“That’s all?” he asked with forced calm, trying not to show his rising panic.

“Three doses will be plenty to see you through the week, young man,” answered Madame Pomfrey with a stern look. She closed and locked the potions cabinet. “It sufficed for last week.”

“Yeah, but…um,” he searched his mind for an excuse, any excuse to justify needing more Dreamless Sleep Potion, but he couldn’t think of any that the mediwitch would accept. He’d had several doses from Snape, after all, but he wasn’t about to admit to that. And that was long gone anyway. Now that he was out of potion and had to take two doses per night for it to even be effective, he was looking at a measly one and a half nights of nightmare-free sleep in his hands. And it was only Monday!

She put her hands on her hips, not about to give in. “If three doses aren’t enough, then you come back here and we’ll look into a Mind Healer.”

“Mind Healer?” Harry scrunched up his nose, appalled. “I don’t need a Mind Healer.”

“If you are experiencing frequent nightmares and lack of sleep due to your recent trauma, then I beg to differ.” She gave him a look that brooked no argument, then softened and added, “There is no shame in mind healing, Mr. Potter. Even the strongest of us need help from time to time.”

She would not budge, and he was not keen to give her more reason to think that he needed a…a…well, that, and so he eventually backed out of the Hospital Wing with a subdued “yes, ma’am.”

He heaved a great sigh as he walked toward his dorm with three tiny bottles of purple potion in his pocket.

It was almost enough to make him want to cry in frustration. It was enough to make his heart beat faster at the worry of what he would do tomorrow, with only enough for half the night, and then the following night, with absolutely nothing. He stopped in his tracks and shook his head, grateful that the hallway was empty so that no one could see his erratic behavior. No, he didn’t want to go without the potion. Not quite yet. He turned around and headed for the library instead. Perhaps if he couldn’t get it from Madame Pomfrey, he could figure out how to brew it!

It didn’t take him very long to find a few books to look through. Potions and Dreams was a bust. Despite its promising title, it was all about how to have dreams, not get rid of them. It had it all - potions for romantic dreams or dreams of success, even for merging dreams so that two people could share the experience (which was interesting enough that Harry read the entire page even though it wasn’t what he was looking for) - but not a word about potions to hold back dreams.

He tossed it aside and reached for the next one. Combating Stress with Potions and Healing seemed like something that might deal with nightmares, but it didn’t even touch on it. He did, however, jot down an interesting looking recipe to help with clearing one’s thoughts during waking hours. He found nothing in the next several books he flipped through, until his eyes lit up when he found what he was looking for in an unassuming little brown book called Uncommon Potions for Common Ailments of the Mind.

He grimaced when he saw that it would take two days to brew, but that wasn’t so bad, he supposed, if he started right away. Most of the ingredients were simple and could probably be borrowed from Hermione…but there were two problematic ingredients: adder’s fork and lavender. He had looked over Hermione’s list of required sixth year potions ingredients when he’d hoped to be let into the class, and neither one was on her list. He could probably owl order lavender from a shop somewhere, but he knew from one of their potions assignments last year that adder’s fork was notoriously difficult to procure. The only hope he’d have to obtain it would be to ask Snape directly, and in that case, he may as well simply ask for the potion itself, because Snape wasn’t an idiot. He would know exactly what he wanted it for.

He sighed in defeat as he closed the book. It was little consolation to have found the recipe if he had no way of brewing it.

That evening, he had a better idea.

Okay, so it wasn’t that much better. And it was definitely against the rules. But it worked, and that’s what mattered. Ron was easy to convince, as he had been sharing a dorm with Harry for enough years to know about his occasional nightmares. He also wasn’t the type to ask too many questions.

“Yeah, sure, mate,” he shrugged as he got into bed. “Pomfrey knows all about what happened to me this summer. Shouldn’t be difficult to convince her I need some. Dunno why she’s being stingy with you.”

Harry didn’t feel the need to explain her reasoning, especially the part where she’d mentioned a Mind Healer, and at breakfast the next morning, Ron discreetly handed him three more vials of the purple potion. Harry put them in his pocket gratefully.

“Did you hear what happened in my Potions class yesterday?” Ginny said excitedly as she dropped into the seat next to Hermione, across the table from Ron and Harry.

Harry’s ears immediately perked up, but it was Hermione who answered with a moaned, “Please don’t tell me Professor Snape took points from the entire class again.”

