The rough, damp cloth of the professor’s robes felt itchy against Harry’s hot forehead, but the stationary pressure on the back of his head was oddly reassuring.  And for the moment, Harry didn’t want to lose that.  The tears had stopped several minutes ago.  However, the reality of the recent breakdown was slowly creeping up on Harry, and he felt increasingly embarrassed, especially since he was having a difficult time slowing down his brokenly hitched breathing.  Even when Harry held his breath, his chest convulsed.  So he finally succumbed to the involuntary, gasping sniffles and simply waited it out. 

Harry turned his head to the side, the cool air stinging his wet cheeks and chin that were a bit raw from the river of salty tears that had cascaded down his face during the past fifteen minutes. 

But the warmth from Snape’s hand continued to radiate through Harry’s hair, and its constancy allowed the boy enough strength to open his mouth, even if it was Snape’s hand holding him against the strong shoulder.

“So stupid…” Harry whispered, the words almost muffled from his barely parted lips.

At the initiating words, Severus slid his from the untidy hair, resting it on the back of the sofa as he spoke. 

“Elaborate, Mr. Potter, what is stupid?” he inquired softly.

The vibration from Snape’s voice rumbled against Harry’s forehead, but the back of his head felt suddenly chilled.  Slowly lifting his head, Harry sat up and ran his hands across his swollen, itchy eyes and the sore skin of his cheeks before sniffling noisily and alternating rubbing the backs of both hands across his runny nose. 

“I dunno…everything,” Harry mumbled miserably, swiping at his nose again.  He watched as Snape pushed himself up from the sofa and walked over his desk.  Opening a drawer and pulling out a thin handkerchief, Snape moved back toward Harry, extending his hand.

“Use this,” Snape commanded as he sat down again, a bit further away from the boy than before.  He held Harry’s glasses in the other hand. 

Harry looked up at his professor through his fringe as he brought the soft cloth to his face and noisily complied.  He was feeling more ashamed by the second.  However, the shame seemed different than before.  The knot in Harry’s stomach that had been constantly twisting for the past several days had loosened considerably.  Now, he just felt sort of timid and…vulnerable, not to mention exhausted.  Harry’s chest felt hollow, as if he’d just sprinted down the corridor.  But it was almost a pleasant sort of emptiness.

Dropping the side of his head to rest against the back of the sofa, Harry took back his glasses from Snape and placed them on his nose before turning the handkerchief over and absently rubbing it across the back of his hand.

Grimacing ever so slightly, Harry shifted a bit on his cushion, suddenly aware the achy heat. He focused intently on the handkerchief that he was twisting between his fingers, hoping desperately that Snape wouldn’t say anything embarrassing. 

“There is a fine line, Mr. Potter, between bravery and recklessness,” Snape stated firmly without raising his voice.  

Perhaps it was the unexpected placid tone or the lack of a witty retort at Harry’s obvious discomfort…the boy wasn’t certain.  But the professor’s words caused Harry to glance up into the man’s unreadable face with a confused look of his own.

“What do you mean?” Harry croaked through a scratchy throat.

Snape tilted his head and stared briefly at the fire as if trying to decide how to best explain his reasoning to a distraught twelve-year-old.  He cleared his throat and allowed his folded hands to remain calmly in his lap as he shook back a stray lock of dark hair. 

“Traipsing around after curfew in your invisibility cloak is not only unnecessary and against the rules, Potter, it is dangerous,” Snape informed the boy sternly, “especially at a time like this when—“

“But I--”

“Do not interrupt me when I am speaking,” Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he interjected his command, appearing almost as weary as Harry felt.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, staring at his hands.  He furrowed his brow a bit, surprised at how quickly he apologized.  Where was this coming from?

Snape paused for a moment before nodding tersely in acceptance.  But due to Harry’s deeply bowed head, the boy missed the small gesture.

“Perhaps, Potter, you would care to explain the reason for your latest bout of unruliness,” Snape continued dryly.

No way, Harry inwardly scoffed.

But he knew very well that Snape’s words were not spoken as a request. 

Harry didn’t feel like telling Snape anything.  He didn’t think he did anyway.  At the moment, all he wanted to do was scratch the tingly irritation out of his behind with both hands and go back to bed. 

But Harry knew he wouldn’t do any of that. 

Taking advantage of his turn to sigh, Harry tucked his left foot underneath the other leg and gave a final squirm as he settled into the leather cushion of the sofa.

