, a hint of reluctance flashing across his face. "Of course, Minerva," he responded, standing from his seat. "I'll ensure his... safety."



With a final curt nod, Severus swept from the room, his dark robes billowing behind him. His thoughts were as swift and unyielding as his strides, planning and plotting the best way to rid their beloved school of the poisonous presence that was Dolores Umbridge.


He knew he was playing a dangerous game. To protect Harry, to protect all of Hogwarts, meant defying the Ministry, meant putting himself at risk. But the alternative, to stand by and do nothing as Umbridge's reign of terror continued, was unthinkable.


As he traversed the echoing corridors of Hogwarts, he could not help but feel a heavy weight settling upon him. It was not just the burden of responsibility, but also a sense of mourning. Hogwarts, once a place of joy and learning, had become a battleground, a place where the innocent were punished and the guilty reigned.


Arriving at his private quarters, he glanced back at the door to the guest room where he'd left Harry. He trusted that the boy was wise enough not to venture out and make trouble. With a silent incantation, he strengthened the protective enchantments around his quarters.


Inside his room, the soft light from the numerous candles cast long, dancing shadows. Severus moved to his desk, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill. He began to pen instructions for the following night's meeting, being careful to write in a coded language only the four of them understood.


He had no doubt that they were walking a perilous path. There would be no going back once they started, and the cost of failure was unthinkable. But they were not alone. They had each other and, more importantly, they had the courage and resolve to do what was necessary.


The night fell like a blanket around the school, its usual calming effect marred by the unsettling tension that hung heavy in the air. But within the gloom, there was a flicker of defiance, a spark of rebellion that refused to be extinguished. As Severus finished his letters and sealed them with his personal sigil, he allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction. They were not beaten yet.


As the last candle was extinguished and he prepared for a restless sleep, Severus had one final thought. Dolores Umbridge had awakened a dangerous enemy. For when you threatened Hogwarts, you didn't just face the faculty; you faced the protectors, the guardians, the very soul of the school. And they would stop at nothing to defend their home.


With that thought in his mind, Severus fell into a fitful sleep, ready to face whatever challenges the next day would bring. Tomorrow, he knew, was the beginning of a very difficult, but necessary battle. It was time for the Hogwarts rebellion to begin in earnest.

As the hours rolled into night, the fortress of Hogwarts lay cloaked in the ethereal beauty of moonlight. A shimmering silver glow painted the castle and its grounds, the tranquil darkness punctuated by the delicate dance of fireflies. Outside Harry's window, the moon was a stunning masterpiece in the sky, its radiant aura casting long, serene shadows across the room.


Despite the tranquillity, a storm was brewing within Harry. He woke with a start, his breath ragged and heart pounding as an unbearable pain coursed through his joints. His hand clutched his chest, tears of agony welled up in his eyes as he curled into a ball, trying to contain the screams that threatened to escape his lips. He whimpered, his soft cries echoing through the quiet room.


Across the corridor, Severus was drawn from his study by the faint sounds of distress. A furrowed brow marked his concern as he silently moved towards Harry's room. Pausing for a moment, he placed his ear against the door, confirming his suspicions before quietly pushing the door open.



Under the ethereal glow of the moonlight, Harry lay curled up in his bed. His face was twisted in pain, his body curled protectively. Severus stood at the doorway, lines of confusion creasing his typically impassive features. The enduring effects of the Cruciatus curse weren't aligning with his understanding of the spell's typical progression.


"Potter," he ventured, his voice barely louder than the hushed whispers of the wind outside. The young wizard flinched slightly at the sound, his pain-laden emerald eyes blinking open facing the wall away from Severus.


Harry merely nodded, wincing as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. "Professor Snape..." His voice was strained, a mere thread of sound in the silent room.


Severus moved closer, his own discomfort with the situation buried deep beneath years of practiced stoicism. "Hold on, Potter," he instructed, his hand coming to rest briefly on the boy's back, before he retreated to retrieve a pain potion.




Having secured the vial, Severus moved gently back to where Harry was. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight as he sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. His movements were careful, the usual hardness in his demeanor softened as he extended a hand to help Harry.


"Roll over, Potter," he directed in a quiet tone, aiding the boy in shifting his position so he was now facing Severus. The normally stark lines of Severus's face appeared softer, shadowed in the dimly lit room. The silence in the space between them was only filled with the soft rustling of the sheets as Harry repositioned himself.





"Drink," Severus commanded, his voice disciplined yet subtly hinting at concealed worry. He extended the vial, its contents casting a faint glow in the dim light. Harry hesitated, his gaze fixed on the glowing vial as if mesmerized. After a pause, his shaking hand reached out, the icy touch of the glass contrasting sharply with the warmth that seemed to emanate from Severus's hand. The wordless question in Harry's bright green eyes made him look up at the stoic professor.


In response to the unasked question, Harry pressed his lips tightly together and bravely swallowed the liquid. The taste had him wincing, but its effect was astonishingly swift. His body, previously stiff with tension, began to relax, and the pain that had haunted his eyes started to retreat, replaced by a glazed relief.


"Thanks..." he managed to utter, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyelids fluttered, fighting against the sudden wave of sleepiness that washed over him. Ultimately, his exhaustion prevailed, pulling him gently into the sweet oblivion of sleep.


Severus merely watched as the young wizard drifted off, his mind racing with unanswered questions. The lingering effects of the Cruciatus curse were abnormal, and he wondered if Umbridge had cast something along with the Cruciatus that could be causing this effect.



An unsettling quiet filled the room as Harry slept. The pain potion had done its work, easing the boy's physical pain, but Severus wasn't ready to conclude his observations yet. He moved his hand to Harry's forehead, his normally stoic face softening into concern as he detected a higher-than-normal temperature. A fever, Severus realized, taking a step back.


"Potter," he called softly, nudging the boy awake. Harry blinked, his green eyes glazing over with confusion and exhaustion. "Are you feeling unwell in any other way?"


He waited patiently as Harry seemed to mull over the question. A silent nod followed by a faint whisper confirmed his suspicions. "My throat's sore. Thought it was from, well, the screaming..." Harry’s voice trailed off, and he swallowed uncomfortably, his gaze flickering towards the door.


The additional information clicked into place. A fever, a sore throat... these weren't residual effects of the Cruciatus curse. Severus sighed, realizing Harry was probably coming down with the flu, or a bad cold at least, on top of the trauma he'd already endured.


"This should have been tended to earlier," he murmured more to himself than Harry. "Rest now, Potter. I'll be back with something for your throat and fever."



Severus returned to Harry's room in a matter of minutes, a cold draught and a fever reducer in his hands. Like before, he gently seated himself on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. Carefully, he set the potions on the bedside table, their contents shimmering ominously under the dim light.


Turning his attention back to Harry, he reached out, placing a surprisingly gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. With a light shake, he roused Harry from his sleep. The boy awoke with a soft groan, his eyes fluttering open to the sight of his potions master.


"Potter," Severus started, his voice steady despite the late hour, "I have a couple of potions here for your throat and fever." His words were followed by a pause, allowing the fog of sleep to lift from Harry's mind.


With effort, Harry managed to sit up with Severus's help, grimacing as his body protested the movement. Severus handed him the first vial, a cold draught that would soothe his sore throat and try to stop any other symptoms from showing. Harry's face screwed up at the taste, but he managed to swallow the entire potion. The fever reducer came next, and with a deep breath, Harry took that as well. The worry that Severus so often hid was now subtly present in his actions, revealing a concern for the boy that the potions master seldom voiced aloud.


"There," Severus said once Harry was done, "You should feel better by morning and if you don't you will let me know."


A wave of relief passed over Harry's face as he settled back into the bed. "Thanks, Professor," he whispered, his voice already sounding less hoarse. His eyes fluttered shut once more, the potions and exhaustion pulling him back into sleep.


Severus stood back, allowing the silence to fill the room once more. As he looked down at the sleeping figure, his eyes softened slightly. Despite his height, Harry was noticeably smaller than a boy his age should be, his thin frame barely causing a dent in the sheets. It was a stark reminder of the challenges the young wizard had faced in his short life.



Severus quietly stepped out of Harry's room, closing the door gently behind him. The castle was silent, save for the hushed whispers of the wind outside. He made his way towards the living room, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows onto the walls. As he settled into an armchair, his thoughts turned towards the boy in the next room.


His mind drifted back through the years. He had always been aware of Harry's small stature compared to his peers. At first, he had dismissed it as a simple variance of growth, attributing it to the boy being a late bloomer. But now, after witnessing the troubling events of the past day, he began to question that assumption.


The thought gnawed at him, unsettling him in a way few things did. Harry had been remarkably adept at hiding the depth of Umbridge's abuses, only sharing his struggles when it became impossible to keep them secret any longer. He had even confessed that he believed that speaking up would only worsen his predicament.


This was not the behaviour of a typically small child. It was the behaviour of a child conditioned to endure, to hide pain, to survive. Severus frowned, his mind reeling with this realization.


It was then that it dawned on him: Harry's small size may not have been purely physical. There was a possibility that it was a manifestation of years of physical and emotional neglect, of enduring hardships far beyond his years.

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he pieced together the pieces of the puzzle. A child with an apparent lack of self-care, tendencies to underplay his injuries, to shrink back from attention. Was this not an indicator of some form of abuse or neglect?


The brooding potion master felt a surge of regret for his previous harsh treatment of the boy. There were layers to Harry's struggle that Severus had not considered, layers that were now hauntingly clear.


Deciding then and there, he resolved to keep a closer eye on the boy. Not just for physical ailments or symptoms of magical curses, but for the more subtle signs of enduring emotional trauma. He would ensure that Harry, even though he was seemingly forced to grow up too fast, was given the chance to truly be a boy, at least while he was within the walls of Hogwarts.


Staring into the flickering flames, Severus sat in silence. His mind filled with thoughts and worries he had never expected to have for the boy. 



His eyes drifted to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The hands pointed ominously at three in the morning, reminding him of the late hour. Sighing, Severus acknowledged his own exhaustion. The evening's unexpected turn of events had taken their toll on him, both physically and mentally. He realized he needed rest, a brief respite to clear his mind.


But as he rose from his chair to head towards his quarters, he cast a final glance towards the corridor leading to Harry's room. A pang of concern hit him, a newfound sense of responsibility that was strange and unfamiliar. He made a mental note to check on the boy in the morning, promising himself to ensure that Harry received the help he needed.



With a sigh, he retreated to the solitude of his room, his mind weighed down with the evening's revelations. Sliding under the cool sheets, he granted himself a moment to untangle the unexpected intersections of his past—a history marked with regret and pain—and Harry's. His eyes closed, but the potent images from the evening stubbornly refused to fade, lingering like silent specters in his mind.



When dawn broke, tendrils of sunlight crept through the curtain gaps, painting long strokes of illumination across the room. As Severus came to, a momentary disorientation enveloped him, last night's events appearing as fragments of an unusual dream. Yet, as the veil of sleep lifted, the stark reality rooted itself firmly again. Sitting up, a thought instantly formed, seamlessly connecting the transition from night to day—Harry.



Simultaneously, Harry was stirring into consciousness, his eyes narrowing against the harsh intrusion of the morning light. His hands were still slightly shaking, a faint echo of the tremors from the night before. He ignored them, focusing instead on the general improvement in his condition—the pain in his joints was now merely a dull throb and his throat felt less raw.



As the fog of sleep and remnants of his dreams started to recede, the events of the night before resurfaced in his mind. Had Snape really come to his aid? His mind churned with the memory, his feelings a tangled web of gratitude, surprise, and confusion. His encounters with the Potions Master had been consistently contentious, Snape's palpable disdain for him coloring their every interaction. Now, this unexpected act of assistance complicated their relationship further.


As he tried to push himself upright, he felt a wave of exhaustion hit him, his body still weak. But despite his physical discomfort, his thoughts were elsewhere. His mind replayed the night's events, and amidst the confusion and pain, he realized something.


The stoic, cold man who had always been a figure of fear and authority had shown him a side he had never seen before. A side that was caring and considerate, even if Snape would never openly admit it. The realization hit Harry like a stunning spell. His mind filled with conflicting emotions - shock, disbelief, and surprisingly, a hint of relief.



Harry rubbed his temples, feeling the dull ache subside. A mess of emotions swirled within him - confusion, surprise, and a reluctant form of gratitude. He couldn't help but ponder over the peculiar kindness that Snape had shown him, an attribute he was unaccustomed to associating with the man.


"Professor Snape..." He whispered the name, his voice trailing off as his thoughts drifted back to their past encounters. For years, he had seen Snape as a strict, cold, and often vindictive person. But then, memories of moments where Snape had protected him began to surface. The time he had saved him from Quirrell's jinx during his first Quidditch match, the numerous occasions he had defended him in the Order of Phoenix meetings, and even his constant vigilance in keeping Draco Malfoy in check. His efforts were masked under harsh words and cold stares, but they were there, Harry realized.


His thoughts were interrupted by a soft rustling sound at the doorway. Harry looked up to find Severus leaning against the doorframe, his stern gaze fixed on him. The Potion Master's usual cool expression seemed somehow softer in the morning light, his eyes revealing a hint of concern that he had never noticed before.


"Potter," Severus's voice broke through the silence, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. Severus cleared his throat and announced, "Breakfast is on the table."



With a simple nod, Harry acknowledged Severus, his thoughts swirling in an attempt to reconcile the Snape he remembered—a man of cold disdain—with the unexpected caregiver who had shown him kindness the night before. Before trailing Severus, he caught sight of neatly folded clothing at the foot of his bed, left there considerately by Severus. He picked up the garments, appreciating the simple gesture, and swiftly changed into the clean attire, feeling a bit more refreshed.



Silently, he then stepped out of the room, his footsteps lightly echoing those of Severus leading towards the kitchen. As he eased himself into a chair at the table, the familiar, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him, mingling with the scent of toasted bread dancing in the air.



His gaze was instinctively drawn to Severus, the man navigating the kitchen space with an almost reverent efficiency. His familiar billowing robes swirled around him as he moved, an echo of his characteristic stride in the potions lab. It was a sight that was simultaneously familiar and strange, placing Snape in a domestic context that was wildly different from the dungeon-like classrooms at Hogwarts.



This entire scene felt eerily surreal, a stark deviation from their usual interactions. The billowing robes, the graceful movements—it all contributed to this new, perplexing image of Snape. This uncharacteristic sight left Harry in a state of mild bewilderment, struggling to reconcile this domesticated Snape with the stern Potions Master of his memory.


"Thank you, sir," Harry mumbled, glancing towards Severus. The words felt foreign on his tongue, his gratitude directed towards a man who had, until recently, been a source of his misery.


Severus merely nodded, his lips curling into a ghost of a smile as he responded, "Just eat, Potter before you blow away in the wind."



Severus watched as Harry sat down at the breakfast table.  His plate was generously heaped with food, but Harry just stared at it, pushing the food around without really eating.


Severus raised an eyebrow from across the table. "Do try not to play with your food, Potter. The house elves didn't slave over a hot stove for my culinary efforts to be so poorly received." His voice was dry, the faintest hint of humor threading his words.


Harry looked up, his green eyes meeting Severus's gaze. He looked unsure for a moment before the corners of his lips twitched upwards into a ghost of a smile. He took a bite of his toast, seemingly pacified by Severus's words.


Severus watched him from the corner of his eyes as he sipped his coffee. Harry was eating, yes, but it was the bare minimum. His movements were slow, like he had to force himself to eat. He tried another approach, "If you starve yourself to death, Potter, they'll blame me for killing you."


Harry frowned, his gaze focusing on his plate. Severus's words, although steeped in sarcasm, had an effect. Harry took a few more bites of his food, eating slightly more than he had before.


Feeling a bit victorious, Severus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a small victory, but one he was willing to take. In his own way, he was making sure Harry was taking care of himself, even if it was just by eating a bit more at breakfast.


After a few minutes of silence, Harry had managed to eat about half his breakfast, but seemed unable to finish the rest. His fork idly prodded the remaining food, his gaze distant. Severus sighed, putting down his coffee cup.


"Potter," he began, his tone uncharacteristically soft, "why aren't you eating?"


Harry looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the question. He shrugged, his fingers playing with the edges of his napkin. "I'm... not very hungry, sir."


A silence fell between them. The clink of dishes and the hum of the Hogwarts castle filled the quiet void. Severus observed the boy, his worry lines deepening. His mind raced to make sense of the situation, his eyes darting over Harry's slight figure, the shadows under his eyes, and his overall lack of appetite.


He felt a tug at his gut. It was more than just physical exhaustion from the night before; something deeper seemed to trouble Harry. He had seen the same symptoms in children who had suffered long periods of neglect or starvation.


The realization hit him like a jinx. Harry's lack of appetite, his inability to finish meals, the lack of growth compared to his peers -- it all pointed towards a serious nutritional deficiency.


Without saying a word, Severus pushed a small vial across the table he had prepared hoping to not need it. The liquid inside glowed with a warm light, a clear sign of a well-brewed potion.



Curiosity piqued, Harry reached out, his slender fingers curling around the small vial. He held it up to the soft stream of morning light filtering through the nearby window, his emerald eyes reflecting the glowing potion. "What's this?" He asked, his voice laced with a hint of cautious intrigue.


Severus, ever the one for dramatics, replied with a stone-faced deadpan, "Poison. A particularly painful one too. I prepared it specifically for brats who annoy me."


Taken aback, Harry raised an eyebrow, his surprised expression turning into one of dubious seriousness. His mouth hung open slightly, and he gazed at Severus, uncertainty creeping into his wide eyes.


With a roll of his eyes, Severus retorted, "Close your mouth, Potter, you'll catch flies." A hint of exasperation flickered in his gaze before he continued, his tone reverting to its usual detached monotony. "It's a nutrition potion," he clarified, his dark eyes observing Harry closely. "It will compensate for the nutrients that your body desperately needs but evidently isn't receiving from your meals."


Harry seemed hesitant, his fingers running over the smooth glass. But after a moment, he nodded, uncorking the vial and taking a small sip. He grimaced at the taste, but drank it all nonetheless.



As Severus rose from his chair, his gaze fell upon the parchment lying forgotten on the table. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and he carefully placed the document back into his satchel. Pulling on his outer robes, he brushed off invisible specks of dust.


"I know it's beyond your capabilities to stay in one place for long, but stay here while i'm in class." Severus smirked as he tossed the remark over his shoulder.



Harry, despite the circumstances, couldn't suppress a quiet chuckle. Even in his own private space, he retained his trademark sarcasm and aloof demeanor. Nevertheless, his deeds reflected a softer, more compassionate side.


Severus's smirk vanished as he pivoted to regard Harry. His countenance mellowed, his typically frosty gaze lost its edge. "Listen, Potter," he initiated, his tone bearing an uncommon gravity, "for your own welfare, you need to remain here until Umbridge vacates the castle. She seems to bear an unwarranted grudge against you, and as faculty members, we are bound to shield you from further harm."


Harry stared in astonishment. It was not the admonition that caught him off guard. It was the unexpected tenderness in Severus's voice. It served as a poignant reminder of the lengths to which his professor was willing to go to safeguard him.


"Stay here, do your homework," Severus continued, "I'll bring it to you, so you can keep up with your classes." He paused for a moment, his gaze almost sympathetic. "It won't be for long. Just until... the situation is resolved."



Harry nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Alright, sir," he agreed quietly, still taken aback by Severus's unexpected gentleness. There was a lot more to the man than he'd given him credit for, and this new realization filled him with a deep sense of gratitude.


Severus's eyes softened just a fraction more before he straightened up, his usual icy demeanor slipping back into place like a well-worn cloak. "Don't destroy anything, Potter," he warned with a final glance around the room. And with that, he turned on his heel and swept out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.


He moved through the castle corridors swiftly, his mind filled with concern for Harry and annoyance for Umbridge. He had a meeting with Minerva and the other Heads of Houses. They needed to come up with a plan, a way to protect Harry and the other students from Umbridge's vindictive rule. It was high time they took action against her reign of terror in Hogwarts.


Reaching the meeting place, Severus pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes meeting Minerva's worried gaze. The other Heads of Houses were already present, their faces marked with the same concern and determination.



Taking a moment to survey the room, Severus closed the door behind him and moved to join the others. He moved past rows of bookshelves, their contents whispering tales of the ancient magic that pervaded the castle. Reaching the large wooden table, he pulled out a chair and sat down, the old wood creaking in protest under his weight.



"All right," Severus initiated, leaning forward on the large wooden table, his gaze sweeping over the assembled faculty. "We have work to do."


"Indeed, we do," Minerva concurred, her tone grave. Her hands, wrapped around a warm mug of very strong coffee, tightened and she looked thoughtfully at her colleagues, her brow furrowed in worry. "This has already gone too far, Severus."


Staring into the dancing flames in the fireplace, Fillius nodded grimly, his face mirroring Minerva's concern. "If we allow Umbridge to continue her reign, the future of the children, especially Harry, is unpredictable."


Severus acknowledged Fillius with a grim nod, sharing a look of understanding with Pomona Sprout. The Herbology teacher, usually bursting with life and energy, clenched her fists on the table, her face hardened with determination.


"Understood," Pomona affirmed, standing tall as her eyes shifted from the embers of the fireplace to the solemn faces of her colleagues. "Our students' safety is our priority. That woman is nothing short of a menace."


Minerva rose from her chair, her voice echoing around the room as her gaze settled on each member of the faculty. "It is decided then," she declared, her hand tracing the back of her chair. "We must find a way to remove Umbridge from Hogwarts, ensuring we avoid implicating ourselves or Albus in the process."





"We must tread carefully," Severus cautioned, resting his elbows on the table, his fingers steepled in front of his face. "The Ministry is in Fudge's pocket. We need to be certain that our actions remain untraceable."


