"Mr. Potter, please stay after class. I need to speak with you."
Harry grimaced. That meant he would be late for next class, but it also meant he wouldn't be in the hallway at the same time as everyone else. Which was more important? To be on time, or to walk without getting jostled and laughed at? The laughter wasn't so bad now that his main tormentors were suspended, but he still found himself tripping on the floor or being shoved into walls by anonymous students. What was it that made everyone hate him? He much preferred the quiet apathy of most to the physical and verbal violence of whichever students he managed to offend simply by existing. It wasn't something he intentionally did, or he would stop it. It had to be something else, something he just wasn't aware of. Maybe Professor Snape would know.
Harry felt firm pressure on his chin and his head was tilted slightly upwards, breaking his train of thought. He blinked. Professor Snape was right in front of him, and Harry realized the classroom was empty. He was in his head for longer than he thought, apparently. Professor Snape let go.
"What did I do wrong this time, Professor?"
Harry stared at his parchment, silently wracking his mind for whatever caused his potions professor to keep after class. Nothing. Unless---
"Professor, I did turn in my Charms homework, but I was made to do it over because my handwriting was so poor. It is so hard to write things out, and it takes me ages."
Harry risked a glance up, eyes sliding quickly up and back down again.
Definitely a frown.
Agitated now, Harry began slightly rocking back and forth on his chair. He hated upsetting Professor Snape.
"That wasn't why I need to speak with you, Mr. Potter," said Professor Snape. "But I am glad you told me. Don't worry about the rewrite; I will speak to Professor Flitwick and get that sorted."
Harry smiled.
"I wanted to speak with you about something non-academic. You've been excused from your next class, and I thought we could go for a walk. Are you amenable?"
Harry's whole body froze and his eyes closed. He loathed such sudden deviations in his schedule. They made him panic, the disruption could cause an infinite number of unknowns to occur and his carefully planned everything would fall to pieces. He clenched his hands.
"We don't have to go on a long walk, Harry," he heard Professor Snape say. "We do need to discuss these things, however, and I wanted to show you something. Harry?"
Harry felt the panic subside as quickly as it came on. His hands unclenched, one staying on his desk, its thumb rubbing against index finger, and the other hand rising to rub his right ear. He appreciated that he no longer felt self conscious about his self-soothing behavior in front of Professor Snape. It was completely relaxing to turn off the loop of Proper Behavior Rules that ran through his head. Harry wondered if other people had What To Do loops in their heads, too, or if it was just him. He realized his Professor was waiting for an answer.
"Ok, yes. I am amenable."
"Excellent. Now, do I have your complete attention?" said Professor Snape.
Harry nodded.
"I want to apologize to you, Mr. Potter, for silencing your hands."
Harry gaped. Then stared at his hands. Hands didn't talk.
"I don't understand. My hands didn't say anything. Do your hands talk?"
This could be cool. Maybe wizard hands could talk. Maybe that was how everyone got their wands to work because their hands talked to the---no, don't be daft.
"Don't be daft," Harry said, echoing his mind. "Don't be daft, don't be daft."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter?"
"Hands don't talk so of course that isn't why wizards can do magic," said Harry.
"Yes, well, I apologize for having stopped you from expressing yourself with your hands in the past, and I shall endeavor to refrain from doing so in the future."
Right. The flapping and twitching and shaking and flicking, that's what he meant by 'talking,' not actual words. Stimming.
"Stimming."
"Yes, that's the Muggle pathology for what is usually a harmless, albeit different, physical expression of emotion."
"And focus. Helps me focus and calm down. Otherwise I feel anxious and out of myself, out of myself like I don't know where I am in space and time. Out of myself."
Harry realized he and his Professor were further down the hall, walking while conversing. He liked this part of the castle because it was muffled and quiet and dim. He liked red and gold, but his common room hurt his eyes sometimes with all its bright, loud colors. People seemed afraid of the dungeons, but Harry didn't think Hogwarts had torture chambers and prisons in its dungeons, just Professor Snape and Slytherins and Potions classrooms and probably pantries for food storage. He'd read that about how basements (and a dungeon was just a different sort of basement) kept food better than above-ground storage.
"Professor, where are we going? Your office?"
"No, Harry, I wanted to show you something else, a place for you to go when you need a break."
"A break room."
"Yes, a break room designed specifically for you."
They stopped in front of a door Harry had never noticed before. He should have noticed the door before. They were right across from Professor Snape's office.
"There was a tapestry on the wall, which has been moved," said Professor Snape, startling Harry who realized he had been staring. "This used to be a small laboratory, but as it hasn't been used in several decades, we have decided to put it to better use than a dust repository. There isn't a password; the door is set to recognize your magic signature and open automatically."
The door popped open and Harry stared into the room before cautiously stepping inside.
"This is the magic room from Before," he said, rocking up on his toes. "The Mary Poppins room. My Mary Poppins room, practically perfect in every way."
And it was, right down to the sunlight in the window above a hammock. Harry loved magic. He tore off his robe, anxious to get out of the frustrating clothing. Barefoot now, and in his shorts and shirt, Harry threw himself onto a beanbag chair and rolled to the floor, reveling in the feeling of the thick perfectly blue carpet.
He noticed a Professor-size armchair in the corner.
"Is this your magic room, too?" he asked.
"No, but we will have our tutoring sessions in here now, and I refuse to debase myself with a beanbag chair."
Harry giggled at the picture of Professor Snape on a beanbag chair. Content to just lie upside down on his beanbag chair, Harry just waited. They were supposed to talk about something.
"Harry. In order to better help you here at school, I made a visit to your relatives' home. Do you think you could help me answer some questions I have?"
Harry went absolutely still. He didn't want to talk about this. Professor Snape must have noticed his discomfort because a small toy was pressed into his hands. He stared at it, a question on his face.
"It's called a Tangle, and you just sort of bend it into shapes."
A distraction. A distraction that wasn't distracting enough. Harry realized his breathing had changed. Curious.
"Harry," said Snape, "I can't help you if you don't tell me what is wrong."
Nothing is wrong. He was not afraid. Right, he had to say them out loud. Magic didn't mean people were mind readers. Use your words, idiot. Use. Your. Words.
"Using my words."
Didn't mean to say that part out loud, but oh well. Harry took a quick glance at his Professor who was just waiting.
"Nothing is wrong. I am not afraid."
A quick look up again. Not good. Professor Snape was frowning.
Sometimes, hands talk