Bravery or recklessness…

“I was trying to get into the Slytherin common room,” Harry muttered at last, startled by the denseness of his voice due to his tears and runny nose.  He fought the urge to duck his head again.  Harry’s heart pounded, and the air felt balmy in his lungs.

Snape’s eyes darkened considerably as he narrowed his gaze, “Which one of my Slytherins did you wish to prank, Potter?”

Harry sat up briskly.

“No…it was nothing like that, sir…” Harry began, shaking his head emphatically.

“Then explain yourself.”

“I…erm,” Harry stammered and then pressed his lips together, inching away slightly from the professor’s stern gaze, “I just needed to…see about something…”

“In the middle of the night,” Snape spouted, his voice was gradually becoming colder.

Eleven o’clock, actually. 

Harry wisely kept this thought to himself.

“Well…yeah,” Harry continued, crestfallen.  His explanation was pitiful.  Good fortune just didn’t seem to be on his side tonight.  Harry took a few seconds to rub at his itchy, tired eyes, studying the bursts of color behind the lids. 

“You were cowering when I found you, Potter.  Why?”  Snape inquired with a hint of curiosity in his tone.

Harry dropped his hands and jerked his head up.  Snape was tilting his head in a probing manner as Harry chewed on a finger nail; his insides felt like they were bursting. 

Tell him…Just tell him…

“I…”  Harry stopped; his teeth ground against the now-jagged nail.

“Go on.”

Harry breathed shallowly.  “The voice,” he sputtered, “It was…I mean, I heard it again.”

Blood pounded in his ears.  It was only a matter of seconds before Snape would cart him off to the loony bin. 

“Again, Mr. Potter?” Snape questioned with a frown.

Harry nodded weakly, feeling the bile rise in his throat.  He began to shiver. 

Oh, why did I tell him? Harry thought dismally, shutting his eyes tightly, angry at himself for his weak, desperate outburst. 

For the next moment, the hissing and crackling of the logs in the fireplace was the only sound that cut through the silence until Snape finally cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Tell me about this voice you’ve been hearing,” Snape said quietly, the former concern of the Slytherin common room seemingly forgotten. “Open your eyes, Potter, this is important.”

Harry slowly lifted his securely closed lids.  Snape was near him again, his pinched eyes studying Harry’s face.  The boy continued to breathe heavily, feeling dangerously close to passing out.  The fingernails of Harry’s hands cut into his tightly balled fists. 

“Are you hearing this voice in your head, Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head.

“Where then?”

There was no way that Snape would believe him.  After all, not even Ron and Hermione were hearing it. 

“Potter…” Snape began, clearly fighting the exasperation in his voice.

“The walls,” Harry whispered, inwardly wincing, waiting for the inevitable scorn. 

Snape sat up straighter, continuing to view Harry with an odd expression of mingled concern and disbelief. 

“And this…voice,” Snape pressed on. “Is it low?  High?  Does it speak actual words?”

“I…yeah,” Harry answered, a bit taken aback by Snape's genuine interest in the matter, “some words…and it’s kind of high and whispery.”

“Screeching?”

“No, sir,” Harry continued, shifting on his now warm and tingling seat, trying not to shiver. “It’s kind of like a hiss…or something.” 

“Mmmm,” Snape responded absently, considering this for a moment.  Harry sniffled noisily again, and Snape motioned toward the handkerchief still clutched in Harry’s fist.  He blew his nose again as Snape stood up and walked over to an area behind the sofa.  But this time, Harry didn’t watch him.  He simply bit his thumbnail again, folding the cloth into an impossibly small wad. 

Snape spoke as he rifled through a few items that Harry could see.  “You are a parselmouth, Potter, did you know?” Snape’s voice seemed to echo off the wall—perhaps shelves, and it sounded like he was leaning over. 

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, his curiosity getting the better of him as he finally turned around to see what his professor was doing.  But Snape was already standing beside the arm of the sofa.  He held out a forest-green afghan. 

Harry stared at it.

“Well, take it, you foolish boy,” Snape ordered.  Slowly, Harry did so.  The knitted blanket felt heavy in Harry’s hands.  As Snape swept over to stand in front of the fire, Harry shook out the large blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Perhaps you are hearing a snake that is loose in the building,” the man suggested, the flames dancing around the contours of his pale face as he stared into the fire.

Harry poked his fingers through the tiny holes in the afghan.