Pomona nodded, her gaze thoughtful, absently tracing the grain of the wooden table. "We need to expose Umbridge for the monster she really is. I believe there are many within the Ministry who would reconsider their allegiance if they knew the true extent of her malevolence."


"Agreed," Fillius interjected, adjusting his spectacles and leaning back in his chair. "However, we need incontrovertible evidence."


"Something that would thrust her into the public spotlight," Severus added, his gaze hardened. "Force Fudge into a corner."


"The centaurs," Minerva suggested suddenly, her face brightening with an idea. She straightened in her chair, excitement flashing in her eyes. "We could capitalize on their existing hostility towards her. Suppose she were to have an unfortunate incident in the Forbidden Forest..."


"And who would the Ministry believe?" Severus finished the thought, a glint of cunning in his eyes. "A group of 'barbaric' centaurs or their own High Inquisitor?"


The others nodded in agreement, wheels turning in their heads as they began to sketch the outlines of a plan. A spark of determination ignited in each of their eyes. They were on a mission, a mission to safeguard the wellbeing and sanity of their students.


"True," Minerva concurred.


"Perhaps," Filius interjected, a crafty gleam in his eyes as he rubbed his chin, "we could employ a memory charm."


A heavy silence settled over the room as they digested his proposition. "An Obliviate?" Severus questioned, raising an eyebrow in skepticism.



"No, not an Obliviate. A Confundus Charm," Filius clarified, waving his hand dismissively. "We could confuse her into thinking she has an urgent matter to attend to in the Forbidden Forest..."



Minerva shook her head, her lips pursed in contemplation. "No, Filius," she replied, "That could potentially incriminate us. If anyone was to suggest that we had cast a Confundus Charm on her, we would be under heavy scrutiny. That simply won't work."



Filius' face fell slightly, but he nodded in understanding. "You're right, Minerva. We need to be more cunning. Something... subtle."



Minerva's gaze suddenly fixed on a point beyond the table. Her mouth curled into a knowing smile, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "Why don't we make use of some resources at our disposal?" she proposed, her voice low but excited.


Severus raised an eyebrow in question, following her gaze to the item resting on the corner of the table -- a box of confiscated Weasley's trick wands. "Ah," he muttered, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Yes, those could be of use. I picked up a few from students as well."


"But," Filius started, looking a little unsure. "Won't that be traceable?"


Minerva shook her head. "Not these. The twins made them to be untraceable. Each one can only give off three good spells, but they're quite effective, as several students who were on the receiving end can attest."



The four heads of houses huddled over the box of trick wands, examining the innocent-looking objects that would become instrumental in their plan. Pomona was the first to speak. "We need to use these intelligently, and make sure we don't arouse any suspicion. We need to let these wands create the chaos, while we remain on the sidelines, seemingly clueless."


"I suggest we involve Peeves and the Bloody Baron in our plan. They've both been wanting to cause a bit of trouble for Umbridge for a while now," Severus suggested, his tone careful and calculated.


Minerva nodded. "We could influence them to cause some mischief around Umbridge. The Baron can appear to be haunting her more than the others. Peeves... well, Peeves can just be Peeves, but more persistent."


"Precisely," Severus confirmed. "Meanwhile, we can manipulate the wands to turn her life into a living hell. Misplaced personal items, uncontrolled magical outbursts, unexpected showers of slimy slugs, and even mysteriously locked doors. We can add in some eerie whispers in the corridors and strange, unsettling dreams. We need to construct an illusion where it seems like the castle itself is rebelling against her."


Filius chimed in with a gleam in his eye, "Imagine Umbridge's fury if her quills started writing gibberish in the middle of her sentences, or if the classroom board started displaying sarcastic remarks about her instead of her lessons!"


Severus smirked at the thought, while Minerva chuckled softly. Pomona, trying to suppress her smile, said, "That should make the students quite happy, at least."


"But how do we ensure the wands are in the right place at the right time?" Minerva inquired, becoming serious again.



Filius offered, "The house elves can be of assistance. They are nearly invisible to most people at Hogwarts, and certainly to Umbridge. Since these are joke wands they could use them and the fact that they're untraceable makes it even better."


Severus picked up one of the wands, eyeing it thoughtfully. "And then, of course, there's the matter of the wands themselves. Weasley's invention might be just what we need to take the fight to Umbridge without lifting a finger ourselves."


Minerva gave him a stern look at this, "Your main job, Severus, remains the protection of Harry, and to a wider extent, all students. Should this backfire, we would need you in your primary capacity. Umbridge still thinks you're on her side so you are the least likely to be fired."


Severus scowled slightly at this, "Don't worry, Minerva. I plan to be far from the line of fire, as per your suggestion."


He then grinned, twirling the wand in his fingers. "I can still give the elves some ideas though, picture this, if you will," he said, a devious glint in his eye. "The esteemed Dolores Umbridge sitting at her desk, attempting to draft yet another one of her ridiculous decrees, only to find that every line she pens turns into the most flattering compliments about the students she detests."


"Speaking of students," Minerva interjected, her tone softer now, "how is Harry doing?"


Severus snorted, "Probably basking in his usual glory, no doubt."


But Minerva only shook her head, seeing right through his sarcasm, "Your concern for the boy is poorly hidden, Severus."


Severus merely grunted, choosing to ignore the statement. He then continued, "Or perhaps, in the middle of a staff meeting, her tea cup suddenly transforms into a toad. Not harmful, of course, but enough to give her a shock and amuse the rest of us."


Filius let out a surprised laugh, and even Pomona couldn't hide a smile. Minerva merely raised an eyebrow, but her eyes were twinkling with mirth and pursed her lips to hide a smile, "Severus, I never thought I'd see the day you'd be planning pranks."


"Well, times are dire," he replied, shrugging nonchalantly, but his eyes were gleaming with a rare mischievousness. "Besides, isn't it said that all's fair in love and... what are we calling this? A mini rebellion?"


Minerva snorted at this, causing Filius to burst out laughing again. Even Pomona was chuckling softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement.


"Very well, Severus," Minerva finally said, her eyes still sparkling with amusement, "Let's call this our mini rebellion then."


Severus smirked, satisfied. He placed the wand back into the box with a soft clatter. "Perfect. So it's decided. We'll need to brief the house elves and ensure that Peeves and the Bloody Baron understand their roles." 



"The house elves will need to be instructed on how to use the wands," Minerva continued, taking one out and examining it thoughtfully. "I will see to that."


"And the Bloody Baron?" asked Pomona. "Who will speak with him?"


"I shall," Filius offered, a determined glint in his eye. "The Baron and I have always had an understanding of sorts. He'll play his part."


"And I'll handle Peeves," Pomona stated, determination etching her features. "He's always been more receptive to me than others. I think it's my green thumb."


Minerva gave a nod of approval. "Very well, then. We all know what we need to do. Let's get to work."


They all rose from their seats, the box of trick wands in Minerva's hands. There was a sense of urgency in the air, a palpable energy that reflected the seriousness of their undertaking.



As they started to leave, Minerva asked, "Severus, can you stay back for a moment?"


Once the room was emptied, Minerva turned to him, her stern exterior softening. "Severus, how is Harry really doing?"


Severus sneered, "I'm not his babysitter, Minerva."


"Severus," she scolded, a hint of frustration seeping into her voice. "You know as well as I do, that's not what I meant."


Severus sighed, his sarcastic demeanor deflating as he slumped into his chair. His voice was quieter when he finally spoke. "He's not well, Minerva. He woke in pain in the night. I've...I've never seen that before with the Cruciatus Curse."


Minerva looked deeply concerned, her face pale. "He woke up in pain? The curse shouldn't have...lingering effects."


Severus nodded again. "That's what is...odd. Disturbing. I don't know if it's because of the curse itself, or if there's something else going on with Potter."



"But you've taken care of him, right?" Minerva pressed, her worry evident.


Severus waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, I have. I'm not completely heartless, you know." He gave her a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, his attempt at lightening the heavy atmosphere. "I made sure he got a proper dose of pain potion and sent him back to bed. He'll live."


Minerva let out a sigh, her worry lines softening somewhat. "Good. Thank you, Severus."


"I'd say 'anytime', but we both know that would be a lie," he quipped, a trace of his earlier sarcasm resurfacing. His comment succeeded in bringing a ghost of a smile to Minerva's lips.



Severus became serious again. His characteristic smirk faded, replaced by a far-off look in his black eyes. He stared into the flickering fireplace, seemingly lost in thought.


"Minerva," he began, his voice quiet and unusually somber. "Have you ever noticed how small Potter is?"


Minerva paused, turning back to face him. "Small?" she asked, confusion clear in her voice. "Severus, you know James wasn't particularly tall either."


Severus shook his head, his gaze not leaving the dancing flames. "This is different," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "It's not just his stature. Have you noticed his eating habits?"


"His eating habits?" Minerva repeated, her brows furrowing in thought. She had, indeed, noticed Harry's slender build, but she'd always attributed it to him being a teenager with an active lifestyle. But Severus was right. The boy was thin, perhaps unhealthily so.


"Yes," Severus continued, finally looking up at her. "Potter is... he's undernourished, Minerva. He barely touches his food."



Minerva paused for a moment, absorbing his words. "Undernourished?" she echoed, a frown creasing her brow. "What are you insinuating, Severus?"


Severus sighed slightly. His black eyes met hers. "It might not be anything," he admitted, his tone somber. "But... it might also be a sign of something more serious."


"Such as?" Minerva asked, her tone equally grave.


Severus sighed, dropping his gaze to the floor. "Malnutrition. Neglect," he said slowly, each word heavy with implications. "We know he lives with his Muggle relatives during the summer. Who knows what sort of care they're giving him?"


The thought struck Minerva like a blow. She had never truly liked the Dursleys, having met them only once when she had dropped Harry off as a baby. They had seemed... unfit, to say the least, to raise a child like Harry. But she hadn't considered that they might neglect him to such a degree.


"You think... they're not feeding him enough?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.


Severus shrugged, his expression dark. "It's a possibility," he said. "And given the unexpected effects of the Cruciatus Curse... It might not be the only form of abuse he's suffering."


Minerva felt a lump in her throat. "We... we should investigate this," she said, her voice firm despite the turmoil within her. "If Harry is being harmed in any way..."


Severus nodded, a glint of determination in his eyes. "I will delicately inquire, Minerva. In the meantime I started giving him nutrient potions"





Minerva's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You have?" she asked.


Severus merely nodded. "Subtly, of course. We wouldn't want his pride getting in the way of him getting the help he needs."


Minerva sighed, a small smile curling at her lips despite the severity of the situation. "Thank you, Severus," she said, her voice sincere. "Despite your hard exterior, you have a caring heart."


Severus rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. "Don't go spreading it around," he grumbled, but there was no real venom in his voice.


Minerva chuckled softly, but her smile quickly faded. "If there's anything else I can do, Severus," she said earnestly, "please let me know. I'm more than willing to come spend time with Harry. Perhaps...perhaps I can talk to him."


Severus snorted at the idea. "Two lions in the snake's den?" he muttered, but there was no malice in his tone. "I can only imagine the stir that would cause."


Minerva shrugged nonchalantly. "I think we've already established that we're in the midst of a mini rebellion," she said. "What's one more transgression?"


Severus shook his head, but a small, amused smirk was tugging at his lips. "Indeed," he said, begining to walk to the exit. "Who am I to argue?"


With that, he turned towards the door, preparing to leave the room. But as he reached for the doorknob, he turned back towards Minerva, a sly grin spreading across his face.


"I swear," he said, shaking his head, "I'm surrounded by do-gooders."




"Well, Severus, try not to frighten the children too much today, will you?" Minerva said, her eyes twinkling with humour now.


"I make no promises," Severus responded dryly. He gave Minerva one last look, his expression unreadable. "Take care, Minerva."


With that, he swept out of the room, his robes billowing behind him as he made his way to start his first class of the day, thoughts of the impending 'mini rebellion' and a certain green-eyed teenager swirling in his mind.



Meanwhile, Harry back in Severus's rooms was tracing his fingers along the spines of the books on the shelves. He had never seen Severus's personal quarters before, and they were vastly different from the cold and slightly threatening atmosphere of his potions classroom.


It was surprisingly homey, filled with comfortable furniture and warm light from the lamps scattered around the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves that reached the ceiling, all filled with books that seemed old and well-loved. There were stacks of parchment, quills, and various other pieces of wizarding paraphernalia scattered across the tables and counters, the evidence of a lived-in space.


Harry was drawn to the bookshelves, his fingers tracing the spines of the books on the shelves as he wandered around the room. His hand paused on a book that looked strikingly out of place amongst the textbooks and potion manuals - 'The Hobbit' by J.R.R. Tolkien. Surprised, he pulled it out and settled on the couch to leaf through it.


It was a first edition, pages yellowed with age but well preserved. There were notes in the margins, written in Severus's neat handwriting, and some parts were underlined, others marked with a star. It was apparent that this was a well-loved book, read multiple times, and the thought of Severus Snape, potions master and feared professor, enjoying a piece of Muggle literature was unexpectedly heartwarming.


Lost in the world of Bilbo Baggins and his unexpected adventure, Harry didn't notice time passing until he was interrupted by the creak of the door opening. Looking up, he was startled to see Severus Snape himself standing at the doorway, his usual sneer replaced with a look of mild surprise.


"Potter," Severus said, closing the door behind him. "Reading my books, I see."


Harry quickly closed the book and stood up, placing it back on the shelf. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to..."


Severus held up a hand to stop him. "It's fine, Potter. Just... be careful with them. They're quite old."


Harry nodded. "I will, sir. Thank you."


There was an awkward silence, and then Severus said, "I trust you are feeling better?"


Harry gave a slight nod, "Yes, sir. But..."


"But?" Severus's sharp gaze caught Harry's hesitation.


Harry glanced down at his hands, noticing how they were trembling ever so slightly. "My hands... they're a bit shaky. It's strange."


Severus immediately moved closer, his expression serious. "Let me see."



Feeling a bubble of anxiety in his chest, Harry reached out his hands. The sensation of Severus's fingers, warm and unexpectedly tender against Harry's shaking ones, was disconcerting. A shudder he hadn't anticipated rippled down his spine.


Severus observed the trembling with a precise, attentive gaze. "Are you in pain, Potter?" he asked, his voice lacking any clear emotional inflection but the intensity of his stare showing deep interest.


Harry shook his head, a lump forming in his throat. "No, sir. I'm not hurting. Just... shaky."


Severus appeared to retreat into his mind for a moment, his eyes distant but thoughtful. "Potter, I need to know about your health. Any odd occurrences."


Feeling the weight of Severus's inquiry, Harry shrugged, reluctance evident in his posture. Discussing anything linked to the Dursleys was a sensitive territory. "Not much to tell, sir. Just the typical colds and such."


Severus's eyebrows furrowed into a frown. "And the brushes with death, correct?" His comment had a dry edge to it, which sparked a wave of embarrassment in Harry.


"Ah, yes... those," Harry mumbled, his voice barely audible. A sense of unease crept up on him, amplifying his nervousness.


"Have you been subjected to a Cruciatus Curse before?" Severus's question was pointed, his gaze drilling into Harry.


Harry averted his eyes, and after a moment, shook his head. "No, sir."


Severus continued his inquiry, "Did Umbridge ever cast a different curse on you? Something memorable?"


Harry shrugged, genuine confusion etched on his face. "I'm not certain, sir. It could've been a silent spell, and I wouldn't have known."


Severus gave a slow nod, his stare intense. Suddenly, he threw Harry off guard with a question, causing Harry's heart to jolt in his chest. "Did your hands tremble like this prior to the Cruciatus curse?"


Harry dropped his gaze to his hands once more, before raising it to meet Severus's. He nodded, slowly. "Yes, sir... but not this badly."


Severus considered this, his gaze moving back to Harry's trembling hands. "Potter, have you ever had your blood tested? For thyroid issues or blood sugar imbalances?"


Harry shook his head, his gaze dropping. "No, sir," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment creeping into his voice. He had never really seen a doctor outside of primary school nurse and Madam Pomfrey's care. The Dursleys certainly hadn't bothered to take him to one.


Severus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his dark eyes filled with a touch of concern that was unusual for the stoic potions master. He was a skilled healer, as part of his Potions Mastery training had included medical magic, but he was far from a specialist in this particular area.


"Potter, I think we should consult Madam Pomfrey," he said at last. "She may have more insight into your condition."


Harry hesitated, then gave a nod. "Alright, sir," Harry said very quietly.



Severus moved to the fireplace and indicated for Harry to sit down again before tossing in a handful of Floo powder. "Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts Infirmary," he said clearly. His head disappeared into the flames for a few minutes.



After what felt like a million years to Harry, but in reality was only a few minutes, Severus stepped back, turning to Harry with a nod. "She'll be here shortly. Have you had any lunch yet?"



Harry shook his head, his gaze shifting uneasily to his hands. The mere mention of food was making his stomach churn uneasily. "Not... not really hungry, sir."


Severus simply nodded, making a mental note. As if on cue, Madam Pomfrey came through the Floo Network, dusting off the ash from her robes. She gave a curt nod to Severus, her professional demeanor overshadowing her surprise at being called to the dungeons.


"Harry," she said in her no-nonsense tone, taking a seat on the couch next to him. She noticed the slight tremors in his hands and immediately reached out to examine them. Her touch was gentle, her fingers cool against his skin.


"I've been told you're experiencing some unusual symptoms," she began, her sharp gaze scrutinizing his trembling hands. "Severus mentioned it might be related to your thyroid or blood sugar?"


Harry simply nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn't fully understand what those terms meant, but the way Severus and Madam Pomfrey were reacting, he could tell it wasn't something to be taken lightly.


"I'll need to take a bit of your blood for some tests," Madam Pomfrey informed him, pulling out a small vial and a syringe from her bag. Seeing the slight look of apprehension on Harry's face, she added, "Don't worry, Harry. It won't hurt. Just a slight pinch."


As Madam Pomfrey collected the blood sample, Severus stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes were filled with an unusual intensity as he observed the proceedings. He was used to dealing with wounds and magical maladies, not medical conditions. Yet, his concern for his student was evident, adding another layer to the enigmatic potions master.


Once Madam Pomfrey had the blood sample secured, she stood, her gaze meeting Severus's. "I'll need to run these tests back at the infirmary. They may take a bit of time."


Severus gave a curt nod, "Keep us informed, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey gave a brisk nod and disappeared back into the fireplace, leaving a trail of ash that settled onto the cold stone floor. The room fell into an uneasy silence, with only the crackling of the fire and Harry's soft breaths echoing in the room.

"Potter, even if your appetite has taken an inexplicable vacation, you should at least have some soup," Severus said, a sarcastic edge to his tone. "You may not be hungry, but you are still a growing child."



Harry simply nodded and looked down chastised. "Yes, sir," he murmured.



With a flick of his wand, Severus summoned a house elf. "Bring Potter a bowl of chicken soup," he instructed the elf with a glance towards Harry. "And perhaps I'll suffer through a sandwich."


The elf bowed and vanished, only to return moments later carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a sandwich.


Severus lowered himself into the armchair next to the couch where Harry was sitting, taking the sandwich and beginning to eat with as much enthusiasm as one might show for a Grindylow dissection. "Potter," he said between bites, "your assignments for today will be arriving shortly. I trust you will manage to complete them in a timely manner despite your...current situation."


Harry glanced at his hands, the tremor in them not lessened by the warm soup he had begun to sip. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice small.


Severus finished his sandwich, a grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth as he did so. He wiped his hands on a napkin, discarding the remains of his lunch with a small flick of his wand. "I must return to my classes shortly," he said, his gaze lingering on Harry's hands.


The sarcasm in his voice lessened as he continued, "However, if those hands of yours are giving you trouble, there is no harm in waiting until they are more...cooperative. After all, I wouldn't want your handwriting to become even more illegible than it already is."


"Sir," Harry began, swallowing another spoonful of soup, "Has... has Umbridge asked about me?"


Severus paused, an expression of disdain crossing his face. He gave a deep, drawn-out sigh, rolling his eyes as he nodded. "Indeed, Potter," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "She has been so kind as to call a staff meeting to discuss your apparent 'disobedience.'"


Harry's eyes widened slightly, the soup suddenly tasting a lot less appealing.


"But fret not, Potter," Severus continued, his tone now softer, less sarcastic, and more genuine. "Only the Heads of Houses know of your current whereabouts. We... well, let's just say that we have a brewing plan to deal with our delightful High Inquisitor."


Harry looked at him, a mix of curiosity and relief etched onto his face. "A plan, sir?"


Severus merely smirked, rising from his chair. "You just focus on not destroying my quarters, Potter. We'll handle the toad."



There was silence in the room as Harry mulled over the information. He realized he had one more question. “Have my friends... Hermione and Ron, have they asked about me?”


Severus gave him a curt nod. “Of course they have. It’s quite obvious they've been fretting over your absence. Though I must say, their attempts to feign indifference are as transparent as a clean glass window."


Harry felt a pang of guilt but was comforted by a subsequent nod from the potions master. "Minerva has assured them that you are safe and that the matter is being handled. No specifics were shared, of course."


Relief washed over Harry, but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sense of isolation. He missed his friends. Missed being part of their silly squabbles, their study sessions, even their reckless adventures. But he understood the need for secrecy. And he trusted his friends would understand too, eventually.


Finishing his soup, he placed the bowl on the side table and leaned back, a yawn escaping him. The whole ordeal was more exhausting than he had thought it would be.


Severus, having finished his own food, stood to leave. His usual stern expression softened slightly as he looked down at Harry, clearly worn out from the day’s events. "If you need anything, have a house-elf fetch me," he instructed, his voice softer than Harry was accustomed to.