“No,” Ginny shook her head. “The only points he took were from Gregory, but he was late, so that’s all right. I think the headmaster must have talked to Professor Snape after seeing how low the house points counters were on Friday.”

“He took points from everyone?” Ron asked, looking horrified for an instant, then he added hopefully, “Please tell me that included the Slytherins.” He grinned when she nodded.

“He took points from his Slytherins?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows. Everybody knew how competitive Snape was about house points. He must have been in quite the mood to risk his house’s standing.

“Yes, well, enough about points,” said Ginny impatiently. “Snape botched a potion! He was demonstrating how to add foxglove, and his hand slipped. Added at least twice as much as he meant to, and it started to smoke and he thundered - absolutely thundered - for the entire class to get out! I’ve never seen a group of students run so fast.”

“Snape took points from Slytherin and botched a potion?” Ron asked as if his birthday had come early.

“But he’s always so precise,” said Hermione with a frown.

“Is he okay?” Harry quickly scanned the head table but Snape wasn’t there. Which wasn’t surprising, as he hadn’t been there when Harry looked for him five minutes ago.

“Is Snape okay?” Ron looked at him as if he were mad, and Harry flushed. He really did want to know if Snape was all right. He’d borne the brunt of Snape’s ire enough times to have had it drilled into him that Potions accidents could cause serious injuries. And despite the fact that Snape was ignoring him lately, he didn’t want to see harm come to the professor. He looked at Ginny expectantly so he wouldn’t have to explain himself to Ron.

Ginny shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t seen him since.”

“I’m sure he’s all right, Harry,” Hermione said with an understanding glance. “He’s a Potions master. He knows how to deal with lab accidents.”

Ron looked between them with a confused frown. “Am I missing something? Why are we so concerned about Snape all of a sudden?”

“We’re not,” Harry denied automatically. “I just…um, spent a lot of time with him, you know? And I, well…” he trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say, and shrugged lamely.

Ron gave an exaggerated shudder. “Don’t remind me. The best part of sleeping away the summer was not having to see Snape every day at Grimmauld Place. Hey, maybe if we’re lucky he’ll have gone to St Mungo’s and we won’t have to see him around anymore!”

Harry tried hard not to frown, because the thought of Snape injuring himself in some way made his gut twist uncomfortably.

“That was some Shield Charm, Potter!” Brooks said enthusiastically as they trailed behind the rest of the class heading indoors after their dueling lesson.

“Thanks, professor.” Harry grinned as he waved for Hermione and Ron to go on ahead.

“You know,” Brooks leaned forward conspiratorially, “I heard a rumor that you can produce a fully corporeal Patronus.”

“Er, yeah, I can,” Harry answered reluctantly, because he had a feeling he knew what the next question was going to be.

“Would you be willing to demonstrate that for the class?” The professor’s face was all anticipation, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to say no, even though he wanted to. He didn’t want to come off as a teacher’s pet, or worse, like he was lording his grasp of Defense over the rest of the class.

He sighed as they walked through the doors to the castle but gave his teacher a smile and a nod.

Professor Brooks beamed but then faltered a step as a shadow fell over them. Harry’s eyes snapped up and his heart skipped a beat as he met a pair of guarded black eyes. Professor Snape stood still as a statue and surveyed them in the Entrance Hall as Brooks audibly gulped and said with false cheer, “Professor Snape! How are you doing on this fine day?”

Snape ignored him, and Harry felt bad for the younger professor. No wonder he was intimidated, with the Potions master looking down his nose at him, his eyes glittering with repressed annoyance. But then Snape looked at Harry, and for once, he wasn’t ignoring him! He gave the professor a tentative smile and was disappointed when he merely snapped his eyes back to Brooks.

“Do you think it wise to duel so close to the lake?” Snape asked snidely.

Brooks’s face dropped. “Oh. Well, yes. Er, I…I mean, I…” he faltered.

“I see,” said Snape smoothly, raising an eyebrow. “I suppose it did not occur to you how easily a student could fall in while dodging a wayward curse. Not to mention the disastrous outcome, should a student fall in after being incapacitated by a curse.”

“No…I mean, yes, I suppose that’s true, but I didn’t-”

“Didn’t think?” Snape sneered. “Yes, I seem to recall that you preferred that method in Potions as well.”