“But it’s different than a snake,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I’ve talked to one before…at the zoo last year.  This is louder…like it’s all around me.”

Snape said nothing for a moment.    Harry took this as permission to continue.

“And…and the stuff it says is different…like it wants to kill someone or hurt them…” Harry trailed off as Snape turned from the fire.

He moved forward, quickly, and surprised Harry by crouching down in front of him.

“Have you told any of this to Professor Dumbledore,” Snape demanded, an edge of urgency evident in his voice. 

Harry bit his lip.  “No, sir.”

“Your Head of House?”

Harry shook his head.

“You thought to tell no one? Snape inquired, a bit roughly. “Did you even take a moment to be seriously concerned about this?”

“Of course…” 

“And yet you still had no reservations about wandering about building at night, did you, Potter?” Snape growled sternly.

Harry held his breath, feeling his stomach tense up. 

“No…it’s just...”

“It’s just what, Mr. Potter?  No, I don’t want to hear any excuses,” Snape scolded. “Tonight’s stunt was purely reckless and idiotic.”

Gripping handfuls of the blanket, Harry felt his temper rise.  “I had to, professor!” Harry cried, “Malfoy obviously knows something about the Chamber that no one else does…and besides, I’m sick of people thinking I’m the Heir of Slytherin…”

“Draco Malfoy knows nothing about it, I can assure you.  He is only a boy,” Snape stated firmly as he stood up, “And you, Mr. Potter, are not to concern yourself with the Chamber of Secrets.  Is that understood?”  Harry followed his professor’s movements, blanching suddenly, and hoping that he wasn’t moving back over to the desk chair. 

“Answer me.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied dully. 

Snape nodded, “For the sake of your safety, not to mention your hide, you will do well to remember what I’ve said, Potter.”  He watched Harry for a few seconds longer as the boy stared at the floor, looking extremely defeated.  Snape moved over to his desk once again and grasped at a handful of air only centimeters above the flat, wooden top. 

With a flick of his wrist, Snape flipped over and revealed the detectable side of Harry’s invisibility cloak. 

“There it is!” Harry exclaimed.  However, as Snape carefully straightened refolded the cloak, Harry became wary, “That’s mine…can I have it back?”

Snape looked at Harry with one raised eyebrow, but continued folding.  Grasping the vacant chair with his free hand, Severus lifted it and swung it forward before placing it directly in front of the sofa where Harry now sat elevated on the edge of the cushion.

“May I…have it back?” Harry tried asking again. 

“You may not,” Snape replied simply, taking a seat in front of the boy and resting the folded cloak on his knee. 

Harry felt his face burn in anger and frustration.  If he hadn’t just bawled for all he was worth, he might have even had a few tears to spare over this situation.

“You can’t take my cloak,” Harry said, his voice cracking. “That was my dad’s.  Dumbledore gave it to me last Christmas!”

“And the headmaster clearly made a grave mistake,” Snape retorted.  However, the man couldn’t help but notice the severely dejected look on Potter’s face. “I am not taking this from you, Potter,” he added, “I am merely keeping it until you prove to me...and Professor Dumbledore that you are responsible enough to use it wisely. 

Harry twisted fingers around in the afghan and stared at his lap, “You don’t understand, professor.”

Snape sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, “Really, Potter, how so?”

Harry swallowed and looked hard at his professor.

“I need my cloak.  We never would have been able to get the Sorcerer’s stone last year without it…”

“You should not have been within one hundred feet of that dog, Potter, you could have been killed,” Snape snarled.

“But I wasn’t!” Harry replied, incensed from the fact that Snape was completely disregarding the fact that he’d managed to defeat Quirrell, even with Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head.  “Besides, it’s not like anyone would listen to me when I tried to warn them about...” Harry stopped himself just in time, “…about…someone going after the stone.” 

Snape retained a stony façade as he sighed once more, but his eyes remained locked on Harry’s. 

“You are twelve years old, Potter,” the man said finally.

Harry opened his mouth to retort in outrage, but Snape held up a warning finger to silence him. 

“And it is time you learned to distinguish acts of bravery from acts of stupidity,” Snape asserted, leaning forward, “However…you should also realize that not every situation is immediately salvageable...  And you must accept that.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip. 

“Neither the Heir of Slytherin or the Chamber of Secrets is your concern,” Snape repeated firmly, “There are a dozen adults at Hogwarts who are more than capable of handling the situation…”

“'Cept for Lockhart…” Harry mumbled before he could stop himself.  But he was surprised to see Snape fighting to control an amused smirk. 