Harry simply nodded, too tired to speak.



But as Severus neared the door, he turned back, the stern edge returning to his voice. "Remember, Potter, you are to stay here. You are not to leave these quarters. Not even if you think it's a matter of life or death."


Harry managed a weak nod. "Yes, sir."


Just as Severus was about to step out, he turned back once more, and with a swift wave of his wand, he cast a summoning spell. From the corner of the room, a thick, soft blanket flew through the air, landing gently into Harry's lap.


Before Harry could manage a word of thanks, Severus had already left the room, the door closing quietly behind him. Harry was left alone with his thoughts, the flickering fire being the only other presence in the room. As the door closed, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. The blanket in his lap, despite its sudden appearance, offered some small comfort against the silence of the room.



Harry’s mind was a whirlpool of worry, fear and confusion. The inexplicable fatigue that held him in its vice-like grip was unlike anything he had ever experienced. The tremors coursing through his hands were distressing, leaving a chilling sense of dread coursing through him. His fingers would twitch and quiver at random intervals, making it difficult to perform the simplest of tasks without great concentration or he would spill or drop something.


He had initially brushed it off as an unfortunate byproduct of the ceaseless stress he was under. With the relentless threat of Umbridge's twisted discipline, the looming shadows of the upcoming O.W.L.s, and the ever-encroaching sense of war hanging heavy on his shoulders, his body was merely reacting to the sheer weight of it all. It was a plausible theory, but the intensity of the concern in Madam Pomfrey's eyes and Snape's uncharacteristically kind demeanor suggested there was more to it.


Thinking of Snape brought a frown to his face, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. The Potions Master, whose sarcasm was as infamous as his intolerance for incompetence, had been different lately. He retained his acerbic wit, but there was an underlying gentleness to his actions. His snide comments were absent of malice, replaced instead with an odd sort of concern. The kindness Snape had shown him, his proactive approach in fetching Madam Pomfrey, was downright disconcerting. It felt foreign, like trying to read an unfamiliar script. Snape was a puzzle that Harry had long since given up trying to solve, but this new development was unsettling in its peculiarity.


His mind then shifted to Umbridge, and a bitter taste filled his mouth. The toad-like woman had become a thorn in the side of everyone at Hogwarts, her oppressive regime choking the life out of the school. Snape's cryptic mention of a 'brewing plan' against her left Harry's curiosity ignited. The cryptic hint left him wondering what exactly his professors had in mind. But the severity of Snape's orders, the gravitas in his voice as he told Harry not to leave his quarters under any circumstance, made Harry realize that whatever they were planning was dangerous, and probably not something he needed to be involved in.


His eyes grew heavy as the fatigue began to pull at him, tugging him down into its embrace. The day's events had been draining, a relentless barrage of worry, confusion and stress. His body craved rest, and despite his mind buzzing with questions and concerns, he couldn't fight the inevitable pull of sleep.


As sleep claimed him, Harry's mind was a storm of half-formed thoughts and unanswered questions. The mystery of his shaking hands, the threat of Umbridge, Snape's unexpected kindness – it all swirled in the darkness, a chaotic whirlpool in the otherwise peaceful slumber. But sleep offered a brief respite, a momentary escape from the tangled web of worries that ensnared him. Tomorrow, he would have to face it all again. For now, he was just Harry, alone in the quiet of the dungeons, the fading glow of the fire his only company.

Severus slipped back into his quarters, the door creaking shut behind him, echoing in the silence of the room. The light from the dying embers of the fire cast an eerie, dim glow around the place. The day had been strenuous, every moment of it dominated by either his classes, the staff meeting, or the worries about Potter and Umbridge. But now, he finally had a moment of solitude, a chance to collect his thoughts.

In the quiet solitude of his quarters, Severus found his mind drifting back to the staff meeting earlier that day. The image of Umbridge, with her toad-like face twisted in a perpetual scowl, was vivid in his mind. She had spent the better part of the meeting berating Potter, her voice shrill and grating as she complained about his defiance. Severus could still hear her words, echoing in his mind, a relentless tirade against the boy who lived.

He remembered how Minerva had stepped in, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of irritation. She had defended Potter, as was her duty, but there was a certain lack of conviction in her words. Severus had caught her eye across the table, a silent understanding passing between them. They both knew the game they were playing, the roles they had to perform for the sake of appearances.

And then it had been his turn. He had spoken against Potter, his words harsh and biting. But he had felt a strange emptiness as he did so. There was no venom in his words, no real anger. It was all a performance, a mask he wore. And he knew, as he looked around the room, that the others had seen through it. They had seen the lack of true malice in his words, the absence of real hatred. But Umbridge, in her blind fury, had missed it entirely.

Severus shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. The meeting was over, and there was no point dwelling on it. He had played his part, and now it was time to focus on the present.

His eyes traveled to the couch, seeing Harry still sleeping there peacefully. A sigh escaped him, one filled with a strange mix of frustration and relief. Frustration because, even asleep, Potter seemed to have a way of drawing attention, and relief because, despite the tremors and the stress, the boy seemed safe for now.

Severus moved towards the couch, sinking into the armchair next to it. He studied Harry's sleeping form, his forehead furrowed as he took in the sight. It was hard to believe that this sleeping boy was the very person causing such chaos within the castle's walls. Harry's face, usually etched with determination, was peaceful in sleep, the creases of worry smoothed out temporarily. Severus found himself hoping that the boy was faring better in his dreams.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to distract himself from the present problems. His eyes drifted to the parchment on his desk - a list of potion ingredients he needed for his upcoming classes. Going over it, he distracted his mind from Potter and Umbridge, focusing instead on the mundane task at hand. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

About an hour later, he saw Harry stir slightly. Severus moved from his armchair to sit on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of him. He reached out and gently shook Harry's shoulder, attempting to rouse him from his sleep. It took a moment, but Harry's eyes slowly fluttered open. The look of confusion on his face was quickly replaced by recognition.

"Potter," Severus greeted, a hand moving to feel the boy's forehead, checking for any signs of fever. Finding none, he continued, "Did you sleep the entire time I was away?"

Harry blinked a few times, looking around the room as though trying to get his bearings. He then nodded, his voice still hoarse from sleep as he replied, "Yeah, I guess I did."

"And how are you feeling?" Severus asked, withdrawing his hand from Harry's forehead. The concern in his voice was subtle, but it was there nonetheless, his eyes searching Harry's face for any indication of discomfort.

"I'm fine," Harry said after a moment, attempting to sit up a bit more. He stifled a yawn, then added, "Just... really sleepy."

Severus nodded, noting that despite the tiredness, Harry seemed to be doing better than he had been. "Rest is important, Potter. But you slept an awful lot today."

"I'd say you're rivalling a cat in terms of sleeping hours," Severus added, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a faint smirk. The sarcastic comment hung in the air between them, lightening the atmosphere for a brief moment.

Harry frowned at this, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. He looked as though he wanted to retort, but instead, he sighed, dropping his gaze to his hands. "I suppose you're right, sir."

Severus watched him for a moment longer before turning his attention to the stack of parchment sitting on the coffee table. "Now, Potter," he began, picking up the pile and handing it to the younger wizard, "do you think you could manage to do some of your homework before dinner?"

Harry looked at the stack of parchment, his brows furrowing. He looked up at Severus, uncertainty flashing in his eyes, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, sir. I can do that."

"Good." Severus' gaze was steady as he looked at Harry. "There's no sense in letting your education suffer because of... well, everything."

Severus then moved to his desk, sorting through various potions notes and ingredients lists. He busied himself while Harry started on his homework, occasionally glancing over to make sure the boy was actually working and not just staring blankly at the parchment.

After a few minutes of silence, save for the scratching of quills on parchment, Severus spoke again. "Potter," he began, his voice calm and measured, "Madam Pomfrey will be visiting later tonight, after dinner. She'll go over your recent test results."

Harry's quill stopped mid-sentence as he looked up from his parchment, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. "Test results." he stated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," Severus confirmed, without looking up from his own pile of papers. "She also wanted to look at your hands again."

Harry's gaze dropped back down to his parchment, his brows furrowing. He nodded, swallowing hard. "Alright, sir."

However, Harry didn't immediately return to his work. Instead, he stared at the words on the parchment, his quill lying forgotten in his hand. His mind was clearly elsewhere, consumed with worry about the upcoming visit.

Observing this, Severus sighed, setting down his own quill. He rose from his desk and walked over to where Harry sat, schooling his face into its usual stern expression. "Potter, are you actually planning on writing anything or just contemplating a career in parchment staring?" he said, his voice laced with dry sarcasm. He arched an eyebrow at the younger wizard, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Harry's gaze shot up, a sheepish look on his face. "Sorry, sir. I just..." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence, but the concern in his eyes said it all.

Understanding what was left unsaid, Severus nodded, gesturing towards the parchment. "May I?"

Harry nodded and handed the parchment over. Severus' eyes skimmed over the words, identifying the potion Harry had been tasked with explaining. It was a complex one, requiring a deep understanding of ingredient interactions and precise timing.

Severus cleared his throat. "Potter, you seem to have missed the significance of adding powdered griffin claw at the boiling point. Do you remember what that does?"

Harry thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. "It... enhances the restorative properties of the potion, doesn't it?"

"Correct," Severus nodded, his expression softening slightly. "This is a potion that demands precision. The timing and order of ingredients are critical."

He then returned the parchment to Harry, sitting on the arm of the couch next to him. For the next half hour, they went over the different steps of the potion, Severus explaining the effects of different ingredients and their combinations. He asked Harry questions, challenging him to think and reason.

The strategy worked. Soon, Harry's attention was back on his work, his fear momentarily forgotten. They worked in silence, the room filled with the sounds of quills scratching and parchment rustling. The lingering tension was pushed aside as the minutes passed, replaced by the comfort of academic focus. Severus continued to guide and correct Harry, every once in a while slipping in a sarcastic comment to lighten the mood.

Finally, Harry managed to finish his potions assignment, jotting down the last sentence with a sigh of relief. He glanced up at Severus, a small, tentative smile on his face. "Done," he announced, offering the parchment for inspection.

Severus took the parchment, scanning over the meticulously written paragraphs. After a few moments, he nodded, handing it back to Harry. "Not perfect, but acceptable. The potion's intricacies are difficult to understand."

Harry nodded, taking his work back and setting it aside. His gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers idly picking at the edge of the parchment. The moment of accomplishment seemed to have temporarily stilled his nervousness, allowing him to relax, if only for a moment.

"Well, we still have a few minutes before dinner. Should we start on transfiguration?" Severus suggested, not wanting Harry to dwell too much on his upcoming visit from Madam Pomfrey.

Harry sighed, but nodded nonetheless. "Alright."

The next half-hour was filled with a similarly rigorous discussion of transfiguration theory. They went over spellwork and incantations, the importance of intent and visualization, and the challenges of human transfiguration. Once again, the intensity of the academic focus seemed to have a calming effect on Harry.

However, their productive study session was interrupted by a small pop in the kitchen. Severus sighed, setting aside the transfiguration book he'd been referencing. "Dinner, it seems," he said, getting up to answer the door.

In the kitchen stood a house-elf with a tray of food, his large eyes twinkling in the dim light. "Dinner, Professor Snape, sir," the elf said, holding out the tray.

"Thank you," Severus replied, taking the tray from the house-elf. He glanced back at Harry, his gaze a silent command to clear the coffee table for the food. They needed a less formal dinner tonight.

As Severus walked back into the living room and laid out their dinner, Harry couldn't help but ask again about Umbridge. He looked up at Severus, his emerald green eyes filled with worry. "Umbridge... You're sure it's not causing more trouble I'm not there?"

Severus snorted, his black eyes gleaming with a dry humor. "As sure as I can be, Potter," he said, smirking. "Unless you count tripping over invisible items and getting her hair messed up by the house-elves' spellwork as causing trouble."

Harry's eyes widened at this. "The house-elves?" he repeated, sounding both surprised and amused.

"Even they have their limits, Potter," Severus replied, his smirk widening. He seemed to enjoy Harry's shocked reaction. "Our dear Umbridge has found herself on the receiving end of a few accidental spills, trips and her blackboard saying interesting things recently. Rather unfortunate."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at this. "That's... good to know," he said, his smile genuine for the first time that evening.

"Indeed," Severus agreed, his gaze softening a bit. "Now, let's eat."

Despite the comfort of Severus' words and the reassurance of Umbridge's 'misfortunes', Harry found himself picking at his food rather than eating. His appetite was still absent, his stomach churning with nerves. However, he did his best to hide his lack of hunger, not wanting to worry Severus further.

The potions master, of course, noticed. He watched as Harry prodded at his food, his gaze sharp. But instead of calling him out on it, he merely shook his head, letting the matter rest. After all, he knew better than anyone how stress could affect one's appetite. They ate in silence, the calm before the storm that was Madam Pomfrey's visit.

"Potter, are you even trying?" Severus finally said, breaking the silence. His tone was pointed, his gaze fixed on the barely-eaten plate of food.

Harry glanced up from his plate, meeting Severus' gaze briefly before looking away. "I'm not that hungry, sir," he replied, his voice small.

Severus huffed, seemingly unimpressed. "That's evident," he said, his tone dry. He pushed his own empty plate away, his meal finished. "However, considering the state you're in, I would rather not be blamed for you wasting away."

With that, he stood, moving to a nearby cupboard. He pulled out a small vial filled with a familiar liquid - a nutrition potion. He walked back to the table, sliding the vial across to Harry. "Here, drink this. It should at least help until you regain your appetite."

Harry just stared at the potion, his gaze thoughtful. He seemed to be considering his options, but made no move to take the vial.

The silence stretched on, growing heavier with each passing moment. Finally, Severus sighed, his patience thinning. "Potter," he said, his voice stern. "Your body needs the nutrition."

Still, Harry did nothing, the weight of the situation seemingly keeping him anchored in place. His face was pale, his eyes dark with exhaustion. The sight of him like this, so vulnerable, made something inside Severus clench.

Heaving a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair. "Harry," he said, softer this time. He reached out, gently pushing the vial closer to the young wizard. "It's not poison. Just... drink it. Please."

A moment of silence hung heavy between them. Severus had never used his first name before. Hearing it now, coming from Severus of all people, was enough to startle him, yanking him out from his preoccupied thoughts. The surprise was evident on his face; his brows knitted together in confusion, a visible uncertainty painting his expression.

"Harry," Severus had said. The name echoed inside Harry's head, bouncing around, replaying itself in a loop. A feeling of shock rippled through him. He wasn't sure what to make of it. It wasn't a reprimand or even uttered in the usual snide, sarcastic tone. It was a plea, a genuine request, softer than any words he'd heard from the man before.

He looked up at Severus, catching his intense gaze, which held an uncharacteristic trace of concern. It was unnerving. The corners of his mouth twitched as he watched Severus push the potion vial closer to him. It felt surreal, a scenario that Harry would never have predicted.

'Is he really that worried?' Harry wondered. His professor had been behaving oddly since they had discovered Umbridge had cast the cruciatus curse on him. What with Umbridge, sleeping almost all day, waking up in the middle of the night due to his perceived weakness, now barely touching his food. It wasn't like him, and he hated to be perceived as weak. 'Does he think I'm turning into a basket case?' The idea gnawed at him, making him uncomfortable. He wasn't himself, and it seemed to have put Severus in an unfamiliar state of concern.

His thoughts whirled inside his head. An uncomfortable truth stared at him in the face: Harry had been slipping, his strength waning. It wasn't just about not eating his food or not wanting to drink the potion. It was deeper than that. It was about letting Umbridge win and having the adults fight her and not letting him participate, being hidden away like a fragile piece of china.

Determined to shake off the looming sense of helplessness, he let out a silent breath, composing himself. He nodded at Severus, his fingers reaching out to grip the vial. "Alright," he conceded, the single word barely more than a whisper. The room was silent except for the soft pop of the vial being uncorked. The potion slid down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. He pulled a face but made no comment.

Severus watched him closely, a certain tightness around his eyes easing off when Harry finished drinking the potion. A tiny flash of relief flickered in his gaze, and he nodded his approval. "Good," he murmured, leaning back in his chair.

But as Harry retreated into silence, leaning back against his chair, Severus couldn't help but voice his worry, though more to himself than anyone else. "I'm going to have to make more of those, aren't I?" he said softly, a resigned tone threading through his words. His gaze fell on the pile of parchments, the long list of potion ingredients growing ever longer in his mind. He sighed, the reality of their situation sinking deeper.

When Harry had finished half-heartedly picking at the rest of his food, Severus cleared away the plates and the half-empty bottle of pumpkin juice. The dishes were banished with a flick of his wand, disappearing in a soft puff of smoke. He knew that a house-elf would be waiting in the kitchens to clean them. "Why don't you work on your assignments a bit more, Potter," he said, keeping his tone gentle yet firm. "Madam Pomfrey will be here soon."

Harry's response was an obedient nod, his mind still obviously elsewhere. With a soft sigh, he pulled over his books and parchment he had set aside, picking up a quill to continue working on his Transfiguration.

Severus watched as Harry got down to work, his head bent over his parchment, the black ink of his quill scratching against the surface. He sighed, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension. His thoughts circled back to the worries about the boy's health that had plagued him, then back again to their current situation with Umbridge.

With another sigh, he reached out for a piece of parchment and his own quill. It was time to write a letter to Remus. Severus was not one for expressing concern in letters or in general, especially when it involved discussing another person's wellbeing. Yet, he had no other choice. He needed information about Harry's past behavior and habits, information that Remus, as a friend of the boy's father and godfather, might possess.

Severus observed Harry for a moment longer before moving away to his own, seldom used desk, the one usually buried under stacks of parchments and unused potion vials. With a flick of his wand, the clutter vanished, revealing the worn-out surface underneath.

He sighed, pulling a fresh piece of parchment and dipping his quill in the inkpot. His usually sharp handwriting was noticeably softer, the curves of his letters less rigid.

'Dear Remus,' he started, 'I trust this finds you in good health. I regret to inform you that the circumstances that have led me to write to you are far from pleasant.'

He paused, his black eyes glancing over at Harry, who was now scribbling away at his assignment. Seeing the boy's focused determination, despite everything, brought a bitter, yet somewhat proud, smile to his face.

'Harry has been facing certain... difficulties,' he continued, his quill scratching the parchment in a rhythmic beat. 'Due to circumstances beyond our control, he has been subjected to the Cruciatus curse multiple times, and as a consequence, he is currently being hidden in my quarters until we can boot Umbridge from the castle.'

Severus found an unfamiliar tug of concern pulling at him, a sentiment that rarely, if ever, featured when dealing with Potter. Seeing the boy in this diminished state stirred unwelcome emotions he had no inclination to explore. Dismissing such thoughts with a shake of his head, he pressed on, his quill continuing to glide over the parchment, 'Potter's behavior concerning food has raised some red flags. Can you recall instances where he displayed this fiddling around his meals? I require knowledge whether this is a recent development or a recurring pattern.'

As his quill hovered over the parchment, lingering as if debating the right words, a gentle rapping at the door pulled him from his contemplation. With a sigh, Severus re-capped the inkpot, laying down his quill and rising to answer the soft knocks. As he opened the door, Madam Pomfrey stepped inside, her usually stern face lined with a certain degree of worry, the familiar satchel filled with medical instruments slung over her shoulder.

Wordlessly, Snape shut the door behind her, his gaze drifting to Harry. "Potter," he commanded with an odd softness. "Put your books aside."

As Harry obediently complied, setting his quill aside and pushing the assignment away, Poppy made her way over to the couch, where she gestured for the young wizard to sit. Severus, after securing the door, moved to stand beside them, his gaze guarded.

"Potter, your bloodwork came back clear," Madam Pomfrey started, her voice gentle, "but I'm having difficulty understanding why your hands continue to shake so frequently." She held out a hand, her fingers brushing against Harry's, who promptly withdrew, his eyes wary.

"I think a deeper diagnostic spell would help," Poppy suggested. "It could reveal something a routine scan might miss. Would you allow me?"

Harry, visibly hesitant, shot a glance at Severus. The Potion Master's gaze was intent, his eyes reflecting the seriousness of the situation. "Harry," Severus began, using his first name again in an attempt to alleviate the tension, "if Madam Pomfrey believes it's necessary, then I suggest you cooperate."

He looked down and away from the adults, his hands still trembling. Harry took a deep breath, summoning the courage to voice his concerns. "What... what could the scan show?" he asked softly, his voice filled with nervous anticipation.

Poppy's touch on his hands offered a comforting reassurance, and her calm demeanor helped ease his anxiety. "The scan will go deeper than a normal scan and provide us with a clearer picture of what's happening within your body, Harry," she explained gently. "We need to understand why your hands are shaking and find a way to make them better, especially since this was the first time the Cruciatus curse was cast on you. This is not a normal reaction."

"Will the diagnostic show past injuries?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The room seemed to shrink around him, the enormity of his admission heavy in the air.

Severus raised an eyebrow at this, his black eyes meeting Poppy's. She nodded gently, answering for the both of them. "Yes, Harry," she confirmed softly. "It would likely reveal the extent of past trauma as well."

Harry swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the edge of the table. His secret was out; they knew he'd been hit by the Cruciatus curse before. He hoped against hope they wouldn't want to proceed with the diagnostic knowing this new information. His hands might've been shaking, but they were not that bad after all.

"Are you sure?" Harry tried one last time to dissuade them. "It's not... it's not that serious."

"Harry, we can't take any chances," Severus countered firmly, "Not when it comes to curses as dark as the Cruciatus. We need to ensure there aren't any long-lasting effects."

"I... I've been hit by the Cruciatus before," Harry finally admitted, his eyes shifting away from the intense gaze of the adults present. His words hung heavy in the room, casting a chilling silence.

