While Harry wasn't allowed to spend his nights up in Gryffindor Tower, he was allowed to go to classes. However, that was only because there were two weeks left of the term. It felt like only yesterday that he was battling a troll in the girl's lavatory, not the end of May. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, he quietly walked beside his two friends as they headed to their History of Magic class.

"Have you spoken to the professor about what's bothering you, Harry?" Hermione asked, glancing at him worriedly. She had been giving him that same look all day now.

"What's left to say, Hermione?" he mumbled, dragging his trainers against the stone floor. Of course he hadn't spoken to Professor Snape about it. He hadn't spoken to the man about anything yet. Though, that wasn't because the professor wasn't trying to fish it out of him. Professor Snape was trying to get Harry to talk. And boy was the man trying. Harry just didn't want to talk, not yet at least.

"I would think there's plenty left to say, Harry." She then shook her head. "Have you even tried to talk with him? He's supposed to be helping you, you know."

"I know, Mione. We've just been busy with other things." Well, that wasn't necessarily a lie. Whenever he refused to talk, he'd redirect and ask the professor to a game of Wizard's Chess. So far, Harry's every request was granted, but he knew the day was coming when Professor Snape forced the issue and made him talk.

"Oh? And what sorts of 'other things' have you two been doing, Harry?"

"Just lay off me, Hermione, will you?" he snapped, whirling around on the witch. "I don't want to talk about it." He said nothing when his friend's face fell slightly. In fact, it barely registered. "I just want to go to class without the twenty questions all the time. I'm fine. There isn't anything wrong with me." He then turned around again, briskly walking into the History of Magic classroom. He flopped down into his seat, yanking his notes out and slamming them onto his desk.

Beside him, he quietly heard Ron saying something hushed to Hermione, likely to keep the witch from crying. Harry ignored them, though. He just wanted to go to class and be treated like normal for once. But of course that was too much to ask. After all, he was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Beat-The-Odds-Yet-Again. Like either his Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon would say, he was just exhibiting his freakiness again on the normal public at large again. Yeah, that was him, Harry Potter, freak at large. Idly, he wondered if he should have business cards printed with that on it.

Hearing a hush fall on the class, Harry glanced towards the blackboard, sighing when he saw Professor Binns's transparent self at the top of the classroom. Watching his ghost professor drone on with another dose of useless facts about goblin wars, he couldn't help but wonder if the professor knew he was dead. Had anyone thought to tell the man? Or did they just simply go about their boring lives, figuring that Binns would figure it out? After all, being transparent was a rather big billboard for "I'm dead," wasn't it?

Harry then scoffed. Maybe he was a bit like Binns, just no one wanted to believe it. Maybe everyone believed that if they just ignored his being dead, then they'd still have something to look for in terms of hope. He was after all their savior for surviving that encounter with his parents'—no, no, his dad's—murderer when he was just a baby.

Lily wasn't his mother anymore, and he'd argue that to his dying day. She used his father just so she could have her perfect little Harry. She didn't care about Professor Snape's feelings. She in fact admitted in her letter to Professor Snape that she used his affections like a deep-sea angler would use to ensnare its victims with its lure. In his mind, she was no different from Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon.

"In '92, the goblin—" droned Binns, temporarily breaking Harry's concentration. "—claimed he was attacked by—" Binns' words cut in out like a record player in his mind. "—a figure in the—" The tone remained the same, lifeless as ever. "—forbidden to all—"

Harry's eyes narrowed on the ghostly Professor Binns. He was trying to concentrate. Honestly, he was. The professor's voice just would break in and then go back out for no apparent reason, leaving behind short, choppy phrases that his young mind attempted to make sense of.

"—forest. A witness claimed that the attacker wore—" Once more, Binns' words cut out, forcing Harry to sit up and attempt to focus more on his professor's eerie words. The man's lips moved just barely, but there were no words that the young Gryffindor heard. It was just silence, utter silence.

"What'd he say, Ron?" Harry asked, turning towards his friend. "The man wore what?" His friend only stared back at him with a confused look that rapidly morphed into concern. He could see Ron's lips moving now, but he didn't hear Ron's voice. Panting now, he whirled around in his chair, noticing his peers staring at him with the same looks. "Tell me! What was the man wearing?"