Brooks flushed. “Yes…well, I…that is, Mr. Potter and need to be going. Thank you, professor,” he muttered quickly and headed for the stairs, tugging Harry along behind him. Harry watched Snape over his shoulder as the man followed them with his narrowed eyes for a moment, then continued on his way.

By the time he mustered up the courage to say hello to the professor, he and his billowing robes had disappeared down the hallway.

By Thursday, Harry was weighing the pros and cons of turning to a life of crime.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he tuned out Professor Binns’s monotonous lecture on the Troll Uprising of 1582. For the first time, he thought that maybe he was developing a real problem, as he was considering stealing. Not that he’d never stolen before, but it was always either for survival - like food from the Dursleys - or for something important, something greater than himself. He didn’t know if that made it right, but it certainly made it defensible in his own mind. He had felt justified in stealing boomslang skin when it served the purpose of discovering the identity of the heir of Slytherin, but when he thought about stealing adder’s fork from Snape’s potions stores, he felt a pit in his stomach. Even if the man wasn’t his teacher anymore, and even if he seemed intent on ignoring what had happened over the summer, they had built a measure of trust between them. He didn’t want to break that trust again, even if the alternative was to relive nightly his torture at the hands of Voldemort.

Stealing from Snape was out, he firmly decided.

The Hospital Wing, then? There were probably some heavy wards on Pomfrey’s stores of supplies and medications, but if he could figure out how to get around them and get his hands on some more potion…

He thought about the dilemma all through History of Magic, and he tried to pretend he wasn’t thinking about it during lunch, but he knew he wasn’t very good at hiding that he was worrying about something, after Hermione shot him a few worried looks. Fortunately, Ron kept up a steady stream of chatter about the start of Quidditch practices, so he was spared from having to say much of anything. But then he thought about it all through Transfiguration class, except for when he got so distracted that he transfigured his shoe into a cactus and had to go to the Hospital Wing to get his foot de-spined. Which of course didn’t help, because Madame Pomfrey’s potions stores were right there, and he tried so hard not to look in that direction that he knew for certain she must know what was on his mind. And to make his day worse, his repaired shoe poked at his big toe a bit now when he walked.

He was still thinking about it in the Great Hall at dinnertime, and that’s when he decided he couldn’t do it. He was desperate, but his desperation was what convinced him. If he was this desperate to get his hands on more potion now, what would he do next week? Or the next? Keep on stealing? It would never end. He would get caught, and he would be expelled for sure. He winced at the thought. He couldn’t get expelled. He had nowhere to go but back to the Dursleys, and they wouldn’t show him any mercy. If he was going to have awful, horrible nights for the foreseeable future, he’d rather be with his friends.

Decision made, he slumped his shoulders in joint relief and worry. He knew he’d come to the right decision, but still… He blinked quickly and speared a bite of vegetables, not wanting any of his friends to see how close he was to tears of frustration. He took a few deep breaths to ground himself, and then he resigned himself to a combination of sleepless nights and Silencing Charms.

            Dear Remus,

            You’re an idiot.

That probably wasn’t the best way to start, he decided and balled up the parchment, dropping it onto the floor next to his bed.

            Dear Remus,

            I miss you. I was thinking maybe you could come for a visit, and-

No. He sounded pathetic. Not to mention, he wasn’t even certain that he missed Remus exactly. It was more that he wanted to talk to him to clear the air, to make sure they were okay, before they went a long time without seeing each other again. He scrunched the parchment into another ball and tossed it to the side.

            Dear Remus,

            It wasn’t your fault. I know you’d never try to hurt me or anything. How are you? Please write back.

            Harry

Short and simple. Maybe not the nice, long, flowery kind of letter Dumbledore had in mind, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. He left it at that and set it aside to take to the Owlery tomorrow.

Harry sat back on his bed and tapped his fingers in a random rhythm on his leg. He fought back another yawn. Between completing his Herbology homework, poring over a book on Quidditch, polishing his broom, and writing the letter, he’d managed to take up half the night. His eyes were barely staying open, but he was testing the theory that if he waited to go to sleep until he was completely exhausted, he had a better chance of falling asleep quickly, and his mind would also have less time to turn to nightmares.