Severus stiffened, his eyes flashing a hint of alarm before he controlled his expression. "When?" he managed to ask, his voice eerily calm.

Harry's eyes met his, a hard glint in them as if preparing for an argument. "It doesn't matter. I survived, didn't I?" he retorted defensively. He was hoping to deflect and avoid the diagnostic charm at all costs.

At Harry's stubborn deflection, a surge of frustration rippled through Severus. He rose from his seat and moved over to sit on the edge of the coffee table in front of Harry, placing himself in the young wizard's line of sight.

"Harry," he started, his voice a low rumble, "this is not a matter of surviving. This is about understanding the impact this curse could have had on you and taking the necessary steps to heal."

Severus studied Harry's face for a moment, the stubborn set of his jaw, the fear thinly veiled behind defiance. This was not an easy conversation for either of them. He softened his tone, hoping to reach the teenager who was bracing for a fight.

"You do not have to bear this alone. We're here to help you, not judge you. If you've been hit by the Cruciatus before, we need to know when and how often. It will help Madam Pomfrey devise the best course of treatment."

His stern demeanor melted away, replaced with an uncharacteristic tenderness. The sight of Harry, so resistant and scared, pulled at a chord in Severus' heart he had long thought was severed.

"Please, Harry," he pleaded, his voice a soft whisper in the room, "let us help."

Harry was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the worn wooden planks of the floor as he let the weight of his admission hang in the air. He felt Severus's hand gently resting on his knee, a silent promise of support that was hard to ignore. The simple touch seemed to pull him out of his reverie.

When he finally lifted his head, his green eyes met Severus's black ones with a hardened resolve. His features held a painful vulnerability, but they were marked by an unspoken determination, a stark contrast to the despair that had resided there moments ago.

"In the graveyard," Harry finally admitted, his voice so soft it was nearly lost in the ambient noise of the crackling fire and rustling parchment. "Voldemort cast it on me. And then... and then the imposter Moody cast it again."

Poppy sighed softly from her spot next to Harry on the couch. "And you... you were never treated for either instance." she stated, her voice barely more than a whisper. "You likely have nerve damage and Umbridge's curse just compounded it."

"And we need to see just how far the damage goes, Harry," Poppy added, her gaze softened with sympathy. "May I run the deep scan?" The request came out more of a plea, their concern for the boy clear.

"I...I..." Harry stammered, a sudden surge of fear rendering him momentarily speechless. He suddenly got up, knocking Severus's hand from his knee, cutting through the tense silence. "I need...I need to use the bathroom," he excused himself, barely meeting their eyes.

Severus and Poppy watched as Harry retreated, his usual confidence replaced by a raw fear that seemed out of place on the usually resilient young wizard. They exchanged a worried glance, the silence between them heavy with shared concern.

When the bathroom door closed behind Harry, Severus turned to Poppy. "Perhaps it would be best if you go for now," he suggested, his tone thoughtful. "The boy is clearly overwhelmed."

Poppy's brows furrowed as she started to protest. "Severus, he needs..."

"I will try to talk to him," Severus cut her off gently. "If he consents to the scan, I can do it and send you the results. The situation is... delicate."

After a moment of consideration, Poppy sighed and nodded, understanding the rationale behind Severus' suggestion. She rose to her feet, her expression heavy with worry. "Alright. Just... keep me informed, Severus."

With that, she made her way to the door and exited the room, leaving Severus alone to wait for Harry's return.

As soon as Poppy was gone, he let out a heavy sigh, walked towards the bathroom door. His hand hesitated for a moment before he knocked gently, calling out in a soft tone, "Potter, are you alright?"

"Everything's fine," came Harry's muffled response, but his voice sounded strained, hardly convincing.

Severus's brows furrowed in concern, his hand still resting on the door. "Potter, if you need time, take it. I'll be in the living room with some tea when you're ready. Madam Pomfrey left for now to give you some space."

There was a long pause, filled only by the hushed whispers of the wind outside the window. Then, the sound of running water ceased, replaced by the quiet shuffle of movement within the bathroom.

"Alright," Harry finally responded, his voice a bit steadier. "I... I'll be out in a minute."

Satisfied, Severus moved away from the door, striding back to his armchair. He summoned a house-elf and ordered a fresh pot of tea, along with another mug of hot chocolate. The sweet and comforting aroma of the beverage seemed to warm the room, chasing away a bit of the tension that had settled there.

As he waited, Severus allowed his thoughts to wander, a memory from long ago flitting into his mind. He recalled how Lily would always offer him hot chocolate in times of distress, how her simple act of kindness seemed to soothe his worries and fears.

Involuntarily, a faint smile tugged at his lips. Perhaps Harry would find the same comfort in the warm, chocolatey drink.

Severus was pulled from his reverie by the sound of the bathroom door opening. He watched as Harry emerged, his face still pale and his eyes shadowed, but he looked more composed than before.

Without a word, Severus gestured to the couch, indicating that Harry should sit. Once Harry was settled, he handed him the mug of hot chocolate.

"For you," he said softly, a rare kindness echoing in his tone. "Take a moment. When you're ready, we can discuss... we can discuss what we need to do next."

Harry nodded gratefully, wrapping his hands around the warm mug. He took a deep breath, preparing to face the inevitable, and finally lifted his gaze to meet Severus's.

"You seem... scared, Potter," Severus stated gently, observing Harry's body language carefully.

"I'm not scared," Harry protested, a hint of his usual defiance seeping through. But as he tried to lift his mug, he realized his hands were shaking too much. He stared at them, the reality of the situation sinking in, his denial wavering.

"I... I suppose I am," he admitted, lowering the mug and his gaze with it. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I guess... I guess I am scared."

"Would you like to share what it is that you're scared about?" Severus asked. His tone was patient, the harsh edges of his usually curt manner dulled in the face of Harry's vulnerability.

The room was silent for a moment, the only sound being the soft crackling of the fire. Harry remained silent, his mind visibly wrestling with the question. He took a deep breath, the confession sticking in his throat. The past was always a difficult subject to broach, filled with painful memories and raw emotions.

"I... I don't want to bring up the past," Harry confessed, his voice choked with emotion. He felt his throat tighten, his breath hitching at the prospect of delving into a part of his life he'd rather forget until the next summer.

Harry remained silent, his gaze distant, lost in his troubled thoughts. The warmth of the hot chocolate had begun to seep into his cold fingers, but he barely noticed it. He was focused inward, contemplating the inevitable scan, the unvoiced fears, the risks it posed.

His heart pounded in his chest at the mere thought of what the scan could reveal. Not just potential physical or magical ailments, but the shadow of his past as well - the parts he desperately wanted to keep hidden. The implications of the scan were more than just medical. They were deeply personal, and he feared the Pandora's box they could potentially unlock.

Severus observed the young wizard carefully, noting the fear etched onto Harry's face. He sighed heavily and rubbed at his temples.

"Potter," Severus began, his tone carrying a hint of exasperation, "This isn't about unearthing your past. There's something wrong with your nerves. We need to find out what it is so we can help you. If other things are discovered, we'll deal with them as they come."

He paused, looking at Harry pointedly. "Is there something else you want to tell me?"

Harry shook his head, his movements almost violently abrupt. His eyes, however, told a different story; they were wide and fearful. It was clear that he was far from convinced.

Severus sighed once more. He had known this wouldn't be easy, but he hadn't expected Harry to be this resistant. Trying to lighten the mood, he let a hint of his usual sarcasm seep into his voice. "Well, Potter, it's not like we're asking you to face down You-Know-Who again. This is just a scan, nothing more."

The attempt at humor had the desired effect. Harry's rigid posture relaxed slightly, and a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. Yet, there was still an unmistakable hesitation in his eyes.

Seeing this, Severus softened his tone. "Harry, we won't force this on you. It's your decision. But remember, the goal here is to ensure your well-being."

As Harry finished his hot chocolate, Severus made a decision. "We'll discuss this more after you've had a full night's sleep," he said. "Sometimes, a fresh perspective in the morning can make all the difference."

With that, Severus stood up, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts. As much as he wanted to help the young wizard, he knew that some battles had to be fought alone. This was one of them. Yet, he couldn't help hoping that come morning, Harry would make the right choice.

Retreating to his desk, Severus sat down and picked up the letter he had written earlier. He perused the neat, crisp lines once more before tucking it neatly into an envelope. His gaze briefly lingered on Remus's name written across the front, his mind momentarily caught in the past, in the battles they'd fought side by side, and the bridges that had been burned and slowly rebuilt over time.

Sealing the envelope, he summoned a house elf. "Winky," he called out, and the elf appeared in a pop, her bulbous eyes looking up at him curiously. "I need you to deliver this letter to Remus Lupin. Please be careful and ensure it is delivered directly into his hands."

Winky took the letter, nodding in understanding before disappearing with another pop.

Feeling slightly lighter having sent the letter, Severus turned back towards the couch just in time to see Harry slowly retreat to his bedroom. The young wizard still looked lost and unsure, but his posture was less defeated. A small progress, Severus noted, but a significant one nonetheless.

For now, Severus decided to leave the matter of the scan aside, giving Harry the time and space he needed. The matter was urgent, but he was not willing to push Harry over the edge. If it meant delaying the scan by a day or two, so be it.

Severus watched as the door to Harry's room closed with a soft click, leaving him alone in the dimly lit room. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a rare display of frustration. He had hoped that Harry would be more receptive to the idea of the scan, but he should have known better. The boy had always been stubborn, just like his father.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. The meeting with the other Heads of Houses was due to start soon. He had planned to attend, to discuss their ongoing efforts against Umbridge, but now he found himself hesitating. He was worried about Harry, a feeling that was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Severus had always been a man of logic and reason, but the situation with Harry was making him question his usual approach. The boy was clearly scared, and Severus couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. He knew what it was like to be afraid, to feel like the world was closing in on you. He had experienced it himself, many times over.

He stood up, pacing the room as he thought. The mystery surrounding Harry's condition was nagging at him, like a puzzle that was missing a crucial piece. The clues were adding up, but he still couldn't see the full picture. And he had a sinking feeling that when he did, he wouldn't like what he found.

He stopped pacing, staring at the closed door to Harry's room. He sighed he would have to attend the meeting and maybe he would talk with the other heads to see what their thoughts were.

Severus stood in front of Harry's door, his hand raised to knock. He hesitated for a moment, then rapped his knuckles against the wood. "Potter," he called out, his voice low and controlled.

He waited until he heard a quiet 'come in' before he opened the door slightly, just enough to admit him. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a small lamp on the bedside table. Harry was tucked into bed, a book resting on his lap. Severus recognized it as 'The Hobbit', a book he had seen Harry reading earlier. He was glad to see the boy reading again, it was a good distraction.

"Potter," Severus began, his gaze sweeping over the boy. "I have to leave the rooms for a bit. There's a meeting I need to attend. If you need anything, just call a house elf to fetch me."

Harry nodded, his eyes not leaving the book. "Alright, Professor," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Severus hesitated at the door, his hand resting on the knob. He wanted to say something more, to offer some words of comfort, but he found himself at a loss. He was not used to this, to caring for someone else's well-being. It was new, and it was uncomfortable.

With a final, lingering glance at Harry, Severus quietly closed the door behind him, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts and his book. He stood outside the door for a moment, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and concerns. He shook his head, as if physically trying to clear his mind, before turning on his heel and striding down the corridor.

The castle was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of students absent due to the late hour. The only sound was the soft echo of his footsteps against the stone floor, a rhythmic beat that seemed to match the pounding of his heart. The torches lining the walls cast long, dancing shadows, their flickering light painting an eerie picture on the ancient stone walls. The air was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of his quarters, and he pulled his robes tighter around him as he walked.

He passed by numerous portraits, their inhabitants either asleep or engaged in quiet conversation. A few of them nodded in his direction, their expressions varying from respectful to wary. He paid them no mind, his thoughts focused on the meeting ahead and the boy he had left behind.

He finally arrived at the designated classroom, a room that had been abandoned for years and was now used for clandestine meetings such as this. The door creaked open, revealing a room bathed in soft candlelight. A large, round table sat in the middle, surrounded by chairs. Three of them were already occupied.

Filius Flitwick, the diminutive Charms professor, was engaged in a hushed conversation with Pomona Sprout, the matronly Herbology professor. Minerva McGonagall, the stern Transfiguration professor and Head of Gryffindor House, sat alone, her gaze focused on a parchment in front of her.

Severus took the empty seat next to Minerva, his arrival drawing the attention of the other two professors. He nodded in their direction, a silent greeting that was returned with varying degrees of warmth. He turned to Minerva, a sarcastic remark already on his lips.

"Minerva," he drawled, his voice dripping with feigned cheerfulness. "I see you've managed to tear yourself away from your beloved Gryffindors for this meeting. I'm touched."

Minerva merely raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. "Always a pleasure, Severus," she replied, her tone dry. "I'm glad to see you've managed to maintain your sunny disposition."

"Now that we're all here," Minerva began, her voice clear and commanding, "let's get started."

Minerva, in her usual stern and commanding tone, turned to Filius, "Filius, how are the house elves doing with the wands? Is it having any effect on Umbridge?"

Filius gave her a sly smile, clasping his hands together. "Oh, they're having a grand time indeed," he chirped, a glint in his eyes. "One elf, in particular, has been having an enormous amount of fun following Umbridge around this evening. He's been conjuring water from the castle walls, ensuring she gets drenched at every turn."

"And that's not all," Filius continued, the smile widening. "I've heard they're planning on asking the castle itself for help. Imagine, the corridors shifting and changing so Umbridge ends up lost on her way to classes. What a delightful chaos that would be!"

Severus snorted, a glimmer of amusement in his normally cold eyes. "I'm almost disappointed I haven't had the pleasure of witnessing this," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "I do hope they ensure she gets particularly lost when attempting to find the Slytherin common room."

Pomona, who had been listening to their exchange with wide eyes, shivered. "I never thought I'd say this, but I wouldn't want to be on your bad side, Severus. Or even the house elves', for that matter."

A chuckle filled the room, breaking the tension and filling the space with a warmth that felt almost foreign, given the circumstances. For a moment, the four Heads of Houses allowed themselves the luxury of amusement, a small respite from the storm that was Dolores Umbridge's reign at Hogwarts.

For Severus, however, the moment was short-lived. His thoughts quickly turned back to Harry, alone in his room, his condition still an enigma. He sighed inwardly, his mood turning somber once more.

Pomona was the first to break the silence. "Severus," she began, her tone measured, "I couldn't help but notice you seem... unsettled tonight. Is there something on your mind?"

Severus turned to look at her, surprise evident on his normally impassive face. It was unusual for anyone to voice concern for him, much less Pomona. But there it was, genuine worry etched on her features.

He contemplated dismissing her concerns, to brush them off with a sarcastic remark or a casual wave of his hand. But something about the way she was looking at him, with an open sincerity that was hard to ignore, made him reconsider.

"I..." he started, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn't used to sharing his thoughts, especially not those that involved emotions. He'd always been a master at concealing his feelings, presenting a cold, unflappable exterior to the world.

Severus let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging a bit with the weight of his concern. He rubbed his forehead, a rare sign of his inner turmoil. "I'm... worried about Potter," he said finally, the words feeling strangely foreign as they left his lips.

His words hung heavily in the room, sparking an array of reactions among the other Heads of Houses. They looked at him, their faces reflecting a mixture of shock and concern.

"Wait, you're worried about Harry?" Filius asked, his eyebrows arching upwards in surprise.

Minerva, on the other hand, merely nodded, her face betraying her shared concern. "I've noticed his hands shaking, despite the Anti-Crucioutis potions," she commented quietly.

Severus nodded in affirmation. "Yes," he concurred, "but there's more. He's been showing other symptoms too. Symptoms that aren't typical of the Cruciatus Curse aftermath."

He paused, his thoughts spiraling before he finally spoke. "Madam Pomfrey believes it may be nerve damage," he said, the weight of the words sinking into the room. "However, without a more comprehensive examination, we can't be certain. Harry, however, is resistant to the idea of further scans."

Pomona, known for her warmth and compassion, took this in silently. A faraway look appeared in her eyes as if she was searching the depths of her own memories. "And what do you think these scans might disclose, Severus?" Her voice, normally laced with an amiable tone, was now heavy with worry.

Severus merely looked at her, his dark eyes mirroring a depth of concern he usually kept hidden. He didn't respond, the silence stretching out and filling the room with an unspoken dread.

Pomona studied his face before shifting her gaze to the other professors. Something in her demeanor suggested a deep, personal understanding of Harry's predicament. "Severus," she started again, her voice steady despite the gravity of the situation, "Would it make a difference if I spoke with Harry? He might feel more at ease discussing his apprehensions with me."

Severus held her gaze for a long moment, a quiet battle being fought behind his unreadable eyes. Finally, he nodded, a subtle acquiescence that her suggestion might indeed be their best shot at persuading Harry to consent to further examinations.

His gaze softened as he looked at Pomona, gratitude flickering in his eyes. Her understanding and empathy for Harry's situation were palpable. In that moment, he felt a swell of appreciation for her.

As he gave his approval, Minerva, who had been silently observing their conversation, extended her hand and placed it atop Pomona's. It was a simple, silent gesture of solidarity and support.

The comfortable silence stretched a bit longer in the staff room, only to be broken by Pomona's soft voice. "Severus," she started gently, "I can stop by in the morning after breakfast and before our first class. We can see about getting the scan done then. I'll do my best to convince Harry."

Severus contemplated her offer for a few seconds before nodding. "That would be... agreeable, Pomona," he replied, appreciating her willingness to help.

Minerva, watching the exchange, turned her gaze to Severus. "You should take the morning off, Severus," she suggested firmly. "You've been running yourself ragged. It will do you good."

A grumble of protest rose in his throat, but Severus suppressed it, recognizing the logic in Minerva's suggestion. "Very well, I'll take the morning off. Not that I expect to find anything relaxing in this madhouse," he said, his sardonic humor making a brief comeback.

The room filled with a mixture of light laughter and sighs. The tension eased slightly. Then, Severus, reclining back into his chair, changed the topic. "Let's return to the delightful subject of Umbridge. How long do we estimate it'll take to drive her mad enough to leave Hogwarts?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his words. Then, as if it was a natural extension of the discussion, he added, "And while we're on the topic of irritations, does anyone have any ideas on how to rid my quarters of the lingering stench of Potter? The persistent odor of Quidditch and treacle tart is more than a little unpalatable."

At Severus's snide remark, Minerva raised an eyebrow and dryly responded, "At least you don't have the persistent scent of stale hair gel pervading your classroom like I do, Severus." A few chuckles echoed around the room as Severus rolled his eyes at the jab.

Filius, ever the tactful one, directed the conversation back to Umbridge. "As for driving her out, I'd say another day or two, at the rate we're going," he said with a glint in his eye.

This prompted a round of chuckles, a brief light moment in their otherwise grim circumstances. The thought of Umbridge getting lost in the ever-changing corridors of the castle, her pompous air deflated, brought a spark of joy into the room.

The chuckles faded away as each professor mentally prepared themselves for another day of dealing with Dolores Umbridge's reign of terror. A few more moments passed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Let's call it a night, shall we?" Minerva proposed, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but firm, echoing the unspoken sentiment in the room.

A unanimous murmur of agreement swept the room. Pomona stood and straightened her robes, her ever-present smile dulled by the weight of their discussion. Filius packed up his books and parchments, his quick movements betraying his ever present energy despite the late hour.

Severus rose from his seat, a silent acknowledgement of Minerva's suggestion. His stern gaze swept over the room, lingering a moment longer on Pomona. His expression softened a fraction, a silent thank you for her willingness to speak to Harry.

As the professors said their goodnights to one another, each one disappearing through the door, the room seemed to hold its breath. Severus was the last to leave, his steps slow and measured as he walked down the long corridor, the echo of his footsteps the only sound breaking the deafening silence.

The peace, however, was short-lived. Within minutes of Severus leaving the room, the figure of Dolores Umbridge appeared at the end of the corridor, her usually bright pink robes dulled in the torchlight. A scowl was fixed onto her toad-like face as she spotted Severus.

Umbridge's face reddened, a sure sign that her temper was teetering on the edge. "That boy is a menace! Constantly disappearing and causing trouble," she huffed, her short stature seeming to shrink further in her frustration.

Severus watched her with an impassive gaze, his face as unreadable as a stone statue. "Indeed, Dolores," he responded, injecting his voice with a hint of agreement. "Potter has been known to be... troublesome at times."

His careful choice of words did little to quell her rising anger. "He's more than troublesome, Severus!" she spat out, her hands clenching at her sides. "He's a downright nuisance! And his incessant need to wander the castle is distracting the other students."

Inside, Severus was anything but calm. His mind was running a mile a minute, filtering through numerous unflattering words and possible potions that would best suit Umbridge. He could already imagine the satisfaction of seeing her succumb to the Forgetfulness Potion, or perhaps the Confundus Charm. His lips twitched slightly at the thought, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes hidden well by his stoic exterior.

However, he remained composed, a perfect picture of patience as he let Umbridge vent her frustrations. "I understand your concern, Delorus," he replied, his voice as smooth as silk. "I shall do my utmost to keep an eye out for Potter and ensure he does not cause any further disruptions."

Her face softened at his words, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. "Good, I knew I could rely on you, Severus," she said, a false sense of camaraderie in her voice.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Severus simply nodded, inwardly amused by her misplaced trust. "Of course, Dolores. As Head of Slytherin House, I share your dedication to maintaining discipline at Hogwarts."

Umbridge nodded, seemingly placated by his response. "See that you do."

Frowning, Umbridge lips pursed into a thin line. "Someone's been casting spells around me," she accused, "Do you have any idea who it could be?"