No one answered, though. At least, none of their voices reached Harry's ears. Feeling helpless now more than ever, he stood up, hoping that would help. He asked it again and again and once more. But he received only silence and stares. What was wrong with them? Why didn't they talking normally?

With tears in his bright green eyes now, Harry whirled around, desperately wanting someone to tell him what the person was wearing. It was just a stupid question. They heard it. They had to have heard it. So why didn't they answer? Why were they being so quiet? Hands on his shoulder suddenly made the young boy start and whirl around, coming face to face with Draco.

"Help!" a voice shouted off in the distance as something nearby growled menacingly. The voice then roared a moment later. "POTTER!" it screamed. Sounds of something cracking then echoed about the room followed by piercing cries of sheer pain. The noise seemed to drone on and on like Binns's voice. As the sound continued, his vision started to tunnel as darkness quickly filtered in like a black mist. Growling, like a dog—maybe Ripper, Harry wasn't sure—crept towards him, finally enveloping him a moment later—just like the black emptiness had.

Eyes, redder than blood itself, now stared at him, piercing Harry's very soul. There was no warmth in its eyes, only coldness. While the figure did have its hood up—shielding its identity—on its black flowing robes that swayed unnaturally, the young Gryffindor could see a silvery liquid on its lips. It was as if the figure had just taken a drink. The familiar growling from before came again, louder this time. Without a doubt now, he knew it came from the figure, feeling its warm breath against his face.

"The Boy-Who-Lived," it growled, reaching forward then. Its fingers, cold as ice, curled around Harry's throat, choking the young Gryffindor. The figure chuckled darkly at this before its head jerked up to glance at something. "Until next time, Potter," it snarled nastily, releasing him. It then glided back into the darkness of Harry's mind, its black flowing robes billowing behind it.

~FTT~

Groaning softly, the young Gryffindor moved his head back and forth on his pillow. He was vaguely aware that someone was making some sort of noise, but not quite conscious enough to know that it was him. A gentle hand then brushed against his face, making him start instantly and force his eyes open. However, he quickly calmed when he noticed that it was only Professor Sinistra.

"Sorry for scaring you," she quietly said with a soft smile.

"You didn't," he quickly replied, glancing about the room. He was back in Professor Snape's rooms, namely the sitting room. The fire was crackling quietly, bathing them in a nice warm glow. "Where's my d—?" He quickly caught himself before he said any more. "I mean, where's Professor Snape, Professor?"

"He had to speak with Albus about something. He'll be back shortly, though." She then flashed him a soft smile. "I don't suppose you'd want to eat anything right now, would you?"

Harry shook his head, slowly pushing himself upright. Across from him, he saw that the bookcases finally had books in them again. He thought about asking the professor about it, since she was still on house arrest so to speak, but he decided against it.

"What happened, Professor?"

"Miss Granger believes that you had some sort of, well, panic attack. Either way, though, I'm certain Severus wishes to be here to hear it from you."

Harry nodded slowly, glancing towards the lit fire. It entranced him for some reason. He couldn't look away no matter how hard he tried. The flames licked and later consumed the firewood, continually bathing him in its warmth.

"Are you nervous about any of your subjects?" Her voice softly cut in. She smiled at him when he glanced towards her with a look of confusion. "I asked if you're nervous about any of your classes."

"I suppose," he quietly replied, glancing away again to look at the fire.

"Well, that's normal. I remember my first year. I was likely more nervous than poor Mr. Longbottom," she said with a laugh. He didn't respond. "What are you thinking about, Harry?"

"Nothing," he answered, shrugging.

"I'll leave you to your musing then." She then made the attempt to move away from him, only to stop when his hand reached out and grasped her wrist. "Do you want me to stay, Harry?" she asked. She said nothing when he shrugged his shoulders again. "Well, would you mind if I sat down next to you?" His green eyes glanced at her for a moment, considering her question, before he quietly sat up to allow her a cushion. She only smiled as she sat down, being extra quiet a moment later when the young child lie back against her with his head in her lap. As if approaching a frightened cub, her hand hovered for a second above Harry's forehead as she glanced down at him. She gave him another brief smile when he faintly smiled back. Her fingers gingerly ran through his long messy hair then as she glanced towards the flames to stare at it with him.