He did fall asleep quickly, but that was the only part of his plan that worked. He woke less than two hours later, soaked in a cold sweat and taking in deep, shuddering breaths. He quickly skimmed his hands over his legs and arms to make certain they were still attached to his body, then pressed his palms into his eyes. He’d rarely had a dream so vivid. Voldemort was there, and Bellatrix and Nott, and Snape was there too, only they were killing him, and Harry ran in the path of the curses to make them stop, and they’d killed him too. There he was, lifeless on top of dead bodies strewn about Hogsmeade, and for a moment he’d been glad that at least he’d finally died, so he wouldn’t have to worry about dying anymore. It was so so so real, and it was all he could do to stop himself from trying to find Snape’s quarters to assure himself that the professor was still alive too.

He burrowed his head into his pillow and tried to take deep, even breaths. He had to see Snape. No, he had to talk to Snape, he corrected. He knew why the professor had pulled away, but he didn’t know why he was ignoring him or why he was in a foul mood or why Harry missed him so much, but he had to talk to him. He knew he was alive, but he hadn’t seen him in a few days, and he needed to reassure himself that he was all right. And still not angry at Harry, because that seemed important to find out too.

If he could only lay his eyes on Snape, and if the man would only look at him, not past him, then surely everything would be okay the next time he closed his eyes.

He flinched as the knock echoed in the empty corridor. He had waited until the last of the students had trickled out the hallway outside the Potions classroom before emerging from a nearby hallway, wanting to avoid the curiosity and gossip that would arise from Harry Potter being seen loitering outside Professor Snape’s office. Fortunately, the students seemed eager to get away from the Potions classroom as quickly as possible.

He was fairly certain Snape would be in his office right now. Without conscious thought, Harry had taken to piecing together the professor’s schedule in his mind. Today was Friday. On Fridays, he had third year Potions before lunch and fifth year Potions after lunch. He’d taken to skipping the midday meal in the Great Hall, so he would almost definitely be in his office right now, if not still in his classroom.

He only had to wait a few seconds before the door was jerked open and a glowering Snape was standing in front of him. By the way the man’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly and his glower gave way to a confused frown, Harry knew he had been the last person Snape expected to see on the other side of the door.

They stood in silence for several awkward seconds before Harry summoned a bit more courage and said, “Can I, um, come in?”

Snape hesitated, which only increased Harry’s nervousness, but then he turned back toward his desk, door open in a clear invitation to follow. Harry did, closing the door behind him.

Snape half turned to him and cleared his throat. “Did you need something, Mr. Potter?” he said formally. The kind of formality that told Harry he was uncomfortable with Harry being here. Which was really no surprise, considering that he’d taken to ignoring him every single day, and now here he was in the middle of the man’s office.

Harry shifted awkwardly from one foot to another before asking, “How…how are you, sir?”

Snape raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. “You came to my office in order to ask me how I am.”

He nodded. “You haven’t been at meals in a few days. And rumor has it you’re in a foul mood all the time lately.”

“Is your tactless questioning supposed to convince me to not be in a foul mood?” Snape curled his lip.

“I guess not,” he admitted and fidgeted. “I just- I mean, I haven’t seen you much lately and I was worried.”

“Worried,” Snape turned toward him completely and ran the word over his tongue as if parceling out its meaning.

“Yeah. Worried,” repeated Harry. He crossed his arms defensively.

Snape looked askance at him as if were speaking an entirely foreign language.

Harry threw up his hands. “Oh, come on! You may want to pretend this summer never happened, but you can’t force me to! I can’t go back to hating you just because we’re at school and you want to be all avoidy.”

“‘Avoidy’ is not a word, Potter.”

“You know exactly what I mean, so it counts as a word.” Harry lifted his chin stubbornly, and he forced himself not to smile when Snape’s lips twitched. He was getting there, slowly breaking through the man’s defenses. He could tell. He only had to keep going, press his advantage, and then maybe he could convince Snape to start talking to him again. “So how are you?” he repeated firmly.

Snape studied him a moment longer, as if determining that Harry was serious, then said shortly, “well.”

“Well,” Harry repeated skeptically. “You’re doing well.” Liar, he wanted to say. The professor obviously was not doing well, if the tension around his eyes and shoulders was any indication.

“Yes. Did you need anything further, Mr. Potter?” he said in clear dismissal, attention turning to a stack of student essays on his desk.

“You being so stressed out doesn’t have to do with starting classes late, does it?” Harry voiced his worry out loud. “Because if it does, I’m sorry. I know it was my fault.”