Severus hid a smirk, feigning ignorance as he shrugged. "Perhaps the castle itself is unhappy with your... methods. Hogwarts has been known to have a mind of its own," he mused, watching with barely concealed satisfaction as Umbridge's scowl deepened.

With a huff, she turned on her heel and stormed away, leaving Severus alone once more in the corridor. He allowed himself a small smirk before it quickly disappeared, replaced by his usual cold, emotionless mask. He had bought himself a few minutes of peace, but he knew it wouldn't last.

Umbridge's features contorted into a frown, her normally puckered lips pressing into an even thinner, tighter line. "There have been spells," she declared, a note of accusation coloring her tone. "Unseen forces attempting to disrupt my routines. Do you know anything about it, Severus?"

A flicker of amusement flashed across Severus's eyes, but his face remained composed, the epitome of innocence. Feigning confusion, he lifted a hand in a nonchalant shrug, his expression thoughtful. "Are you certain it's someone, Dolores?" he queried, his voice as smooth as black velvet. "Hogwarts is an ancient castle with many secrets. It has been known to act of its own accord, especially if it disapproves."

His suggestion, presented so subtly and reasonably, gave Umbridge pause. He could see her mind churning, wrestling with the idea. Perhaps it was the castle; the thought visibly unsettled her. The ghost of a smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he watched her expression morph into an uncomfortable grimace. It was a small victory, but a satisfying one nonetheless.

"Utter nonsense!" Umbridge finally spat out, her face flushing a mottled shade of pink. But the seed of doubt had been planted, and Severus knew it would gnaw at her. "Hogwarts is a school, not a sentient entity."

Without waiting for his response, she spun on her heel, her voluminous robes swishing around her as she stormed away. Her abrupt departure left Severus alone in the vast corridor, the echo of her footsteps fading away.

His smirk widened into a fleeting, satisfied smile, a small victory celebrated in the solace of the vast Hogwarts corridor. The satisfaction, warming him from within, made the cold stones under his feet seem less chilling as he walked back to his quarters.

The journey was silent and uneventful, the quiet hush of the castle at night a stark contrast to the day's events. He savored these rare moments of peace before reaching his destination.

Upon arrival, he gently nudged the heavy wooden door open. It creaked softly, parting to welcome him into the familiar space that he called home. The low light from within his quarters gently bathed him as he stepped over the threshold, soothing his tired eyes.

The familiar scent of his sanctuary - parchment worn from the passage of time, the sharp, distinct smell of potion ingredients intermingling with each other, and the subtle musk of his quarters - all wrapped around him.

He turned towards Harry's door, his heart pounding slightly as he reached out to the knob. He silently twisted it, inching the door open just enough to peek inside. The soft, steady sound of Harry's breathing reached his ears, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.

Inside the dimly lit room, Harry was sprawled across his bed, his glasses abandoned on the bedside table and his dark hair messily strewn across his forehead. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, as he took each breath in his peaceful slumber.

Severus observed him for a few moments, his gaze lingering on the young wizard. Harry looked younger, more vulnerable in his sleep. A wave of unbidden protectiveness washed over him. Quietly closing the door, Severus allowed the vestiges of his concern to recede.

Retreating to his own room, he quickly readied himself for bed, the day's events weighing heavily on his mind. Slipping beneath the cold sheets, he allowed the silence of his quarters to envelop him. His last thoughts before sleep claimed him were not of Umbridge or her incessant questioning, but of Harry, and the weighty task of uncovering the mystery surrounding the boy's deteriorating health.

Despite the tumult of the day, the corners of his lips curled up in a ghost of a smile, the satisfaction of his small victory against Umbridge providing a small glimmer of contentment in the darkness. With that final thought, sleep embraced him, providing a much-needed refuge from the relentless stream of worries and responsibilities.

The next morning arrived slowly, the light fluttering into Severus's window. He opened his eyes and sighed deeply, not wanting the day to start already. The comfort of sleep had been a solace, but he knew that the harsh reality of the day was unavoidable.

His body protested as he rose from the bed, the dull ache of exhaustion still clinging to his bones. Nevertheless, he moved around his quarters with practised ease, the familiarity of the routine bringing some semblance of normality to the start of his day.

Once he was dressed in his usual black robes, he glanced once at the mirror, taking in his stern, pallid reflection. His eyes, darker than the stormiest of nights, seemed to hold a thousand thoughts, their depths revealing nothing of the worry that lurked within him.

Satisfied, he gently knocked on Harry's door, not wanting to rouse the boy if he was still sleeping. When Harry answered with a quiet 'come in', he opened the door slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might startle the boy.

Inside, he saw Harry sitting on the side of his bed, already dressed for the day. His glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of his nose, and his hair was as untidy as ever.

"I trust you slept well, Potter?" Severus asked, his voice devoid of the harshness it usually held when addressing the boy.

Harry shrugged, his green eyes reflecting his exhaustion. "Alright, I guess."

Severus gave a nod of understanding, his gaze lingering on Harry for a moment longer before he stepped out of the room. He was relieved to see the boy awake and dressed, even though he could tell that Harry was still not at his best.

"Come out when you're ready," Severus called over his shoulder. "I'm going to order breakfast. You'd better eat something." With that, he exited the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

Once in the kitchen, Severus called to one of the house elves that served Hogwarts. "We require two bowls of oatmeal. One with a touch of brown sugar and raisins mixed in. The other one, plain. Please, bring them to the table in my quarters."

He hoped that a gentle meal like oatmeal would be palatable for Harry's weak stomach. With the house elf bustling away, he moved towards the dining table and began setting up the silverware. He took a moment to glance towards Harry's door, reassuring himself that the boy would come out on his own accord.

After a few minutes, their breakfast appeared on the table. Severus, having just finished setting the table, turned to see Harry shyly emerging from his room. His green eyes looked weary but willing.

"Come, Potter," Severus said, motioning for Harry to join him at the table. "Please, have a seat."

Harry moved towards the table, a slight grimace on his face. Severus could tell that the boy wasn't feeling well, but he hoped that a good meal might improve his mood and strength.

They ate in silence, the only sound being the clink of spoons against the bowls. Severus watched as Harry poked at his oatmeal, lifting spoonfuls to his mouth, but never really eating much. Though the boy had consumed more than he had at previous meals, it still wasn't enough for Severus's liking.

A sigh escaped Severus as he rose from his chair and moved towards the cabinet where he kept a supply of potions. Selecting one of his last nutrition potions, he uncorked it and returned to the table. He wordlessly pushed the potion across the table towards Harry.

Harry looked at the potion with mild disdain, but didn't protest. He picked up the vial and studied it for a moment before looking up at Severus with a questioning glance.

"Do you have an upset stomach, Potter?" Severus asked, his dark eyes boring into Harry's.

Harry merely shrugged, his gaze dropping back to the potion in his hand. The lack of response from the boy was concerning.

"Are you feeling alright?" Severus tried again, his voice softer than usual.

Again, Harry just shrugged, refusing to meet Severus's gaze. Concern gnawed at Severus as he watched the boy. Harry had always been stubborn and resilient, but this was different. The usual spark in his eyes was noticeably absent. Severus couldn't help but feel a pang of worry in his chest.

"Potter," Severus began, deliberately injecting a semblance of humor into his voice, attempting to lighten the foreboding atmosphere that hung in the room. "It is quite customary to consume the potion, not merely to study its aesthetic appeal."

Harry's gaze finally met his, an eyebrow arching quizzically above his glasses. But the corners of his lips twitched upwards ever so slightly, a ghost of a smile painting his face. It was small, barely there, but it was progress.

"And, to alleviate your concern," Severus continued, his voice holding an undertone of teasing he seldom used, "I assure you that I haven't resorted to poisoning my students. I daresay I won't start now."

At this, Harry gave a soft chuckle, a warm, genuine sound that pierced through the tension like the first rays of sunshine after a storm. It offered Severus a fleeting sense of relief, a moment of solace amidst the storm of worry that clouded his mind.

Harry nodded and raised the vial to his lips. He drank it down in one go and grimaced slightly. The potion wasn't known for its pleasant taste.

"Thank you," Severus murmured, eyeing the boy carefully. "Now, if you can manage a few more bites of oatmeal..."

Harry managed to force down a few more mouthfuls before pushing the bowl away. "I can't eat anymore," he admitted, looking slightly guilty.

"That's sufficient for now," Severus reassured him. "Try to get some homework done, Harry. I believe there's still a fair bit of it that requires your attention."

Harry nodded and moved to retrieve his books and parchment. He set himself up at the coffee table just as he had the previous night, quill poised over a half-finished essay.

Severus watched him for a moment, the image of the boy so engrossed in his work brought a strange comfort. He wanted to tell Harry about Pomona's upcoming visit but decided against it. Harry had enough to contend with already, there was no need to add to his worries prematurely.

An elf appeared then, delivering a letter which Severus quickly recognized as being written by Remus Lupin. Accepting it with a nod, Severus couldn't help but wonder what news the letter brought.

He glanced once more at Harry, ensuring that the boy was indeed absorbed in his work, before turning his attention to the parchment in his hand. The wax seal bearing the symbol of the Order was a mark of urgency

With meticulous care, Severus broke the seal and unfolded the letter. His eyes swiftly scanned the neat handwriting, searching for the information he hoped would bring some light to Harry's plight.

"Dear Severus," the letter began, "Your note regarding Harry has left me deeply troubled. I have to confess that I, too, have noticed certain behaviors concerning food during my year at Hogwarts and when he was staying with us at Grimmauld Place, though at the time, I attributed it to the fact that Lily, too, was quite the fussy eater during her youth.

However, I cannot ignore your observations. Upon reflection, I am beginning to piece together a more troubling pattern. Harry indeed seemed to eat less after returning from summer breaks with his relatives, and, in retrospect, he had a marked decrease in appetite right before departing to Privet Drive each year.

Considering his situation with the Dursleys, I wonder if his disinterest in food is more tied to them than we originally thought. We've always been aware that his relationship with his relatives has been less than ideal. However, I had never considered that it could manifest in this manner.

I trust you will keep me updated regarding Harry's condition. Please, if there's anything more I can do, don't hesitate to reach out.

May you find strength and courage in these trying times,

Remus"

Severus read and reread the letter, digesting its contents. A sudden realisation washed over him - for all these years he had dismissed Potter's obvious discomfort with his relatives as a product of the boy's over-dramatic tendencies. The possibility of something as serious as neglect or malnutrition never once crossed his mind.

He gave a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. The boy's predicament was more complicated than he had initially thought. There was definitely something going on at the Dursleys, something revolving around food. It worried him, more than he'd like to admit.

His train of thought was abruptly interrupted by a knock on his quarters door. Swiftly, he folded Remus' letter and stuffed it into his pocket. The last thing he needed was for Harry to stumble upon it.

He rose from the table and approached the door, opening it to reveal Pomona Sprout. Her smile was warm and sincere, a gentle contrast to his stern demeanor.

"Good morning, Severus," Pomona greeted, her eyes darting briefly to Harry who was engrossed in his work. "I thought I might spend a bit of time with Harry, if you don't mind. Perhaps we could discuss some Herbology or even just enjoy a friendly chat."

Severus understood the true purpose of her visit – to coax Harry into agreeing to the scan. The importance of the task was not lost on him, and he felt a wave of gratitude for Pomona's delicate handling of the situation.

"Of course, Pomona," Severus responded, stepping aside to allow her entry. "Your company is always welcome."

He watched as Pomona made her way over to Harry, who looked up from his parchment with surprise. Severus took that moment to make his announcement.

"I'll be in the lab, should either of you require me," he said, his gaze lingering on Harry. The boy nodded in understanding and Severus turned to leave, a sense of unease tugging at him. It wasn't easy leaving Harry to face this conversation, but he knew Pomona was the best person to handle it.

Once in the lab, Severus tried to immerse himself in his work. The room was filled with the familiar, comforting scent of various potion ingredients. He busied himself with preparing potions for the upcoming school term, the rhythmic motion of his stirring and the soft whisper of potions bubbling over the flame a soothing routine that helped to clear his mind.

Yet, he found himself frequently glancing towards the door, wondering how the conversation was progressing. His thoughts inevitably drifted back to Harry – the young boy who had unwittingly found his way under Severus's protection. A sense of responsibility for his well-being had formed a knot in his stomach.

Severus sighed, forcing himself to focus on his work. He trusted Pomona, but the weight of the situation was not lost on him. Harry's agreement to the scan was pivotal; it could provide the answers they needed to understand and ultimately help the boy.

Pomona took a seat next to Harry, her eyes quickly scanning over his essay for Charms. She offered a gentle smile, which Harry returned with a look of curiosity.

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the parchment. Harry nodded and handed it to her, watching as she made a few comments on how to improve it.

They spent some time working together, Pomona providing thoughtful suggestions and Harry incorporating them into his work. The two of them made a good team, and it wasn't long before the essay was looking much improved.

Once it was done, Harry gnawed at his lip and looked at Pomona, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Why are you here, Professor Sprout?" he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

Pomona just smiled at him and leaned back in her chair, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I thought I might pop by and make sure the dungeon bat hadn't poisoned you yet," she said with a small chuckle.

Harry couldn't help but smile at the comment, though he still looked somewhat confused. "But really, Professor, why are you here?"

Pomona's face turned more serious, but her eyes still held warmth. "I wanted to check on you, Harry," she said gently. "And, I must ask, how is Severus treating you?"

Harry looked down at his hands, hesitating for a moment before reluctantly admitting, "He's been kind of nice to me, actually."

"Kind of nice?" Pomona repeated, her eyebrows raised.

Harry nodded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Yeah, he's been... decent. I mean, it's not like we're best friends or anything, but he's been making sure I eat..."

Pomona smiled. "Is that so? Have you been eating enough? You look awfully skinny."

Harry looked away and shrugged, prompting a small sigh from Pomona. She glanced down at Harry's hands and noticed they were shaking. He was trying to suppress it, but she saw it nonetheless. She reached out and took hold of Harry's hands, steadying them and offering him a comforting squeeze.

"Harry," she started, her voice gentle, "do you know that Professor McGonagall and I have been friends for many years, even before we were professors here at Hogwarts?"

Harry looked up, his curiosity piqued, and shook his head.

Pomona gave a soft chuckle, her eyes gleaming with a mix of fondness and a tinge of melancholy. "Yes, indeed, we've been friends for what seems like forever. We formed a bond after... well, she was my saviour, in more ways than one."

She paused, collecting her thoughts before delving into her past. "You see, Harry, after I graduated from Hogwarts, my life took a turn I hadn't expected. I met a young man who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be everything I had been dreaming of. He was charming, funny, and appeared to care for me quite deeply. Or so I believed."

Her voice held a faint tremor as she continued, her eyes focused on a spot far beyond the room's walls. "The only issue, and it was a significant one, was his penchant for firewhiskey. He had a love for it that surpassed his love for anything else, including me, as I came to learn. The firewhiskey turned him into someone else, someone who... wasn't so charming."

Pomona sighed, her grip on Harry's hands tightening. "One night, he drank too much and... he struck me."

She fell silent for a moment, the memory of it still raw and painful even after all these years. "I was a very prideful person in my youth, Harry. I held my head high and didn't want to burden anyone else with my problems. So, I kept it a secret. I was ashamed, mortified that I'd let myself end up in such a situation."

Her gaze fell upon Harry again, her eyes filled with a resolve that was tempered by empathy. "But, Harry, it's not the victim who should feel shame; it's the perpetrator. And, when my friends eventually found out, they showed me that."

A sad smile tugged at her lips. "Minerva was one of the first to know. She didn't judge me, didn't blame me as I had blamed myself. She stood by my side, her determination unwavering. She helped me to see that it wasn't my fault, that I had nothing to be embarrassed about. I was a victim, and it was he who should have felt the shame."

Her voice was firmer now, the tremor gone. "Minerva saved me, Harry, not just from him, but from the guilt and shame I had imposed on myself. She made me realize that I wasn't alone. And, I assure you, neither are you."

"Severus spoke to me," she began, her voice barely more than a whisper. "He told me about the scan you're reluctant to have. I understand, Harry, I truly do. The unknown is terrifying, especially when it's concerning our own bodies. It feels intrusive, and the fear of what they might find... it can be overwhelming."

Her tone was empathetic, resonating with a comforting warmth. She reached out once more to steady Harry's hands. "But that scan, it might help us understand what's happening with your hands, Harry. It might give us the knowledge we need to help you."

Pomona paused, her gaze fixed on Harry with unyielding determination. "And Harry, if the scan does reveal something else, something unexpected... you must remember, you won't be alone. You have people who care about you, who want to help."

She looked him in the eye, her words quiet but resolute. "I am here for you. Professor Mcgonigal, despite her stern exterior, is here for you as well. And yes, even Professor Snape, with his seemingly unapproachable demeanor, cares about your well-being."

The room fell silent as she finished speaking, the gravity of her words hanging heavily in the air. She watched Harry carefully, her gaze offering silent reassurance. "You're not alone, Harry," she reiterated softly. "You never were, and you never will be."

Harry looked away, but nodded slowly. Sensing his discomfort, Pomona Sprout understood they were unlikely to make any further headway in their current discussion. With a weary sigh, she turned back to the array of parchment on the coffee table, cluttered with his homework.

Attempting to shift the focus, she asked gently, "Do you have any questions about your Herbology homework, Harry?"

Harry slowly nodded again. He picked up a piece of parchment from the table, detailed with notes and diagrams, and held it out to her. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "This sketch here... it's of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, right?"

Pomona leaned in to observe the sketch. It was indeed the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, depicted with great detail. "Yes, that's correct, Harry. You have a keen eye for detail."

Harry ran a hand through his untidy hair, appearing somewhat relieved. "So," he began, pointing to a part of the sketch, "these... these are the boils that secrete Stinksap when it's threatened?"

Pomona nodded, "Correct, Harry. They are a part of the plant's defensive system. The released Stinksap can deter many predators."

Harry's eyes remained fixed on the parchment, his fingers tracing the sketch. "And hypothetically speaking," he continued, "if a Mimbulus Mimbletonia was planted adjacent to a Devil's Snare... would they interact?"

Pomona raised an eyebrow at the intriguing question. Harry had always shown a knack for exploring beyond the obvious, she mused.

"Hypothetically, yes, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia and the Devil's Snare might interact," she replied thoughtfully, "Although, given the aggressive nature of the Devil's Snare, the outcome may not be very beneficial for the Mimbletonia."

Harry nodded, seemingly pleased with the answer. "Okay, that makes sense. Thank you, Professor."

They continued their discussion on Herbology, with Pomona guiding Harry through his questions and offering advice for his future projects. The atmosphere in the room was decidedly lighter, the tension from their previous conversation somewhat diminished.

After a while, Pomona glanced at the clock on the wall and let out a small gasp. "Oh, my! I didn't realize how late it was. I have to get to my first class of the day."

Harry quickly gathered his things, an apologetic look on his face. "I didn't mean to keep you, Professor Sprout. Thank you for helping me with my work."

Pomona waved him off with a good-natured laugh. "Oh, don't you worry, Harry. I quite enjoyed our little chat."

She rose from her chair, smoothing out her robes. "And please, tell Severus that if he wants to talk, he knows where to find me. And... well, I'm sure you'll need a break from his brooding soon enough," she added with a wink.

Harry chuckled, a genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'll let him know, Professor."

Pomona nodded, her eyes warm. She gave Harry one last comforting squeeze on his shoulder before making her way out of the room and towards Severus's lab.

Upon reaching the lab, Pomona gave a soft knock before pushing the door open. She was greeted by the sight of Severus hunched over a bubbling cauldron, his attention solely on his work.

"Severus," she called, her voice soft but firm enough to get his attention. The potions master looked up from his work, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"I'll be on my way," she informed him, her tone neutral. "I've just spoken with Harry."

Severus lifted a brow, a silent question hanging in the air between them. Pomona nodded once, a silent reassurance that their conversation had gone as well as it could have. A sigh of relief slipped past Severus's lips, and he nodded back, an unspoken thank you.

He rose from his workbench, dusting off his robes. "Thank you, Pomona," he said sincerely. "I do appreciate it."

Pomona smiled warmly, giving him a small nod. "It's the least I could do. Take care of him, Severus."

Severus simply inclined his head, his expression inscrutable. Pomona offered him one last smile before stepping out of the lab, closing the door behind her. Severus watched her leave, feeling a strange mix of relief and apprehension settle in his chest. He knew there was still much to do, much to uncover, but for now, he was grateful for Pomona's intervention. He owed her a great deal.

With Pomona gone, Severus turned back to his workbench. His gaze lingered on the bubbling cauldron, but his mind was elsewhere. Harry, his wellbeing, his shaking hands... His dark eyes grew distant, lost in thought. He sighed, an edge of weariness creeping into his features. This was the first time he had felt truly responsible for someone else's life since the tragic night that ended Lily's life.

The memory still stung like an open wound, even after all these years. Lily... his Lily, the one ray of light in his otherwise grim existence. But she was gone, lost to him forever, and it was his fault. His guilt had been his constant companion since that fateful night, a reminder of his sins, of his failure.

But now, there was Harry. The boy with his mother's eyes, the boy he had sworn to protect. The boy who was now relying on him for help, support, perhaps even comfort. A shudder ran through him at the thought. Was he truly capable of this? Could he really care for Harry without causing him harm, without letting him down, like he had Lily?

Pushing away the burgeoning doubts, Severus focused back on his work. The potion in front of him was simple, a nutrition potion for Harry, but it symbolised so much more. It was his promise to Harry, his promise to Lily, to take care of their son, to keep him safe. He would not fail this time.