That was how Snape found them, walking in about an hour later. He had just finished speaking with Dumbledore about tutoring Harry and later administering the end of the year exams himself when Harry was feeling more up to it. Dumbledore of course agreed, having heard the frequent whispers of what occurred earlier in the History of Magic classroom.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?" he asked, sounding oddly enough rather amused.

"We are, Severus. Then again, an old stick in the mud like you wouldn't know fun, would you?"

He snorted, shaking his head. "How are you feeling?" he asked, glancing towards Harry.

"Sort of achy," the young boy answered quietly.

"Is it a hindrance or just a minor annoyance?"

"I don't know. I suppose annoyance." Harry then frowned and closed his eyes.

"If you'd like, I can give you something for it," he asked, glancing towards Sinistra with the international 'help me' look. After all, he didn't have any experience whatsoever with young children.

"Harry, love, do you want him to bring you something? No one is going to think differently of you if you say yes." Her voice was soft and was similar to how a mother would talk to her child.

"No thank you, Professor," Harry quietly said, glancing up at Snape. "I'll be fine." His hand clenched painfully around Professor Sinistra's wrist when Snape started heading to his room.

"Severus, wait!" she called out, stopping him instantly. "Where are you going?" She flashed a thin smile at him when he whirled around. Her eyes darted towards the young boy very briefly.

"I was planning on changing my clothes. However, if you'd rather, I can remain," he replied, glancing just for a moment at his son. Separation anxiety was not one of the symptoms he was looking forward to, but he supposed he should have expected it.

"I'd like that," she said, running her fingers through Harry's hair lovingly.

He nodded once, walking over to his armchair and sitting down. He watched Harry's facial expressions as Aurora continued. He could see the calm in his son's face, along with the enjoyment. His son clearly relished the attention she was giving him. Then again, he himself had done the same thing when Lily helped him.

"Harry, we need to discuss about what happened earlier." He caught the young boy's big sigh. "I realize you don't want to. But it's important that we do."

"Why?" asked the first-year, slowly turning his head to look at him.

"It is my understanding that you suffered from another flashback, which appeared after the onset of a panic attack. Our avoiding the subject, while easy, is only making it worse, Harry."

"So you want me to talk about it then?"

"We can begin wherever you'd like." He watched his son withdraw into himself even more then. Clearly that was not the thing to say. He didn't know of any other way to approach the subject, though. "Perhaps you can tell me what you were thinking about just before." He made no movement when Harry glanced up at him, pursing his lips together tightly. "I realize it is difficult, Harry, but it will get better with time." He added the 'I hope' in his mind.

"Binns was talking about a goblin attack." Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. It was all he could manage. "That happened in the Forbidden forest, I think."

Snape instantly recalled Granger's words from earlier, recognizing the clear disconnect between what Granger had said Binns lectured about prior to Harry's attack and what Harry had heard. Harry's mind likely attempted to piece itself back together in Binns's class. He then nodded for him to go on.

"I don't know what happened then. It was like someone used a silencing spell on everyone then. They kept talking to me, trying to answer, but I couldn't hear them. I just wanted to know what the guy was wearing." The young boy then wrapped his arms tighter around himself. "I don't even know why I wanted to know it so bad."

"When you didn't hear them, how did you feel?"

"Scared, I guess," Harry answered, shrugging. "I don't know." He then swallowed. "I guess sort of helpless, too. I don't know why, though."

"It would be a rather frightening thing to encounter, losing the ability to communicate with others." Snape instantly caught Harry's brows furrows. "What are you thinking about right now? No, don't try to forget it. Answer me, Harry. What were you thinking about just then?"

"I wondered earlier if anyone ever told Binns that he was dead."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He just sorts of drones on as if he doesn't even realize we're there."

"I see," Snape replied, nodding slowly. "And when you were trying to talk to the others, did it feel a bit like that, Harry? That they didn't realize you were there?"

"I suppose," the young Gryffindor answered with another shrug. "I feel more like that when I'm with the Dursleys, though. They don't like hearing or seeing me."