Snape snapped his gaze to him and stared before saying incredulously, “You are sorry that I was inconvenienced by your being captured and held against your will by the Dark Lord?”

“Well…” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I didn’t cause it or anything, but still, if you hadn’t had to work on rescuing me, you wouldn’t have had to miss classes. Not to mention…you know, everything else that happened.” He snapped his jaw shut, trying to tamp down the images of Snape being tortured by Death Eater curses, of Snape dying-

No. He shook his head slightly to clear it, not wanting to see those images in his mind’s eye. Not again.

Snape still stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time since summer. Which was close to the truth. “Potter. I-” He cleared his throat and looked away. “You bear no responsibility for recent events. Put such thoughts out of your mind.”

“I didn’t say I did! I just-”

“You apologized,” he snapped. “Do not apologize for what is not your doing.”

Harry frowned. “But it had to do with me. My fault or no, if you hadn’t been trying to help me, none of that would have happened. I just wanted you to know that I know that and I feel bad about it.”

Snape rubbed a tired hand over his face and muttered, “To think that I used to think you arrogant and conceited.”

Harry bit his lip against another apology, even though he wasn’t sure what for.

Snape sighed as he tiredly walked around to the other side of his desk and sank into his chair. “Why are you here, Potter?”

Harry blinked. “I just told you. To find out how you are. And…and also to see if I can help.”

Snape looked confused, and Harry wondered if the professor had ever had a student express concern for him before. He didn’t have family or many friends, so maybe he wasn’t used to it. If so, Harry could relate. It had taken him a while after coming to Hogwarts to get used to being around people who actually cared enough about him to be concerned when he was sick or to want to help him when he was stressed. People like Ron and Hermione took it for granted, but to Harry, it had been like soaking up water after living his entire life parched in a dry desert. He’d managed to get used to it much of the time by now; maybe he could help Snape get used to it too. If Snape let him, that is.

Seeing as the professor had yet to raise his voice to Harry despite having terrorized most of the school over the past week, he took a chance that he wouldn’t kick him out quite yet and sat in one of the chairs facing the desk.

Snape watched him bemusedly, and Harry saw clearly now the lines around the man’s eyes and mouth. Snape was holding himself stiffly, and at first he thought it was his discomfort at Harry being here. But no. He knew those lines, the way his eyes pinched just so. They had been through hell together, and Harry knew what that face meant. And then he noticed the slight tremor in the man’s left hand where it rested on the desk, and he knew that something was wrong.

“You’re in pain,” he said softly, surprised, and Snape’s gaze faltered. His eyes widened and a glimmer of something broke through his mask, there and gone again almost before Harry could see it. Snape’s hand barely ghosted the sleeve of his robe.

“Is it a headache?”

“No.” Snape drew his thoughts and feelings behind an expressionless mask, and Harry knew to tread lightly, not press too hard. But he really wanted to know just how much pain the man was in that it would cause him to spiral into such a horrible state that even his Slytherins feared him.

“Was it the Potions accident Monday? Were you injured?”

“No,” Snape shook his head minutely. “The mishap produced a rather foul-smelling odor throughout my classroom, but it was not injurious.”

“I can help,” he insisted. “Whatever’s going on, I can help. With this, and with…with anything else. Professor Dumbledore says you’re working on a project,” he fished.

Snape drew a hand up and rubbed his temples. “You seem to know an inordinate amount about my goings on, Mr. Potter.”

“He wouldn’t tell me what it is you’re doing,” Harry rushed to explain. “But it’s obvious that something’s got you stressed out. If it’s a potion, I could chop some ingredients or help with the prep work or cleaning or…whatever,” he finished lamely.

“If this is about getting into Potions, I have already made up my mind,” he clipped. “I will not change it. I will not have less than fully prepared students handling extremely sensitive concoctions, so you can desist any efforts to-.”

“I’m not trying to get you to change your mind,” Harry snapped, getting frustrated. He took a breath and said more calmly, “Not anymore, anyway. I know when I’ve lost. This doesn’t have anything to do with that. I just want to help!”

Snape narrowed his eyes, again in confusion. “Why?”

Harry splayed out his hands. “Because you’re in pain, and you’re stressed out, and because whatever is going on, you don’t have to go it alone.”