Adding the final ingredient, a sprig of angelica root, Severus stirred the potion thrice clockwise, then twice anti-clockwise, and watched as it turned a vibrant shade of gold. He bottled the potion with meticulous precision, marking each with the date and time of brewing.

Severus emerged from his lab, his hands full of a box containing a new batch of potions. He paused at the entrance, leaning against the doorframe and observing Harry from a distance. The young wizard was engrossed in his book, a distraction from the tasks and worries of his magical world. Seeing Harry absorbed in the world of 'The Hobbit' gave Severus a small moment of peace.

After a while, Severus pushed away from the doorframe, walking over to sit on the couch next to Harry. He placed the box of potions on the coffee table, causing Harry to look up from his book. "Well, Potter, given that you seem to have adopted a diet I'd only recommend to a house-elf," Severus began with a hint of playful sarcasm, "I've prepared some potions to, shall we say, supplement your culinary choices."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, likely about to argue that he was eating just fine, but then seemed to reconsider. Instead, he closed his mouth, a flash of understanding in his eyes. He knew Severus was right; he'd been skipping meals and eating poorly, a habit that wasn't helping.

As Harry resigned himself to this new regimen, Severus decided it was time to bring up the subject he'd been avoiding. "Potter," he continued, his tone teasing but kind, "any further musings on the scan, or are we still at the contemplation stage?"

Harry paused, looking down at his hands. Their slight tremor was evident even to him, though he tried his best to hide it from others. He carefully bookmarked his place in 'The Hobbit' and closed the book. Taking a deep breath, he admitted, "Yes, I've been thinking about it."

Severus scrutinized him, noticing the unease in Harry's eyes. "What are your thoughts?"

Harry sighed deeply, looking weary. "I'll agree to the scan," he started, "but only if you're the one to do it. I don't want the entire castle knowing about the results. Only you and Madam Pomfrey."

Severus considered the request for a moment, then said, "An exclusive guest list, I see. Your head of house will also have to know. And so will the headmaster."

Harry shook his head, a determined glint in his eyes. "Then I won't do the scan."

Severus frowned, sensing Harry's anxiety and apprehension. He didn't want to push the boy too hard. With a reluctant nod, he agreed, "Alright, Potter. Just Madam Pomfrey and me."

A small smile tugged at Harry's lips, but he had one more demand. "And nothing legal can come from the scan," he added quietly, his voice carrying an edge of seriousness.

Severus raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement. "Very well, nothing legal."

Harry exhaled deeply, tension visibly leaving his shoulders. Closing his eyes for a moment, he finally murmured, "When?"

Severus, seeing the turmoil within the young man before him, softened his tone considerably, a rarity for the typically stoic wizard. Reaching out, he placed a reassuring hand on Harry's knee. "If you'd rather not dwell on it, we could proceed now. Alternatively, later tonight might offer more privacy."

Harry hesitated for a brief second before settling on a decision. "Let's just get it over with. Now."

"Very well," Severus said, nodding in understanding. "Go to your room and lie down. I'll be there shortly."

Harry nodded, standing up and moving with a sense of purpose toward his room. Severus watched him leave, hoping that his attempts at kindness were truly helping the young man, if even a little.

After Harry had disappeared from view, Severus summoned a house elf with a flick of his wand. The elf popped into existence, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I would like a cup of hot chocolate, please," Severus requested, the drink intended as a comforting gesture for Harry during the procedure.

With a nod, the elf disappeared and returned moments later with a steaming cup. Severus expressed his gratitude, something he didn't often do. However, recent events had put a lot into perspective. He then asked the elf to select a few books that Harry might enjoy and place them on the coffee table.

Cup in hand, Severus then made his way to Harry's room, mentally preparing himself for the procedure ahead. He would ensure that Harry felt safe and protected, even if it meant showing a more vulnerable side of himself. For Lily. For Harry.

Severus paused at the entrance to Harry's room, the soft glow of candles illuminating the space. Harry lay on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with an anxious expression. Noticing the hot chocolate in Severus's hand, a small smile crept onto Harry's face, breaking through the anxious exterior for a moment.

Approaching the bed, Severus handed the cup to Harry, their fingers brushing briefly. "Drink this," he murmured. "It might help calm your nerves."

Accepting the drink with a grateful nod, Harry sipped it tentatively, letting the warmth of the liquid spread through him. Severus, noticing the blanket on a nearby chair, fetched it and spread it across the foot of the bed, ensuring it was within Harry's reach.

"You can lie down or remain sitting, whichever is more comfortable for you," Severus instructed gently. "The scan could take some time, so I suggest you use this." He gestured towards the blanket.

Harry, cocooning himself in the blanket, propped himself up against the headboard of the bed, the cup of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. His green eyes, so reminiscent of his mother's, met Severus's as the Potions Master pulled up a chair to sit by the bed.

"I'm going to cast a diagnostic spell," Severus began, his voice low and soothing. "It's non-invasive, but it's essential you remain as still as possible. A parchment will manifest detailing your medical history—every injury, illness, or ailment you've ever had."

Harry swallowed hard, the weight of that statement sinking in. Every secret scar, every hidden wound, every pain he'd buried deep down would be laid out for Severus to see. He gripped the cup tighter, searching Severus's eyes for judgment, but found none. Instead, the usually cold and distant man was looking at him with what could only be described as compassion.

Harry's face paled a little at that, but he nodded in understanding. "Is it going to hurt?" he asked hesitantly.

Severus gave a faint smile, "No, Potter. It might feel a bit cold or tingly, but it shouldn't be painful."

"Do you trust me, Harry?" Severus asked, his voice soft.

Harry hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I do."

Severus nodded in acknowledgment, appreciating the weight of that trust. "Alright, here we go," he said, taking a deep breath and raising his wand.

Harry felt a tingling sensation sweep over him as Severus murmured the incantation. A piece of parchment began to form in the air above the bed, words and symbols etching themselves onto it.

The scan seemed endless. Each parchment that appeared not only catalogued the recent injuries but also a troubling past. Severus's face tightened further as the ink scribbled details of Harry's childhood illnesses. Notes about recurring colds that were left untreated and later morphed into severe conditions appeared line after line. As soon as one page of parchment was filled with ink, it floated gently down for Severus to collect. He read each one with a deep concentration, his brow furrowing further with every passing minute.

As Harry distractedly sipped the cocoa, he could feel its nourishing effects, reminding him of the many meals he'd missed out on growing up. The chocolatey warmth offered a momentary solace from the invasive magic currently charting his every ailment and from Severus's piercing eyes that seemed to be reading more than just the parchment's ink. He found himself observing the Potions Master; the man who, for so long, had been an adversary of sorts. And yet, here he was, absorbing the weight of Harry's troubled history with silent support and an unexpected kindness.

Every glance that Severus cast his way carried a weight of concern, but there were no words. Not when the parchments detailed the malnutrition that had clearly affected Harry for a significant part of his young life. No judgment, no questions. Not yet.

Another sheet filled, and Severus's lips thinned as he examined it. Alongside the details of Harry's unexplainable injuries over the years, it listed more recent ones — ones that Harry had sustained at Hogwarts. Though there were several injuries that were clearly the result of the sadistic treatment he had received at the hands of Umbridge, there were others that Severus couldn't place. Instances where no recorded accidents or duels would account for the damages. The shaking of Harry's hands caught his attention once more, a symptom unexplained by the parchments.

Harry caught the questioning look in Severus's eyes but chose to look away, finding interest in the intricate patterns of his bedspread. The silence between them thickened, but it was the parchment's silent testimony that spoke volumes.

When the scan finally ceased, and no more parchments appeared, Severus organized the sheets, rolling them neatly and securing them with a band. "Mr. Potter," he began cautiously, "I see injuries here from your time at Hogwarts that aren't due to any recorded events or encounters with Umbridge. Care to explain?"

Harry took a deep breath, releasing it shakily, "I... some of it was just trying things, you know? Spells, stunts. Being reckless, I guess."

Severus's gaze intensified, trying to decipher the truth in Harry's words. "While some can be attributed to teenage recklessness, there are others that are more concerning. Like these," Severus pointed to a line, "it mentions deep bruises and fractured bones."

Harry looked away, his grip on the mug tightening. "I... sometimes people don't like the Boy Who Lived as much as the papers say they do."

Severus took a moment, connecting the dots. "You've been targeted," he surmised quietly.

Harry merely nodded, the weight of years of unspoken torment bearing down on him.

"We will address this," Severus's voice was firm, yet gentle. "But first, we focus on your health. Madam Pomfrey will have solutions for some of these ailments, especially your shaking hands."

"And nothing legal can come out of the scan," Harry suddenly said, breaking the silence. His voice was firm, and there was an edge to it, a note of challenge.

Severus hesitated for a mere fraction of a second. He had hoped this wouldn't come up, but he couldn't pretend he was surprised. "I gave you my word, Potter," he finally replied. "And I will keep it. As much as it might go against my better judgment."

Harry's gaze hardened. "It's my life. My choice."

Severus pulled back, the unspoken tension between them thick in the air. "I'll see Madam Pomfrey about this scan, inform her of the... conditions you've set," he stated, his voice strained. "Then I have my afternoon classes."

The two wizards locked eyes, an unspoken understanding passing between them. This was delicate territory, and they both knew it.

"I'll be back later to see how you're doing," Severus finally said, breaking the moment. "In the meantime, I asked a house elf to fetch some more books you might like. They're on the coffee table."

Harry nodded, though the defensive set to his shoulders remained. Severus gave him one last look before turning to leave the room. As he closed the door behind him, he allowed himself a moment to lean against it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

Harry curled into himself on the bed, the weight of vulnerability pressing in from all sides. He placed the hot cocoa, its warmth still a comforting contrast to the sudden cold he felt, on the bedside table. The tendrils of steam rising from it seemed to mirror the foggy turmoil inside him.

Being seen was a new experience for him, an uncharted territory. Not the fame and the relentless eyes of the public, but truly being seen. Having someone peeling back the layers of bravado and pain to see the core of his being, the unvarnished, raw truths that lay beneath. Severus Snape, his ever-taciturn potions master, now held the keys to his most intimate secrets.

Harry's mind raced. He remembered every whispered word in the hallways, every curious gaze, every time someone made an assumption about the Boy Who Lived. But all that was the surface. Severus now had a depth of knowledge that no one else did. He had seen the marks that life had left on Harry, both physical and otherwise.

Harry buried his face in his hands, taking deep breaths. He trusted Snape. Or at least, a part of him did. Wasn't it Snape who had protected him all these years, watching from the shadows? But trust was a complicated thing, built layer by layer, brick by brick. And while Snape had been laying down those bricks steadily, Harry had erected walls around himself for his own protection.

Harry looked at his reflection in the dark window pane. All these years, he had been fighting external battles, but this introspection forced him to acknowledge the internal ones. The battle scars on his psyche. The constant balancing act of self-preservation against the need to be loved, accepted.

Meanwhile, Severus carefully folded the sheets of parchment, ensuring they were secure. Every word written on those sheets weighed heavy on his mind, adding yet another layer to the already complex puzzle that was Harry Potter. He needed to speak with Madam Pomfrey. While he was adept at reading the emotions and thoughts of others, the nuances of physical health were the domain of the school's matron.

Stepping out into the corridor, Severus was immediately engulfed in its eerie stillness. The usually bustling castle had settled into a hushed calm, as if the walls themselves were echoing the raw emotions of the encounter he had just shared with Harry. The torches lining the walls flickered faintly, casting moving shadows that danced to a silent rhythm. As he walked, he lost himself in thought, attempting to arrange his words for the forthcoming conversation with Madam Pomfrey. However, his contemplative mood was shattered when an all-too-familiar shrill voice pierced the atmosphere.

"Severus!" The screeching tone of Dolores Umbridge echoed through the corridor, making the very stones seem to shiver. Severus paused, taking a deep breath to steel himself, and turned slowly to face her. The sight was almost comical. Her usually pristine pink robes were rumpled, mottled with dark wet patches. Her hair, which was typically set in a tight bun, had a few strands out of place, lending her an air of disarray.

"Dolores," he acknowledged, his voice dripping with icy detachment.

Her face, a mask of outraged indignation, was a shade of magenta that eerily matched her robes. Her nostrils flared as she tried to control her breathing, and her eyes, usually wide and toad-like, now glinted with an unhinged fury. "I demand an explanation, Snape!" she spat, practically shaking with rage. "Everywhere I turn, some new humiliation awaits! Buckets of cold water appearing out of nowhere, unseen obstacles tripping me up at every step... This is beyond a joke!"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting the castle itself has taken issue with your presence, Madam?" he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Ignoring his sarcastic remark, her bulging eyes seemed to protrude even further in her rage as she pounced on another topic. "Potter," she spat, every syllable dripping with venom. "Where is that insubordinate child? He continues to elude my classes, thinking he's above Ministry-sanctioned education."

Severus's fingers instinctively curled tighter around the stack of papers he held, their edges digging slightly into his palm. The slight crinkling sound didn't escape Umbridge, who, despite her bluster, had the keen observational skills of a predator. Those toad-like eyes narrowed even further, fixing onto the papers like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.

"And what, pray tell, do you have there?" she demanded, her voice taking on a sharp, dangerous edge.

Severus met her gaze coolly. "They are personal and certainly none of your business," he replied, his voice as cold and unyielding as steel.

However, in a surprising display of agility, Umbridge lunged forward, snatching the papers with a swift motion. Her small, stubby fingers clawed through the contents, and as she processed what she was seeing, her lips curled into a grotesque semblance of a smile. "Ah, Mr. Potter's medical records," she crooned maliciously, her voice dripping with malevolent glee. "What a find. Tell me, Severus, plotting a little scheme against the golden boy, are we?" The deranged glint in her eyes suggested she was teetering on the brink of insanity, fueled by her obsession with control and her disdain for Harry.

Severus's patience, already stretched thin, snapped like a brittle twig. Every fiber of his being vibrated with fury. "Return those immediately," he growled, his voice dripping with menace. But instead of complying, she clutched the papers even tighter, her smile more mocking than ever.

"You're protecting him, aren't you?" she taunted, her voice high-pitched and shrill, echoing mockingly in the stone corridor. "The great Severus Snape, the feared ex-Death Eater, showing tenderness for the Potter boy. It's pathetic."

That was the last straw. With a fluidity and speed that belied his tall frame, Severus closed the distance between them. His hand shot out to grip her throat, pinning her against the cold stone wall of the corridor, her feet dangling inches above the ground. She gasped, her eyes wide with genuine fear for the first time.

With his other hand, he swiftly drew his wand and pointed it directly at her. "Obliviate," he hissed, the spell leaving his lips as a venomous whisper. The spell hit Umbridge directly in the eyes, a blinding flash illuminating the corridor. Her body went slack, the mocking light in her eyes replaced with vacant confusion.

Releasing his grip on her throat, he let her slump to the ground. She coughed and sputtered, clutching her throat, but any memory of the past few moments — or of the papers she had stolen a glance at — was wiped clean from her mind.

Severus bent down, retrieving the medical records with a gentleness that was in stark contrast to his previous actions. Rising to his full height, he addressed the now disoriented Undersecretary. "Perhaps you'll think twice before crossing paths with me again, Madam Umbridge," he intoned, his voice deadly soft.

Turning on his heel, a storm of emotions churning within him, Severus headed in the direction of Minerva's office. He needed to discuss this incident with Minerva, and the sooner the better. The weight of the papers in his hand felt heavier than ever, a reminder of the vulnerability they held within.

Reaching the entrance to Minerva's classroom, he took a moment to collect himself. However, his stormy expression must've been evident because as soon as he caught the Minerva's eye, her own eyes widened slightly in alarm. Even though a class was in session, she immediately stood from her desk, pointing to a student at the front. "Mr. Collins, lead the class in the next set of exercises," she commanded.

Minerva swiftly approached the door, opening it to let Severus in. "Severus, this is highly irregular. What happened?" Her voice was firm but laced with concern.

Not waiting for them to reach the confines of her office, Severus began to speak, his words a torrent of emotion. "Umbridge," he spat the name out like a curse. "She got her hands on Harry's medical records. I lost my temper, Minerva." He hesitated for a moment, then admitted with a heavy sigh, "I used the Obliviate charm on her."

Minerva's eyes widened further, her usually stern features softening in sympathy. "Severus..." she murmured, guiding him into her office and closing the door behind them.

Inside the room, Severus sank into one of the chairs, his usual stern facade crumbling. He buried his head in his hands, fingers threaded through his greasy black hair. "I couldn't let her have that information, Minerva," he said, his voice muffled and filled with anguish. "I couldn't."

Minerva, ever the pillar of strength, walked around her desk, placing a comforting hand on Severus's shoulder. "You did what you felt was necessary in the moment," she reassured him. "Umbridge is a danger to every student in this school, especially Harry. But we'll need to be more cautious. If she has any inkling of your intervention, even without the memories, it could spell trouble."

Severus looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I know. I let my emotions get the better of me."

Minerva squeezed his shoulder gently. "We all have moments of weakness, Severus. But for now, we must focus on keeping Harry safe and handling Umbridge. That can't happen again."

Severus simply nodded, his eyes never leaving Minerva's gaze. The silence was palpable, the air thick with tension and unsaid words.

Minerva broke the silence, her eyes moving to the papers clenched tightly in Severus's grip. "Those are Harry's medical records, are they not?"

Severus's fingers whitened as his grip on the parchment tightened, inadvertently causing the edges to crinkle. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably. "They are."

Her eyes, always so perceptive, bore into his, probing for more. "Severus, is there anything within those sheets that poses a threat to him? To the students or the school?"

He hesitated, looking pained. "I can't discuss the contents with you, Minerva. Harry was clear on that."

Her eyes showed a glint of concern, but she nodded in understanding. "Very well. But Severus," she added, her voice softer, "you seem... on edge. Even by your standards."

She walked gracefully to an ornate wooden cupboard, the contents of which were known to a select few. Retrieving a vial with a swirling light blue liquid, she extended it to him. "Drink this calming draught. It will steady your nerves."

Without a word, Severus took the vial, his fingers brushing against hers momentarily. Drinking it down swiftly, the change was immediate. The rigidness of his posture eased, and the shadows in his eyes seemed to lighten just a fraction.

Severus took a deep breath, the calming draught working its magic, pushing back the tempest of anger and anxiety that had moments before threatened to consume him. "Thank you, Minerva," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the whirlwind of emotions. "Would you mind if I took your Floo to the hospital wing? I'd like to avoid any more... unexpected encounters."

"Of course," Minerva replied, gesturing towards her fireplace.

Arriving at the hospital wing, he dusted off the residual ash and took a moment to regain his composure. As soon as he straightened, Madam Poppy Pomfrey spotted him. Seeing the papers in his hands, she let out a sigh of relief.

"I was beginning to worry," she admitted, her face softening. "I'm glad you convinced Harry to have the scan. May I?"

"We owe our thanks to Pomera." Severus said as he handed over the papers, watching her carefully as her eyes darted across the parchment. "Harry had conditions before he agreed to this scan," he added, a note of seriousness in his voice. "No legal actions are to come from the findings, and only you and I are to be privy to all the details." Poppy's eyes widened slightly, a nod of understanding coming from her. As she read further, her expression shifted from relief to deep concern, and her brows furrowed in concentration. The more she read, the darker her gaze became.

Finishing the last page, she placed the records down gently. "Severus, come with me to my office. We need to discuss this."

Without waiting for his reply, she led the way, her steps brisk and determined. Once inside, she gestured for him to sit, her own face a mask of turmoil. The room, usually filled with the comforting aroma of various healing potions, now felt cold and foreboding.

Poppy read the papers once more, her face a kaleidoscope of emotions, shifting from shock to anger and then settling on a deep sadness. Setting them down with a sigh, she looked at Severus with eyes that shimmered with unshed tears.

"From the scans, I understand what's happening with Harry's hands," she began, her voice quivering slightly. "The problem is three-fold. Firstly, he had his palms burned multiple times from when he was younger. This alone has caused significant damage. Secondly, the untreated Cruciatus curse he endured last year has caused lasting harm, it's evident in the deep tissue damage and nerve disruption. And now, the recent bouts of the Cruciatus curse at the hands of Umbridge... it's pushed everything over the edge even though he had treatment soon after."

Severus's heart sank as he processed her words. He had seen Harry suffer, of course, but the extent of the damage was something he hadn't fully grasped. "Is there any way to heal him, Poppy?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him.

Poppy took a deep breath. "It's not going to be easy. Magical injuries, especially those inflicted by dark magic, are notoriously tricky to heal. The burns can be treated to some extent, and I can use certain potions and spells to help with the pain and try to get some of the shaking under control. But the damage from the Cruciatus curse... that's something we may not be able to fully reverse."

Severus closed his eyes, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. The boy had suffered so much, endured unimaginable pain, and now was facing a future with potentially irreparable damage.

"The Ministry should be held responsible," Poppy muttered, her usual composed demeanor breaking for a moment, fury evident in her voice. "That woman... using the Cruciatus curse on a student... It's unfathomable."

Severus nodded, anger simmering just beneath his surface. "She won't get away with this," he promised.

Poppy looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his. "But you said no legal actions. So what do you plan?"

He looked at her squarely, the dark fire in his eyes betraying his intentions. "There are other ways to ensure she pays for her actions. Do not worry about that. However, the report showed he had sustained other injuries here at Hogwarts. Are these injuries you are aware of?"

Poppy's eyes widened slightly in surprise and then narrowed in contemplation. "I've treated Harry for various injuries throughout his time here, as I have with many students who find their way into one mischief or another. But," she hesitated, shuffling the papers in her hands, "some of these injuries were unfamiliar to me. They seem... deliberate, not the result of Quidditch accidents or classroom mishaps."

Severus felt a cold sensation in his stomach. "So, you believe, like I do, that someone here at school is responsible for some of these injuries?"