"Why do you think they feel like that?"

Snape already knew that answer. To put it short and sweet, Tuney was a jealous bitch. She always had been. However, he asked his question anyway, hoping Harry would open up a bit more.

"Because I'm abnormal," Harry quietly said.

"You aren't, though." Snape couldn't stress that enough. "You aren't any more abnormal than Aurora or me. In fact, there are thousands if not millions of witches and wizards around the world. Do you think all of them are abnormal?" He sighed inaudibly when Harry shrugged. "They're not. Neither Muggle nor Magical folk should be considered abnormal by anyone. We've both been here for quite some time and are likely going to be here till the end of time.

"Okay," replied Harry offhandedly, clearly not interested in his answer.

"When you're up there flying, do you think to yourself how abnormal that is?"

"I don't want to talk about that," the young boy quickly said, closing himself off instantly.

"Why?" When Harry didn't reply, he asked again. Still, the young boy refused to speak. So, he made a mental checkmark next to the 'loss of interest in activities' symptom, sighing a moment later. "How have you been sleeping?" he asked, redirecting the conversation away and making a note to return later when they were ready.

"Okay, I guess," he said with a shrug.

"A restful night's sleep?" inquired further Snape.

"I don't know, sure."

There was an edge creeping into Harry's voice that clearly warned Snape to tread more carefully. So, he inhaled slowly, attempting to move onto the next topic. Though, he unfortunately was not much of a conversationalist on a good day, let alone a day like this one. Maybe he should let Harry steer the conversation where he wanted it to go. That likely was nowhere, however, but it was worth a shot.

"If you'd like, I can see about asking the headmaster to allow us to visit your parents' graves." His eyes narrowed instantly when Harry's hand jerked violently. "Is something wrong?"

"Parent's grave, not parents' graves," the young boy corrected.

Ah, so Harry was bothered by the fact that he wasn't James's son. Snape supposed he should have guessed that. After all, James Potter clearly sounded great if one listened to the majority of the people. Sighing, he decided to broach that subject then.

"No, Harry. It is your parents' graves, not just your mum's."

"I don't have a mum," the young boy growled.

"What?"

"I said that I don't have a mum, sir," Harry repeated, glancing at him.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because a mum is supposed to love her son," he answered coldly. "She didn't love me."

Snape glanced towards Sinistra and then back at his son. Lily didn't love Harry? Where on Earth had he heard that ridiculous thing? Shaking his head, he attempted to approach the subject very gently.

"Why do you think she didn't love you?"

"She sent me to the Dursleys instead of being with you, sir."

"She had her reasons," Snape quietly answered.

"Yeah, because she was a cold hearted witch," snapped the eleven-year-old. "The only thing she cared about was getting her way." He then huffed angrily. "She probably enjoyed hurting you, sir."

"Why do you think she hurt me?"

"She used you, sir," the young boy answered with wide eyes of shock. "She used you to make me. She didn't even tell you about it until I was eleven. She didn't even give you a chance, sir."

"As I said before, Harry, she had her reasons."

"Yeah, and like I said, because she was a cold hearted witch, sir," argued the young Lion.

"No, Harry. She didn't tell me because she wanted to keep you safe." Snape's words were cut off when the boy exploded into a fit of rage.

"Keep me safe?" Harry yelled. "She sent me to the Dursleys instead of my dad. I bet she even knew what Aunt Petunia was like. I bet she even knew how I'd be forced to live in the cupboard under the stairs, how I'd be treated like a slave, how they'd not want to spare a crumb for their freak! She didn't care about me. She couldn't have cared about me if she'd rather send me to them instead of to my dad." The young boy panted as he stared at the man, working himself up again.

"She sent you to the Dursleys, Harry, because she knew that I wasn't suitable to care for you."

"You had to have been better than them, though," the eleven-year-old argued.

"Trelawney would have been better than them," Professor Sinistra mumbled.

"Harry, she loved you." Once more, he was cut off by his son.

"So she just didn't love you then?" Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't have a mum. And you can argue until you're blue in the face, but it won't change my mind. She is not my mother, not anymore." He then flipped over, turning away from Snape and ending their conversation.