Snape blinked. He studied Harry as if looking for an angle, and Harry let him. He wouldn’t find any, even if he performed Legilimency, because Harry didn’t have an angle. As much as he did want to be taught by Snape, he wanted to help him even more. He wanted to ease whatever burden he was under. Snape must have gathered as much, because he looked away and visibly swallowed. “It is a personal…project,” he finally answered and stiffly added, “But I thank you for your offer.”

Harry smiled a genuine smile. Snape had not only acknowledged his existence, he had thanked him! Not to mention, he wasn’t taking points or yelling at him, or even throwing him bodily from his office. Even if the professor refused to confide in him, this was going far, far better than he’d imagined it would.

He leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable. “I’ve been sticking to the study schedule you gave me,” he offered, eager to keep the conversation going by whatever means necessary, even though he was certain Snape wasn’t concerned in the least about Harry’s academic progress. “Mostly, anyway. I’m almost caught up. I have no life because I’m studying all the time, but…yeah. Almost caught up.” Snape watched him with a new wrinkle in his forehead, but he didn’t speak, so Harry kept talking to fill up the silence. “First real Quidditch practice is this weekend. We filled up the available positions, so now we need to see how we all play together.” He shrugged. “I think it’ll be a good team this year. Slytherin might have to watch out,” he tried to tease, but Snape’s silence was making him nervous, and he rushed on, “Ron’s doing well. Thank you for getting the curses to Dumbledore, by the way,” he said sincerely, “so they could figure out how to wake him up. He doesn’t remember any of it, really, so he’s doing fine other than still grousing about missing so much of summer. I think he’ll be glad to start up Quidditch again too.”

“Potter,” Snape cut in, his face awash in complete confusion, “I…not to stand in the way of your fascinating account of the first weeks of school, but why are you here?”

“I already said-”

“Why are you really here?”

Harry bit his lip. “You said I could come to you if I needed to.”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I am merely failing to see the need.”

Harry looked away, not wanting Snape to see how the words hurt. It was obvious that the professor wasn’t going to shout at him or treat him as poorly as in years past, but it was equally as obvious that he still didn’t want to be bothered to have Harry hanging about him, disturbing his carefully ordered life. Especially when he was visibly exhausted and grumpy and in some kind of physical pain. Still…he supposed he had nothing to lose in being honest.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, not meeting Snape’s eyes. “I got used to this,” he motioned between the two of them, “over the summer. I like it, like talking to you. I miss it.” He lifted his chin and looked stubbornly at the professor, trying and probably failing to keep the longing out of his eyes. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Snape opened his mouth as if to respond, but no words came out. He shut his mouth and looked away, bringing up two fingers to stroke his chin, eyes narrowed in thought. The words had obviously surprised him, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was good surprised or bad surprised.

“I know you probably want peace and quiet after teaching all day,” Harry said nervously, “but maybe…maybe I could come here and we could just, you know, talk? Sometimes? Not all the time. You can tell me when not to. Or I can help you in your lab, if you have work to do. I promise to respect your privacy. I won’t bug you about things you don’t want to talk about, but…well, I mean, maybe you could even, you know, tell me some more about my mum some time? Only if you want to,” he tacked on quickly. “But not if you don’t. Want to, that is.” He stopped himself from groaning aloud. He was making a royal mess of this. He crossed his arms across his chest to stop his nervous fidgeting.

Snape was silent for a full minute and Harry had to bite his lip not to fill up the silence with his nervous rambling. Finally, Snape rubbed his temples, shook his head, and without looking at him, said, “Potter…now is not-”

“-the best time,” Harry finished for him glumly. He allowed himself a moment to curl in on himself, then squared his shoulders and got to his feet without looking at Snape. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” he mumbled and headed for the door.

“Potter,” Snape’s voice stopped him with his hand on the doorknob. He heard the man clear his throat and pause several seconds before saying, “Gryffindor might be the one to watch out. I have it on good authority that Slytherin’s team will be unrivaled this year.”

He looked back at the professor and saw something like regret in his eyes, and he gave him a sad smile in response. “I guess we’ll see at the first game, then.”

He closed the door behind him, walked out of the dungeons and out of the castle, and plopped himself down in the shade under a tree near the lake. He closed his eyes, felt the faint whisper of calming magic climbing up through the grass and into his hands, and stayed there through the rest of lunch and Defense class. There was no way he could manage to produce a decent Patronus today anyway.