Poppy sighed, her usual stoic demeanor cracking just a bit. "It's a thought I've had for some time now, but I hoped I was wrong. Harry has always been reluctant to discuss the origins of some of his injuries. I believed it was out of embarrassment or perhaps the desire to protect someone he considered a friend."

Severus's mind raced. While he was no fan of Gryffindors, especially not the Golden Trio, he couldn't deny the bond that Harry, Hermione, and Ron shared. "An older student, perhaps? Or someone with a grudge?"

Poppy looked thoughtful. "There's been an increase in bullying lately, and not just from the Slytherins. Some older students, feeling the pressures of the upcoming war and the influence of their families, have turned rather aggressive. It's not impossible that Harry might have become a target, especially given his reputation and his... defiance against certain ideologies."

Severus' eyebrows furrowed. "But to harm Potter to such an extent... who would dare?"

"It's not the boldness that concerns me," Poppy whispered, looking down, "but the secrecy of it all. If someone has been consistently harming Harry without any of us being the wiser, then they're both cunning and dangerous."

Severus leaned back in his chair, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on him. "And what's most concerning," he began, his voice low, "is that Harry hasn't said a word about it to anyone. Has he ever given any hint, any name, any clue?"

Poppy shook her head, her fingers playing nervously with the edge of the parchment. "Never. He's always brushed off my concerns or changed the subject. At times, I suspected he might have believed it to be his own fault or that speaking of it would make it real."

Severus exhaled deeply, pressing his fingers against his temples. "It's not just the physical harm that worries me then. This sort of continual, covert abuse has likely taken a toll on his mental well-being as well."

Poppy's eyes shimmered with moisture, her maternal instincts evident. "The boy has faced so much, and yet he carries it all. It may be time to contact a more specialized mind healer."

Severus frowned, recalling their agreement. "Poppy, remember we cannot tell anyone about what was revealed in those scans. Not even a mind healer."

Poppy met his gaze evenly. "I understand your concerns, Severus, but mind healers operate under strict confidentiality. We don't have to reveal anything to them. Their role is to provide a space for the patient to open up and discuss their issues on their own terms."

Severus's eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of curiosity there. "So, you're suggesting we send Potter to a mind healer and hope he divulges the information himself?"

"Exactly," Poppy replied. "Harry has kept so much bottled up inside. The mind healer is there to help him process and cope. If he chooses to share, then they can provide guidance. If not, they'll still be able to help him manage the emotional toll. It's evident he needs to speak with someone, especially if he's unwilling to speak with those already in his life."

Nodding, Severus found himself feeling an emotion he rarely allowed himself to indulge in: empathy. "How would you like to proceed with his healing, Poppy?"

Poppy took a moment, staring at the papers once more, her mind seemingly calculating and preparing a course of action. "The burns on his hands will require a series of salves, combined with the Essence of Dittany. The pain from the Cruciatus Curse... that's a bit more complicated. I have a potion that can alleviate some of the nerve pain, but its effectiveness will depend on how consistently Harry takes it. As for the older fractures, they've already started to mend but not in the right way. We might have to use a combination of Skele-Gro and physical therapy to realign and strengthen them."

Severus nodded, processing the information. "Whatever supplies you need, let me know. I'll ensure they're provided. As for Harry, I'll speak with him. He needs to understand the importance of the treatments. I will also speak with Albus before the summer and impress on him that Harry cannot return to the Dursleys"

Poppy nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Severus. It's... reassuring to have you on board with this."

"Always, Poppy," Severus said with a rare softness in his voice. "For the well-being of the students, always." With that, he rose from his chair, his robes flowing behind him as he moved. "I'll take my leave now. There's much to think about and prepare for."

Poppy watched him as he made his way to the door. "Severus," she called out, causing him to pause and turn slightly. "Take care of yourself as well. This isn't just weighing on Harry."

A flicker of emotion crossed Severus's face, and he gave a curt nod before exiting the room.

The corridors of Hogwarts, usually brimming with energy, felt almost stifling to Severus as he made his way to the dungeons. Memories of his own encounter with Umbridge earlier that day played in his mind. The subtle threats, the insinuations, and that maddeningly sweet tone she used; it was enough to make anyone's blood boil.

But more than that, the weight of Harry's injuries and the dark secrets that seemed to lurk in every corner pressed down on him. For so long, he had prided himself on being aware of everything happening at the school, but now, he was reminded of how much could slip through even the keenest of observers.

Skipping lunch was an easy decision, given the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions he was grappling with. But as he descended the steps to his classroom, he paused. Harry, despite everything he was going through, still had to eat. And knowing the boy, he'd probably neglect his meals in favor of wallowing in his thoughts.

Quickly summoning a house elf, Severus instructed, "Prepare a nutritious meal and take it to Mr. Potter. Ensure he eats at least half of it before you leave. He's likely to brush you off, but be persistent."

Dobby, eyes wide with surprise at the rare show of concern from the usually stoic professor, nodded rapidly. "Yes, Professor Snape. I will do as you ask."

Watching the elf pop away, Severus made his way into his classroom, setting up for the afternoon's lesson. Even with everything on his mind, he knew he had a duty to his students. And right now, that duty, combined with ensuring Umbridge's eventual comeuppance, was the only thing keeping him going.

As he started to prepare the ingredients for the day's potion lesson, he couldn't shake the thought of Harry and the challenges he faced. The boy had always been a thorn in his side, but no one, especially not a child, deserved to suffer as Harry had.

Severus took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. It was going to be a long day.

The day went on, the hours melding seamlessly into one another. The lessons were conducted with the same precision and strictness Severus always maintained, and for the most part, his students responded in kind, focusing on their brews and concoctions. It was as if the brewing process became a sort of reprieve for him, a temporary escape from the storm brewing outside of these walls.

It was during his last class, when the dusk light started to seep through the stained windows of the dungeon, that the door burst open. Severus's eyes flitted up, prepared to scold a late student or perhaps chastise Peeves for another one of his pranks. But instead, he was met with the sight of a disheveled Dolores Umbridge.

Her usual pink attire was splattered with mud, and her signature bow, which usually sat atop her head in a neat manner, hung limply by her side. Her face, now a deep shade of red, contorted with rage, only made her toad-like appearance more pronounced.

"Snape!" she shrieked, her eyes darting frantically. "It's that boy! Potter! He's behind this, and Dumbledore is surely helping him!"

Severus, hiding his amusement, responded calmly. "Class dismissed." The students hurriedly packed up their belongings and left, throwing curious glances over their shoulders.

Once the room was empty, Umbridge continued her tirade. "This castle is conspiring against me at every turn. Stairs shift beneath my feet, doors vanish, and now... this infernal BOOT!" As if on cue, an old boot floated behind her and gave her another swift kick.

"Surely you must know something, Snape," she pleaded, her voice dripping with desperation. "Potter is behind this! I need to find him, put an end to these... shenanigans."

Severus feigned concern, but his eyes held a hint of amusement. "Dolores, Hogwarts is an ancient place with powerful magic running through its veins. It has a mind of its own, a will of its own. Even if Potter were behind such tricks, the castle would have to be complicit."

Umbridge seethed. "That boy is causing all this chaos, and Dumbledore is letting him run wild! You must help me find him, Snape. You have connections, you have influence. Together, we can put an end to all this mischief."

Severus leaned back, folding his arms. "I assure you, Dolores, if I had any knowledge of Potter's whereabouts or his actions, I would address it appropriately. But, as it stands, Hogwarts remains an enigma even to those of us who have walked its corridors for years."

She huffed, her face reddening even more. "You may be content to let this school run amok, but I am not! I will find Potter, and I will bring order back to this school!"

With that, she stormed out, the boot still persistently tailing her, occasionally delivering a kick.

Severus, left alone in the quiet aftermath of her exit, allowed himself a brief smile. The elves would be receiving a wonderful Christmas present from him this year.

With the darkening corridors of Hogwarts as his backdrop, Severus made his way towards his private quarters. The day had been long, filled with lessons, unexpected visits, and the ever-present weight of concern for Harry. As he approached the door to his bedroom, a faint light emanated from the crack beneath Harry's door. He approached silently, taking a moment to listen. The sound of rustling pages met his ears.

Pushing the door open slightly, he saw Harry cocooned in a blanket, a book held comfortably in his uninjured hand. The sight was both heartwarming and heart-wrenching, the resilience of the boy on full display.

"Potter," Severus began, his voice softer than usual as he leaned against the doorframe. "Would you prefer to join me in the kitchen for dinner, or would you rather eat here?"

Harry looked up, seemingly surprised by the gentle offer. "The kitchen would be... nice," he replied hesitantly.

Severus nodded. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned another house elf. "Prepare a meal for two in the kitchen," he instructed. "Something warm and hearty."

The elf nodded and disappeared with a small pop.

The two of them sat across from each other, the table set with an assortment of dishes. They began their meal in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry's hands shook slightly, the after-effects of his ordeal still lingering, but he managed to get through with just a few dropped utensils.

Severus cleared his throat, "Madam Pomfrey will be visiting tomorrow to attend to your hands and evaluate some of your older injuries."

Harry's eyes, which had been bright with the simple pleasure of a warm meal, dimmed. His fork, which had been moving food around on his plate, stopped. The weight of the reminder seemed to pull him back into the darkness he'd been fighting to escape.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Severus recounted his encounter with Umbridge. "You should have seen her, Potter," he said with a smirk. "A boot, of all things, pursuing her relentlessly. Each time it kicked her, I could have sworn the castle itself was chuckling."

Harry looked up, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. The image painted by Snape, combined with the professor's rarely-seen playful tone, coaxed a genuine laugh out of the boy. It was a sound filled with both surprise and relief. The weighty atmosphere that had settled over the room lifted slightly.

Severus watched Harry for a moment, the laugh transforming the boy's face into one more familiar, one filled with life and mischief. "It's good to hear you laugh, Potter. It's a sound that's been missed in the halls."

Harry's cheeks colored slightly, but he met Severus's gaze, the hint of a smile still present.

"Oh, I'm sure it's been sorely missed," Harry retorted with a wry grin, "especially with me being the ever-infamous 'Brat Who Lived' around here."

Severus smirked, the playfulness evident in his eyes. "Indeed, your...unique presence has always been... noticeable."

Harry huffed in mock indignation, but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "Unique presence? That's one way to put it."

Seeing the boy's appetite wane, Severus deftly slid a vial across the table. The dark liquid inside seemed unappetizing, but Harry recognized it as a nutritional potion. "You should consume this," Severus suggested, "You know the drill."

Harry eyed the potion skeptically. "Does it have to taste so bad?"

Severus' lips twitched. "Not everything that's good for you tastes pleasant, Potter. Consider it a life lesson."

With a dramatic sigh, Harry uncorked the vial and downed its contents, making a face at the taste. "Life lessons with Snape. Just what I've always wanted."

Severus let out a snort, an unanticipated sound that was somehow light, and very much unlike him. "Count your blessings," he said with a slight smirk, "Not everyone is fortunate enough to experience such moments."

They continued their conversation, the ambience growing more relaxed with each passing minute. Severus found himself amused and slightly bewildered by how Harry seemed so elated by a simple tale of Umbridge getting a humorous boot to her behind. The laughter that spilled from Harry's lips and the glint in his eyes were characteristics Severus had typically associated with the boy when he was amidst his friends.

Observing this transformation, a flicker of hope ignited within Severus. Perhaps, after all, Harry was going to be alright.

However, what Severus wasn't aware of was that his humorous tale was not the sole reason for the lift in Harry's spirits. Earlier, Dobby, the mischievous house-elf, had made a visit to the young wizard. Though Severus had arranged the visit merely to ensure Harry ate some lunch, he had no clue about the immense impact it had on Harry.

With wide-eyed excitement, Dobby had whispered to Harry about the professors' collective plot to irritate Umbridge to the point of her leaving the school. He spoke of the trick wands and the ingenious pranks they'd played on the vindictive witch. The house-elf's eyes sparkled with admiration when he recounted how it was Severus who had instigated the whole endeavor.

"Severus is a good man," Dobby had confided, his voice full of reverence. "He's always looking out for Harry Potter."

The next morning, the Great Hall of Hogwarts resonated with the normal hum of conversation and clinking tableware. Golden shafts of sunlight poured through the towering windows, casting a celestial glow on the tables laden with a sumptuous breakfast. Most of the students were already seated, chatting animatedly about the recent events and speculations.

Suddenly, the large doors of the Great Hall swung open to unveil a haggard Dolores Umbridge. Hair awry, with dark bags under her eyes, her clothes looked as if she had been through a tornado. Her entrance was frenzied, eyes darting maliciously across the room.

"Which one of you is behind all this?!" she bellowed, veins pulsing in her neck. "Who is casting all these dreadful spells on me?"

The students exchanged puzzled glances; their confusion palpable. Some struggled to suppress their amusement, especially Fred and George Weasley, who were not too covert with their chuckles.

The commotion in the hall swelled just as the doors opened again to reveal Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge in a subdued quarrel, their voices a low murmur against the backdrop of chaos. The two seemed wrapped in a heated yet silent debate, their heads bowed together as if sharing grave secrets. Just as Fudge opened his mouth, perhaps to make a point, Umbridge's strident voice cut through the tense atmosphere.

"Cornelius! This is insufferable!" Umbridge's outburst drew their attention away from the argument. She hurried towards the Minister, her annoyance palpable. "The students are out of control and sinister!" she continued, casting a disdainful look over her shoulder at the rebellious crowd. "It's as if the very walls of Hogwarts are rebelling against me!" Her exclamation seemed to hang in the air, a dramatic punctuation to the dispute that had been momentarily shelved.

Trying to remain composed, but he exchanged a look with the Headmaster Fudge responded, "Dolores, I'm not sure what you're implying, but—"

Yet Umbridge, her face contorting with every accusation, seemed to have no patience for his reminders or his presence. "They've hexed me! Spells, jinxes, all night! And that boy—Harry Potter—he's the mastermind!" she exclaimed, cutting him off, her finger jabbing through the air as if to physically impale the truth with her belief.

However, Fudge, often easily swayed, was not entirely oblivious. He took a moment to gauge the general atmosphere, sensing the bewilderment shared by both students and staff. Attempting to pacify the situation, he suggested, "Dolores, let's not forget that Harry Potter has been conspicuously absent these past few days, something you yourself brought to my attention, maybe we should discuss this in a more private setting?"

But Dolores was beyond reasoning. Her paranoia peaked as she accused, "You too, Cornelius! You're in on this conspiracy against me!" she shrieked, aghast at the perceived betrayal, her eyes darting from Fudge to the faces of those around her, seeing enemies in every shadow. The room was thick with tension, every breath a prelude to the next act of an ever-escalating drama.

With an unexpected quickness that belied her appearance, Umbridge produced her wand, pointing it directly at Fudge. The shimmering green tip gleamed ominously, reflecting the Hall's chandeliers, casting eerie shadows on her twisted face. Murmurs spread like wildfire among the students. Breakfasts were forgotten, the clinking of cutlery silenced.

Albus calmly moved in front of Fudge, his piercing blue eyes locked onto Umbridge's crazed gaze. "Dolores," he began, his voice gentle but firm, "this is not the way. Whatever has transpired can be discussed without resorting to such measures."

But Umbridge's pupils dilated with rage, her entire body quaking. Her focus remained unbroken from Fudge, her thoughts broadcasting a litany of imagined slights and betrayals. The Great Hall's warm atmosphere turned icy with tension.

"Dolores," Albus's voice softened, like a concerned parent addressing an errant child, "release your wand. Let us help you."

But as Albus's words washed over her, it seemed to only fan the flames of her fury. A dark murmur started at the back of her throat, her wand hand trembling as she began to conjure one of the most feared and Unforgivable Curses.

Just as the first syllable of the curse started to form on her lips, a shadow darted from one of the long benches. Fred Weasley, with the stealth and grace of a lion, lunged from behind, grabbing Umbridge's wand arm and twisting it upward. A bright jet of green light shot towards the enchanted ceiling, dissipating harmlessly amongst the simulated clouds.

Fred wrestled the wand from her grasp, his fingers white-knuckled around the slender piece of wood. But Umbridge's derangement was so profound that even without her wand, she lashed out, her sharp nails aiming for Fred's eyes.

In that split-second, Albus's wand was out. With a swift, fluid movement, he murmured an incantation, and ropes of silvery light wrapped around Umbridge, freezing her in place. Her wild eyes darted around, lips quivering in impotent rage.

Fred, panting heavily from the sudden altercation, handed the captured wand to Albus, who examined it briefly before tucking it safely inside his robes.

The hall remained silent, the tension palpable. Only the soft ticking of the grand clock at the end of the room echoed. Albus, with a heavy sigh, signaled for Professor McGonagall. Together, they began to escort the immobilized Umbridge out of the hall.

"Cornelius," Albus spoke quietly to the shaken Minister, his voice tinged with both concern and urgency, "I believe it's imperative we address this matter immediately."

Fudge nodded slowly, his usual pompous demeanor replaced with a mix of confusion and fear. "Yes, Albus," he whispered, "I believe you're right."

As Fudge began to shuffle out of the Great Hall, hesitant steps betraying his deep unease, murmurs rippled through the crowd, cascading like a wave from one end of the Hall to the other. Questions abounded, whispered amongst tight-knit groups of students and staff alike, trying to piece together the perplexing puzzle before them. Was Umbridge truly mad? Had someone really hexed her, or was it merely the fabrication of a mind unhinged?

Before departing, Albus turned back to address the hall, his voice, deep and resonant, captured everyone's attention. "Given the events of this morning," he began, "it would be prudent for all students to return to their respective common rooms. For today, classes will be canceled."

There was a pause, and then Albus's eyes shifted to the Gryffindor table, landing on Fred Weasley, who sat somewhat disheveled from his recent altercation, but with a prideful glint in his eyes. "And before you all go," Albus continued, "Let it be recognized that Mr. Fred Weasley has displayed remarkable bravery and clear thinking in a highly perilous situation. For his actions, I award Gryffindor 100 points."

No sooner had the words left Albus's mouth than he turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he made his exit from the Great Hall. The students, momentarily hushed by the gravity of the Headmaster's departure, soon erupted into a cacophony of hushed tones and curious whispers. The Gryffindor table buzzed with a mixture of pride and disbelief, while the other houses exchanged speculative glances. Amidst the murmurs, the prefects began to rally their houses. Their voices, firm and more composed than their racing hearts, called out for order and movement toward the dormitories.

Down in the dungeons, the air was thick with tension. The cold stone walls seemed to absorb the emotions of the room. Severus sat opposite Harry, his usual inscrutable expression giving little away. However, before he could delve into the situation at hand, a silvery otter Patronus burst into the room. It was Filius Flitwick's. "Severus," the Patronus relayed in Flitwick's distinctive, high-pitched voice, "a staff meeting has been convened in one hour. Ensure you are present. The twig has snapped."

Snape nodded, acknowledging the message even though the Patronus couldn't truly respond. As it dissolved into wisps of silver mist, Harry's emerald eyes, which had momentarily widened in surprise, settled on Snape, full of questions.

"Professor Umbridge appears to be... dealt with," Snape remarked, his voice dripping with a hint of satisfaction.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching beneath the table. "Does that mean I can return to my dormitory?" His voice was subdued, hinting at a sadness that Severus caught but chose to ignore momentarily.

"Not yet," Snape said, peering down at Harry's hands, which where slightly shaking. "We need to address this first."

Harry's hands seemed distant to him, as if they were objects that didn't belong to him, while his thoughts swirled with emotions, doubts, and recollections. He was deep within the belly of the castle, in the dungeons, where the chill from the stones seeped into the room and the smell of dampness lingered.

This room, this specific location, held a peculiar safety that the main halls and corridors of Hogwarts lacked, especially considering recent events. However, the irony wasn't lost on Harry. The dungeons, Severus's domain, which he once equated with danger, had become his refuge.

He stole another glance at Severus, who sat in stillness. Severus's black eyes seemed to be miles away, yet Harry felt they perceived everything. Recalling Dobby's words, Harry was struck with an epiphany; despite their differences, Snape had been his silent guardian. The realization was overwhelming, causing a rush of gratitude mixed with confusion. Should he trust Snape entirely? Share what was happening with the seventh year Ravenclaws?

Deeply engrossed in his thoughts, Harry barely noticed Severus shifting in his seat, leaning forward slightly. "Potter," Severus's voice was low, soft with an uncharacteristic gentleness, "you seem distracted. Anything you wish to discuss?"

Harry reached for his fork, using it as a means to avoid direct eye contact, pushing food around his plate in nervous patterns. "It's nothing," he mumbled, but his quivering voice betrayed the depth of his emotions.

Severus, with a sudden, uncharacteristic move, reached over the table, placing his hand over Harry's, effectively halting his restless movements. The touch was light, but its significance was profound. It was a rare gesture of comfort, a silent plea for truth. Harry, taken aback by the warmth of Severus's touch, looked up, his eyes meeting those of the Potions Master.

The two held a gaze that felt like an eternity, a wordless conversation in itself. The dungeon's air grew heavy, as memories and unsaid confessions lingered.

With a deep sigh, Severus finally voiced the concerns that had been troubling him. "When I reviewed your scans last night, I noticed certain injuries that don't match the accounts you've given about your relatives." Snape paused, measuring the weight of his next words. "Is that what's been troubling you?"

Harry looked away, trying to hide the surge of emotions threatening to spill from his eyes. He shook his head, a futile attempt to dismiss the topic. Yet, the minuscule glimmer of fear in his eyes was not lost on Severus.

Snape sighed again, a sound filled with weariness. "Madam Pomfrey will be here shortly to tend to your hands," he said gently, the words carrying both reassurance and a promise of protection.