“The first valid argument you’ve established all night, Potter.”

Harry gave a half-smile that turned into a deep yawn.  A headache was beginning to pound in his temples. 

“So what do I do about the voice?” Harry asked, feeling sleepy and wanting to finalize the discussion and head back to Gryffindor tower to check on Ron—assuming he got back all right.  But he couldn’t help worrying about the noise within the walls.

“You do nothing,” Snape replied, “If you happen to hear the voice again, you will go directly to me, is that clear, Mr. Potter?” 

“But what if you’re not here,” Harry asked.  It seemed that whenever Harry actually needed an adult, they were never around…

“Then you will go to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore…or…another adult,” Snape suggested the third quickly, noticing the makings of a retort in the boy’s features.

Harry nodded, feeling somewhat relieved.    

The professor pushed back his chair and stood. “Additionally, you are to keep your wand with you at all times, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry responded, shucking his blanket, “But I don’t know how to do much with it…”

Snape stopped, seeming to ponder over this for a moment.

“Regardless,” the man continued, “Do as I say, Potter.  You know what to expect if you don't.”

Harry swallowed hard.  He definitely didn’t want that to happen again. 

Snape moved swiftly to the exit of his office and opened the door. “I believe it is past your bedtime.

Harry stretched as he stood up, attempting to be discreet as he got in a quick rub at his bottom.

“It’s Friday,” Harry grumbled as he walked toward the door. “I don’t have a bedtime…not even during the week.” 

“I suppose that will have to be remedied then, won’t it, Potter?” Snape stated with a smirk.

“Er…no,” Harry exclaimed.

“Bed,” Snape ordered, pointing down the corridor. 

“All right.”

“Wait, Potter,” Snape called out when Harry had gone only a few paces. “Do you have your wand with you?

“Yeah,” Harry said as he bent down to retrieve the wand that he had stuffed down his left sock.  He’d pulled the sock all the way up to the middle of his shin in order to hold it in place, since he wasn’t wearing any shoes and hadn’t wanted to risk keeping his wand in the loose waistband of his pajama bottoms.

Retrieving the requested item, Harry held it out for Snape to see.

“Very well.  Come here.” Snape said as he reached inside of his robes and removed his own wand, “Hold it firmly by the end and repeat after me.  Follow my movements.”

Harry did as he was told.

“Lumos,” Snape recited as he waved his wand in a figure eight pattern.  The tip of the wand illuminated with a bright, bluish light. 

“Brilliant,” Harry breathed, practicing with his own wand a few times before trying.

“Lumos,” Harry said, and watched as a soft blue light ignited for a fleeting second and went out.

“Try again, Potter, do not connect the movement.  End with a flick of your wrist.”

Harry nodded and attempted it once more.  This time, the light radiated and remained. 

“Cool,” Harry said, extending his arm and swirling his wand around so that the light bounced in all directions.  He glanced up at Snape brightly.  Harry’s eyes were still quite red around the rims, but the excitement in his face was evident over conquering the basic charm. 

The boy seemed to catch on more quickly than Snape had originally thought.

“Do not try it now, but when you return to your dormitory, extinguish the light with a simple flick of the wrist.  Nox,” Snape recited as he demonstrated the movement, “Keep your light out the entire way to Gryffindor Tower.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded, holding his ignited wand like a sparkler. 

“Your final detention will begin tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, Potter,” Snape informed. “ I was being quite serious when I instructed you to wear something old.”

Harry wrinkled his nose.

“That said, do not be late,” Snape stated authoritatively.

“I won’t…”

“Go on, then,” Snape said as he nodded toward the corridor once more. 

Harry walked forward, amazed at how much the lumos charm had brightened the stone walls.  It wasn’t until he emerged from the dungeons that Harry thought with a slight twinge of regret that perhaps he should have shown a bit of gratitude. 

Harry sighed.  But then he found himself smiling.  For the first time in days, the only thing burning in Harry’s stomach was hunger.  Things weren’t perfect, but they were better. 

I wonder if Ron has any chocolate frogs left, Harry wondered as he waved his glowing wand in elaborate patterns along the portraits causing several to squint and shield their eyes.

Suddenly, Harry stopped, his wand arm frozen in mid-air.

"Oh no," he whispered to himself. 

Ron...

Harry ran the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower, the blue light jerkily trailing along the stairs.