“I’m only saying that you’ve barely caught up!” Hermione lectured as they headed to the Great Hall for dinner that evening. “Skipping class is going to make you fall behind again!”

“Hermione, lay off him,” argued Ron. “If he’s sick, he’s sick.”

“He said he’s not sick,” she countered, then took a closer look at Harry. He tried to walk faster to avoid the scrutiny. “Are you sick?” she said, sounding worried now. “You look pale. And you were yawning all through Herbology this morning. Are you sleeping okay?”

Harry rolled his eyes, only because he had walked far enough ahead that she couldn’t see him. “I’m fine, Hermione. Just tired. I’ve been studying a lot, you know. Today I just…lost track of time,” he lied. “I won’t skip again, promise.” That was probably also a lie, but it would help get her off his case.

She drew even with him again and pursed her lips as she studied him. He could tell she didn’t believe him about being fine, but she dropped it.

“How was Potions?” he asked to change the subject. And also because he hoped he hadn’t worsened Snape’s mood by showing up in his office like a clingy little kid. Merlin, he must have sounded pathetic. He cringed.

“Not bad,” said Hermione with a shrug. “He only yelled once, and Nott probably deserved it for trying to add nettle to a Dissolution Potion.” She tsked as if everyone would know not to do that. “Mainly, he told us to work without talking, and we did, and then he didn’t say a word to us either until it was time to hand in our potions.”

“I wish all our classes with Snape had been like that,” Ron said wistfully as they reached the table and took their seats. “Imagine how much nicer Potions would have been if he’d never ever talked to us.”

“Yeah,” said Harry distractedly. He scanned the head table as had become his habit, but Snape wasn’t there. He took a deep breath, pasted a smile on his face, and said, “So tell me what I missed in Defense. Practical or theory?”

Hermione kindly proceeded to catch him up, and even Ron chimed in with commentary on Brooks’s latest failure to rein in Malfoy and his cronies.

By the next day, his resolve to do without the potion had all but crumbled. Yesterday he had felt tired and a bit twitchy, but today he felt awful. Only two nights without potion, and he was tired from lack of sleep, jumpy from memories of the nightmares he had when he did sleep, and shaky from…well, he didn’t know for certain why he was as shaky as he was, but he thought that maybe if he could get his hands on more potion, he might feel better.

Maybe there was another way to get adder’s fork…

“Are you sure you shouldn’t go to the Hospital Wing?” Hermione felt his forehead, and he ducked his head. “You look even more pale and you’ve hardly touched your food.”

“I’m fine, Hermione, I swear.” He picked up his fork and poked at a piece of chicken to reassure her. “Just a bit tired. Might go lie down after lunch.”

“Don’t forget Quidditch practice,” Ron chimed in, reaching for another helping of roasted chicken.

He didn’t forget, but he kind of wished he had when he mounted his broom that afternoon and felt his stomach give a lurch. He was immensely grateful he hadn’t eaten much that day. To his relief, he felt better once he was in the air, the fresh breeze on his face. It soothed his clammy skin, and he took a deep, calming breath.

Maybe he could convince a few more of his classmates to obtain potion from Madame Pomfrey…

No. He shook his head to clear it from his unhelpful thoughts, which turned out to be the wrong thing to do, as he lost momentary control of his broom and had to correct himself sharply.

“Oy! Potter! All right there?” shouted one of his teammates and he waved, embarrassed, and focused on the practice. He began to loop around the field, dodging the other players and searching the skies for the practice snitch.

By the time he spotted it, he felt almost at ease, finally able to focus on the broom in his hands, the wind through his ears, and the tiny fluttering golden ball in his line of sight. He grinned and sped up his broom, dodging and flitting around the field in pursuit, barely registering when he had to fly sharply around Ron in order to avoid a collision. This was what he’d been missing since last year, before he’d been banned from Quidditch. This was one thing that never failed to calm him, center him, make everything better.

He laughed as he closed his hands around the snitch and held it above his head. He looked down. His heart stuttered. Hogwarts. Hogsmeade, Bodies. Red. Blood. Death on the field, death at Hogwarts. Bodies everywhere. They were all-

He blinked. They were gone. The bodies were gone. He gasped in a breath. No, they’d never been there. He knew they weren’t there. He let go of the snitch and braced himself on his broom, breathing in great gasps of air. Was he hallucinating now? Was Madame Pomfrey right? Was he going mental? Or was it a side effect of going cold turkey off a sleep potion?