Severus removed his hand from Harry's, giving the boy space to process the multitude of emotions cascading through him. Harry simply nodded, a silent acknowledgment that the conversation was not finished, but paused—for now.

Harry's gaze remained fixed on his plate, his fork idly pushing the food around in a nonsensical pattern. Each word seemed to weigh heavily on his tongue as he finally raised his eyes to meet Severus's, his expression a complex tapestry of frustration, fear, and defiance.

"They seem to think it's some kind of game," Harry's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of his distress. "They shadow me, throw words like hexes, and their threats... they're creative." His last words were tinged with a dark irony, and his hand tightened around the fork until the metal felt like it would bend.

Severus's expression, once an inscrutable mask, softened at the edges, betraying a flicker of concern. "Who are 'they,' Potter?" Severus asked, his voice steady but the undercurrent of urgency was unmistakable. He watched the young wizard before him, his mind calculating the risks, the potential suspects, and the necessary countermeasures.

Harry hesitated, the weight of isolation pressing down on him. It was one thing to face adversaries head-on, another to admit that he was being haunted by shadows with no name. He took a deep breath, feeling the cold dungeon air fill his lungs. "They're seventh years... Ravenclaws," Harry's voice finally broke the heavy silence. His words seemed to hang in the air, spectral and accusing. "They always seem to be there when no one else is."

Severus narrowed his eyes, his mind whirling with implications. Ravenclaws were known for their wit and wisdom, but like any group, they were not immune to corruption. "I see," he said curtly, his gaze now a penetrating stare as if trying to sift through Harry's thoughts for more information. "Names?"

Harry put his fork down and pushed away from the table, a nonchalant shrug lifting his shoulders as if to dispel the weight of the conversation. He didn't know their names, only the silver and blue that trimmed their robes, an emblem of wisdom now tarnished by malice.

He retreated to his room, the heavy door closing with a resounding thud behind him, and Severus was left alone, staring at the dark wood as if it were a gateway to answers yet unearthed. At least part of the mystery was solved. But the task of unraveling it lay heavily before him, an intricate knot that required both patience and precision.

Severus sighed deeply and got up from his chair, standing in the solitude of the dungeons, his gaze lingering on Harry's plate of uneaten food and the untouched vial of nutrition potion resting beside it. With a resigned motion, he seized the potion and strode towards Harry's door, his knock gentle but imbued with an authority that demanded acknowledgment.

No answer came from the room, only the weighty silence that seemed to pulse with unsaid words. Severus's hand pressed against the wood, pushing the door open with a soft creak that seemed loud in the hush. Harry was there, seated on the edge of his bed, his head cradled in his hands as if to hold together a world fracturing at the edges.

Without a word, Severus approached, his footsteps muffled by the stone floor. He placed a hand, surprisingly gentle, upon Harry's back, a wordless gesture of support that seemed to fill the space between them with an unspoken understanding. In his other hand, he offered the potion, pressing it into Harry's hand with a silent insistence.

Harry, feeling the weight of Severus's gaze, reluctantly accepted the potion. The cool glass felt alien in his hands, yet the gesture, the simple act of caring, was strangely grounding. He uncorked the potion and drank it in one swift gulp, the bitter taste barely registering as he handed the empty vial back to Severus.

Severus pocketed the vial and assumed his seat beside Harry on the bed, maintaining his comforting presence with a hand on Harry's back. They sat in silence, a rare moment of peace amidst the storm of uncertainties and fears swirling around them. Harry, caught in the eye of this storm, found solace in Severus's unwavering support. It was a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken bond, a teacher willing to protect his student against unseen threats.

Finally, Harry's voice broke the silence, a quiet admission of his vulnerability. "I don't know their names," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "But their presence... it's like they're always watching, waiting for a moment to strike." The fear in his voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the strength he usually displayed.

"I will get to the bottom of this," Severus promised, his voice carrying a firm resolve. "I will take care of it."

Harry looked up, meeting Severus's gaze. "Just... make sure they're not expelled," he pleaded, the vulnerability in his eyes striking a chord in Severus. "They shouldn't have their lives ruined over something they did in school."

Severus's gaze hardened for a moment as he considered Harry's request, the irony of it not lost on him. Here was Harry Potter, asking for leniency for those who tormented him, a stark contrast to the actions of his father, James Potter, whose own bullying of Severus during their school years had left deep scars. The request touched a nerve, reminding Severus of his own past, of moments when he wished for justice, or perhaps revenge, on those who had wronged him. Yet, seeing the earnest pleading in Harry's eyes, Severus found himself wrestling with the complexities of his feelings.

"Very well," Severus finally said, the words measured, betraying none of the turmoil he felt inside. "I will ensure they are not expelled," he conceded, the decision weighing heavily on him, a conscious choice to put Harry's wishes above his own instinctual desire for a harsher punishment.

The silence that followed was filled with unspoken words and shared understanding. Severus, despite his reservations, recognized the growth in Harry's character, his ability to see beyond his own suffering and consider the future of others, even those who had wronged him. It was a quality Severus rarely encountered, and it forced him to confront his own lingering resentments.

Switching the subject, perhaps to offer a semblance of normalcy in the midst of chaos, Severus inquired, "Would you like something more to eat this morning? Your food is still on the table."

Harry shook his head, the turmoil of his thoughts leaving little room for appetite. The offer, however, wasn't lost on him. It was another thread in the fabric of their evolving relationship, one that had shifted from adversarial to something more complex, more protective.

Severus's hand slowly retreated from Harry's back, a gesture that marked the end of their immediate conversation but not their connection. As he stood, the room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with unspoken thoughts and newfound understandings.

"I must attend a staff meeting now," Severus said, his voice firm yet carrying an undercurrent of reluctance to leave Harry in such a state. "Madam Pomfrey will be here shortly to tend to your hands. Please, stay a while after she's done."

Harry nodded, his mind still processing the depth of their exchange. Before Severus could turn towards the door, he paused, as if wrestling with a decision. Finally, he faced Harry again, a rare indecision visible in his usually impassive gaze.

"This room... it will always be available to you," Severus declared, the significance of his words hanging heavily between them. "Should you find yourself in need of a refuge, you can stay here as long as you wish." The offer was unexpected, a bridge extended in the midst of their complex history.

To Harry's further astonishment, Severus divulged the password to his private quarters. "The password is 'Draconis,'" he said, a trace of surprise at his own openness evident in his voice. This sharing of his personal sanctuary was a gesture of trust Harry had never anticipated, a sign of the shifting dynamics of their relationship.

With a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to clear away his own disbelief, Severus added, "You are not as troublesome as I had previously assumed." The words, delivered with Severus's characteristic dryness, nevertheless carried a warmth that resonated with Harry.

Severus then turned and quietly exited the room, leaving behind a silence that was filled with a newfound respect and understanding. Harry was left alone, yet the solitude felt different now, imbued with the knowledge that he had an unexpected ally in Severus Snape.

The door closed with a soft click, and Harry sat in contemplation. The offer of sanctuary, the unexpected expressions of concern, and the subtle acknowledgment of his worth from Severus were more than gestures; they were lifelines in the turbulent waters of his current existence.

Severus left the solace of his quarters, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and thoughts. As he made his way through the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts towards the staff lounge, the weight of his recent actions pressed heavily upon him. He had extended an offer of sanctuary to Harry Potter, of all people, and even divulged the password to his private quarters—a level of trust Severus had never afforded anyone, least of all a student, and certainly not the son of James Potter.

Why had he done it? The question echoed in his mind with each step he took. But then, as if in answer, his thoughts drifted back to the young man he had just left in the safety of his room. Harry had shown a depth of character and a capacity for understanding that Severus had rarely seen. In these last few days, Potter had reminded him more of himself at that age than of James. Severus had always longed for just one adult to show him a semblance of care or concern during his own troubled youth. This realization, though it came as a slight shock, softened something within him.

Severus paused at the door to the staff lounge, his hand resting on the knob. He allowed himself a brief moment, a sigh escaping his lips as he collected his thoughts, before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The staff room was filled with the usual hum of pre-meeting chatter. Severus made his way to his customary seat at the table, his presence causing a slight shift in the atmosphere. As he settled in, he couldn't help but notice the smirk playing on Minerva McGonagall's lips and the conspiratorial wink from Pomona Sprout. They were clearly pleased, their plan having gone off without a hitch. Filius Flitwick, however, was looking at him oddly, an expression of puzzlement—or was it concern?—etched across his face. Severus filed that away for later; he had intended to speak with Filius about the Ravenclaw students anyway.

As the staff meeting came to order, Albus's presence at the head of the table brought an immediate hush to the room. His piercing gaze swept over those gathered before he began, his voice carrying the weight of recent events with a calm gravity.

"Umbridge has been taken to St. Mungo's," Albus announced, the news sparking a ripple of reactions around the table. "Fudge was here this morning, inquiring—rather, demanding—to know of Harry Potter's whereabouts. Regrettably, or perhaps fortunately, I was unable to provide him with an answer."

There was a pause, a collective breath held as Albus's gaze landed on Minerva McGonagall. "Wherever Harry has been hiding, it is now safe for him to return to the school," he declared, a statement that seemed to carry more than a hint of underlying meaning.

Severus, sitting amidst his colleagues, managed to suppress a visible reaction, though a small smile threatened at the corners of his mouth. He thought to himself that safety was a relative term, especially considering the current circumstances. 'Safe for now,' he mused, 'but not without further precautions.' His resolve to protect Harry, to ensure the boy's safety, felt more pressing than ever.

The meeting continued, and Albus's next words carried a mix of curiosity and mild reproof. "I find myself wondering what precisely led to Umbridge's... sudden unhinging," he mused, his eyes scanning the heads of houses, each doing their best to embody innocence. The room was filled with an unspoken acknowledgment of shared complicity in Umbridge's downfall, a fact that seemed to amuse Albus to some extent, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Whilst I appreciate the... extracurricular activities that have taken place," Albus continued, his voice lowering to a stern, warning tone, "I must insist that such endeavors do not escalate beyond what has already transpired."

The air in the room thickened with a mixture of amusement and a slight tension as the staff absorbed Albus's words. Minerva let out a small, almost imperceptible snort, unable to completely mask her amusement at the situation. Severus allowed himself a brief, smug smirk, appreciating the subtlety of the headmaster's reprimand. Albus cast a stern look around the room, though everyone present knew there was no real heat behind it. His eyes twinkled with an unspoken understanding of the necessity of their actions against Umbridge.

With the matter of Umbridge addressed, Albus smoothly transitioned the meeting. "Let us move on," he suggested, his voice returning to its usual calm demeanor. "Does anyone have any news or concerns they wish to share with the group?"

Severus sighed, recognizing this as the opportune moment to bring up the issue that had been weighing on him. "There's a matter involving several seventh-year Ravenclaw students who have been... targeting Harry Potter," he began, his voice carrying a mix of reluctance and resolve. The room's attention shifted to him, a collective interest piqued by his words.

Albus's curiosity was evident as he leaned forward slightly. "And how did you come by this information, Severus?" he inquired, his gaze sharp.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Severus admitted, "Potter himself informed me, and there is medical evidence to support his claims." He chose his words carefully, keenly aware of the implications of his involvement.

Raising an eyebrow, Albus then asked, "Do you happen to know where Mr. Potter has been these past few days?" It was clear to Severus that Albus had his suspicions, likely enjoying the slight discomfort his questions caused.

Before Severus could formulate a response, Minerva intervened, perhaps sensing Severus's unease. "Harry will be returning to classes tomorrow," she stated firmly, effectively redirecting the conversation away from Severus's recent personal involvement with Harry. "I am quite concerned though about these students ganging up on another student. Do we have names?"

Severus, grateful for the shift away from Albus's probing and Minerva's timely intervention, replied, "I don't know who they are," Severus admitted with a thoughtful look towards Filius. "Potter only knows that they're seventh years. He expressly wished for them not to be expelled, which, while I may not agree, are his wishes. Foolish perhaps, but noble in a way."

Filius, seizing the moment, added his insight with a concerned tone. "I might have an idea about who these students are. This morning, I caught a group of seventh years harassing a second-year Ravenclaw. They mentioned their usual target was absent, so they decided to... 'redirect' their attentions."

Severus frowned deeply at this confirmation, his concern for Harry's well-being mingled with frustration at the behavior of the students in question. Minerva, echoing the sentiment, declared, "This is completely unacceptable."

Albus, with a nod of agreement, directed his attention to Filius. "Please, send those students to my office after lunch. It seems we have much to discuss." His tone, though gentle, carried an underlying firmness that left no room for doubt about his intentions.

The conversation then took another turn as Pomona, shifted the focus to a pressing concern on everyone's minds since Umbridge's departure. "Who will take over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?" she inquired, voicing a question that lingered in the air.

To the surprise of many, Severus spoke up, his voice cutting through the lingering discussions. "I suggest we consider Remus Lupin for the position," he said, his suggestion hanging in the room like a delicate thread. Minerva's eyebrow arched in surprise, mirroring the collective astonishment of the staff. Severus, acknowledging the weight of his proposal, added, "Remus has proven himself to be one of the most effective Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers we've had in years. His expertise and approach to teaching could greatly benefit our students."

Pomera, unable to hide a smile, sensed the layers within Severus's suggestion. It wasn't just about filling the position; it was about Harry, about providing him with a familiar, comforting presence in what had become an increasingly hostile environment. The room was quiet for a moment as the staff considered Severus's unexpected endorsement.

Albus, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and contemplation, finally broke the silence. "An intriguing suggestion, Severus. Remus does indeed have a unique approach to the subject, and his rapport with the students is undeniable." Albus paused, his gaze settling on Severus for a moment longer than necessary, as if acknowledging the unspoken intentions behind his proposal.

Minerva, clearing her throat, shifted the conversation towards practical considerations. "While Remus's past tenure was indeed successful, we must also consider his... condition," she said delicately, referring to Lupin's lycanthropy. "It's no secret, and while we've managed before, it's a factor that cannot be ignored. Also, would the Ministry interfere again?"

Albus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he contemplated Minerva's concerns. "After the debacle with Umbridge, it's highly unlikely the Ministry will attempt to interfere in Hogwarts' affairs in the near future," he mused thoughtfully. "The backlash from the parents and the wizarding community has been... substantial. While some parents may harbor reservations, if Severus," here he nodded towards Snape, "agrees to brew the Wolfsbane Potion for Remus every month, that should allay most concerns."

There was a moment of silence as the gravity of Dumbledore's statement settled over the room. Severus's expression was unreadable, but after a brief pause, he gave a slight nod. "I will brew the potion," he stated, his voice carrying a hint of resignation mixed with an unspoken understanding of the necessity of the arrangement.

Nods and murmurs of agreement rippled around the room, and with a final nod, Albus put the matter to rest. "Very well, I will extend the offer to Remus. Let us hope he accepts, for the benefit of our students and the school."

The meeting moved towards its conclusion, and Albus's voice softened. "If there are no other matters, I believe we can adjourn." The room remained silent, signaling the end of the agenda. "Thank you, everyone. You are dismissed," Albus declared, his tone warm yet carrying the authority of his position.

As the room began to clear, Albus held back Severus and Minerva with a gentle gesture. Once the last of the staff had exited and the door had closed behind them, Albus's demeanor shifted to one of concern. "Before you go, I wish to inquire about Harry," he said, his gaze fixed on Minerva. "How is he faring, especially after... recent events?"

Severus cleared his throat, a gesture that prefaced the delivery of significant news. "Despite Potter's continued... annoyance, it appears he is on the right path towards healing," Severus began, his tone carrying a begrudging respect. "However, he will require proper accommodations for the summer. Accommodations that are decidedly not with his relatives."

At this, Albus's eyebrow arched inquisitively as he turned his full attention to Severus. The implication behind Severus's words was clear, yet Albus sought confirmation. "Is Harry staying with you, then?" he asked, a flicker of surprise and curiosity lighting up his eyes.

Severus responded with a slow nod, his usual stoic facade betraying a hint of the monumental shift such an arrangement would represent. Albus's expression transformed from curiosity to a beaming approval, yet he caught onto the deeper implications of Severus's statement.

"What exactly are you suggesting, Severus? Are you alluding to Harry not returning to his relatives?" Albus probed further, his tone serious, recognizing the gravity of Severus's implication.

Severus nodded again, this time with a sigh. "Indeed. They are... less than suitable guardians for him," he stated flatly, avoiding specifics but making his disapproval clear.

Minerva, ever protective of Harry, quickly interjected. "I would strongly oppose any suggestion of returning Harry to that household," she declared, her tone fierce and determined.

Albus remained silent for a moment, absorbing the information and the weight of the decision before them. It was a silence filled with contemplation, broken only when Severus added, "If no other suitable arrangements can be made for the summer, then as a last resort, he could stay with me in the dungeons." This admission caused both Albus and Minerva to look at Severus in surprise, a testament to the severity of the situation and the unexpected depth of Severus's concern for Harry's well-being.

Albus smiled gently at Severus, his eyes softening with a mixture of appreciation and surprise. "It's very kind of you, Severus, to offer your summer to Harry," he said, his voice laced with genuine warmth.

He then turned the conversation towards the heart of the matter. "What has led you both to feel so strongly about Harry not returning to his relatives?" Albus asked, his curiosity evident. It was clear that there was more to the situation than what had been shared.

Minerva was the one who spoke up, her voice steady yet cautious. "We cannot disclose the details of what Harry has revealed to us. And to be honest, not even I am privy to all of them," she admitted, reinforcing the sensitivity surrounding the issue.

Albus's gaze shifted back to Severus, probing further. "It must be something quite serious for you to offer your summer peace," he noted, the significance of Severus's gesture not lost on him.

Severus looked away, a deliberate move to guard the confidentiality of his conversations with Harry. "Madam Pomfrey is attending to his hands as we speak," he said, deflecting, yet hinting at the physical evidence of Harry's recent ordeals.

Albus nodded sadly, acknowledging the information. "Poppy did speak with me about Harry's hands," he confirmed, his expression turning somber at the thought of Harry's suffering. "I will look at other arrangements for Harry."

"Please convey to Harry that he's welcome to come speak with me anytime," Albus added, his tone soft.

Severus nodded softly, knowing Harry would never open up to the Headmaster. "Well, if there's nothing more, I shall return to the dungeons. The cobwebs and I have a longstanding engagement to discuss the nuances of neglect," he quipped, his tone dry.

Minerva, couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head in amused resignation. Albus, for his part, allowed a brief, knowing smile to grace his features, understanding all too well Severus's need to cloak his deeper concerns with a veneer of indifference. "Thank you, Severus, Minerva," Albus said, his voice warm yet tinged with the gravity of their conversation. "Your dedication is, as always, deeply appreciated."

With a final nod, Severus turned and made his way out of the room, leaving behind the warmth of staff room for the cool shadows of the castle's lower levels. As he descended the staircases, his mind replayed the meeting's discussions, but it was the quiet resolve in his own heart that marked his steady pace. The decision to offer sanctuary to Harry was no small matter, yet it was one he made with a clear understanding of the stakes involved.

Severus arrived at his chambers just as Madam Pomfrey was stepping out. He glanced around the hallway, ensuring privacy, before addressing her. "How is Potter?" he asked, his voice low, betraying a hint of concern he rarely allowed others to witness.

Madam Pomfrey, with a warmth in her smile that softened her usual professional demeanor, responded, "Harry's taken well to the treatment. His hands are much improved, though he will need a few more sessions to completely rid him of the tremors." She paused, her smile turning sly, "And Severus, I must say, I'm quite proud of you for extending him the offer to visit whenever he wishes. It's a generous gesture."

Severus scoffed, a reflexive defense against the implied sentimentality. "I merely extended the offer to keep Potter out of further trouble," he retorted, looking away to hide a brief, uncharacteristic smile. "If he's under my eye, perhaps he'll manage to stay out of mischief."

Madam Pomfrey chuckled softly, recognizing the rare admission for what it was—a grudging display of care. "Well, regardless of your reasons, it's a good thing you're doing. Harry will benefit from it, no doubt."

Severus's reply was a noncommittal grunt as he watched her turn to leave. Once alone, he entered his chambers, the door closing with a quiet click behind him.

Severus, his footsteps muffled against the stone floor, approached Harry's door with a soft rap on the frame, not wanting to startle the young wizard who seemed lost in his own thoughts. Harry glanced up, his green eyes meeting Severus's dark gaze as the Potions Master delivered his invitation. "You're welcome to join your friends in your common room for lunch if you wish," Severus offered, his tone surprisingly gentle.

A beam of joy spread across Harry's face at the mention of his friends Ron and Hermione. He had missed his frineds these last few days, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they must be fraught with concern for his well-being.

Eagerly, Harry rose from his seat, smoothing out the wrinkles on his bed with a swift motion before slinging his bag over his shoulder. The prospect of reuniting with his companions quickened his steps, anticipation bubbling within him like a simmering potion. Yet, as he neared the threshold, a sudden thought gave him pause.

Turning back to Severus, Harry's voice wavered slightly as he posed a timid question, "Can I... come back for dinner?" It was a simple request, but behind it lay a deeper yearning for connection and belonging.

Severus, ever perceptive, nodded in acquiescence, producing a vial of potion from the folds of his robes and passing it to Harry with a wry smile. "I will know if you don't take this," he remarked, the underlying concern in his tone softened by a hint of affection. Harry accepted the potion with a grateful nod, acknowledging the unspoken understanding that had grown between them.

With determination in his step, Harry made his way towards the door, pausing momentarily as he reached the threshold. His gaze lingered on Severus, a silent expression of gratitude and newfound respect passing between them. "Thanks for everything, Sir," Harry said earnestly, his words carrying a weight of appreciation for the unexpected kindness he had received.