He forced his eyes closed and saw red. Blood. He took a gulping breath and forced them to stay open. The team was still practicing, happy yells and hollers echoing across the pitch. Nothing was out of place. No one was hurt or dead. The sun was beating down its pleasant warmth, and the breeze did its best to soothe his worries away.

It didn’t work. His heart was beating faster, and the panic was clawing its way down his throat, and even he knew that midair was not the right place to have a panic attack. He tried to take slow, even breaths, but his vision was clouding, filling up with red, and blood, bodies in his mind, even if they weren’t real… He sucked in a choking gasp of air, feeling the tears behind his eyes. He desperately grasped for something, he didn’t know what, and that’s when he saw them.

The sparks.

He took in a shuddering breath, distracted from his panic by the beautiful, golden sparks of magic. They danced around him, hailing from every direction. They radiated from the sun, from the ground, from the very air around him, and he lifted one hand from his broom, watching as the sparks darted around his fingers, congregating on his shaking hand so that it seemed to glow with pure magic, and infusing him with strength so that little by little, his shaking subsided.

He stared in wonder as he took another halting breath. It was amazing. So beautiful and wonderful.

And distracting, or he would have ducked when he heard “Harry! Look out!” instead of taking a bludger to the side. He gasped in pain, but it would be nothing more than a bruise, he knew as he righted himself. What distressed him was that the sparks were dissipating. He swallowed hard and tried to call them back. He didn’t know how they had managed to help him, but they had. They made him feel stronger, more in control, and he was desperate to feel that again. He instinctively reached out with his magic and grinned when it started to work. The sparks were coming back! They were congregating on his hand again, and his arm, and he felt their power like an electrical charge running through his entire body, and-

His smile faltered. “That’s enough,” he said aloud, but the sparks kept coming. “Stop!” He felt awash with energy. It buzzed all around him, and it suddenly was too much, too overwhelming. Filling up his every pore and readying itself to burst from his body in a surge of raw power. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop-

“Stop! Nonononono!” He cried, scrunching his eyes in concentration. He balled his hands into fists to stop the power from bursting out of them. The sensations were too much. His skin prickled, his ears buzzed, and the light was bright even through his closed eyelids. He didn’t realize he was falling until he was caught by a pair of fumbling arms and lowered to the ground.

His name. He thought that maybe people were saying his name. He barely registered it over the roar of a thousand buzzing bees in his ears. He flinched away from prying hands, shook his head, too afraid of losing control to worry what he looked like. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth and was unable to get out anything but a moan.

The buzzing gave way to ringing, which gave way to shouts and voices, and he made out “Harry” and “what’s wrong” and “Madame Pomfrey,” and he thought he heard Ron’s voice say something about his scar, and he wanted to tell him it wasn’t his scar, not this time, but if he tried to speak, he might lose control of the power and hurt him-

“Nuuuuh!” he moaned through gritted teeth as a wave of something he could only describe as electrical ran through his body and stuttered out of his hands. A screech next to him caused him to flinch, and he curled his body around his traitorous hands, hiding them from sight. The sparks didn’t like it. They wanted to be let loose, wanted out of him, and he didn’t know how to without hurting everybody here.

He couldn’t do this, couldn’t do this, couldn’t do-

Another surge ran through his body, but he held it in, didn’t let it escape. He thought he might be crying though, and he allowed himself a moment to feel embarrassed by the picture he must be making, but only a moment, because he was fighting back another surge. He’d only felt this powerful once, when Voldemort had Snape, and was killing him… Snape! He latched onto that name and tried to get it out. He ground out, “Ssnppp,” but it didn’t seem to have worked, for the voices around him didn’t change their pitch.

“Snape,” he managed, more clearly, but all he heard in response was a garbled din of “don’t worry, Harry…not here.”

He shook his head frantically and longed to grasp at the closest thing he could, but he didn’t dare uncurl his hands. “Get. Snape!” he bit out as emphatically as he could. “Nguuuh!” he moaned again, and certain he couldn’t hold the magic inside for much longer, he concentrated on the one person he knew could help him. He didn’t know how exactly, but he knew that he could help him.

“Snape. Snape. Snape,” over and over and over, until he was certain that even Ron couldn’t mistake who he needed.