“You told us that you three were coming back to the feast, but there were easier ways back than that corridor.  What were you really doing there?” Snape asks, still close to him.

He bites his lip and rubs his face with his shoulders again, even though they’re both wet already.  

“It wasn’t for mischief,” Snape says, thinking aloud.

He would never have thought of telling anyone that he was hearing voices, but then again, he would never have thought that Snape would be giving out hugs and comfort either.

“I--,” He licks his lips nervously.  “I heard a voice in the hallway.”

Snape frowns, but he doesn’t see it.  

“What was it saying?”  Snape asks after a lengthy pause broken only by his continued sniffling.

He shudders and Snape lets go his hands and reaches an arm around his shoulders to bring him in closer.

“Rip.  And tear.  Kill. It said it was hungry.  But the voice was moving, so we followed it.  Well, I followed it. They couldn’t hear it,” He whispers.

. . .

It was a quandry.  Either, the boy was telling the truth--or at least what he knew of the truth, or else he wasn’t.  It was as simple as that.

Severus doubts that the boy would lie to him now.  Harry’s face is buried in his side, small fingers wrapped around the edge of his robes, seemingly hanging on for dear life.

“And the voice stopped when you found Mrs Norris?”  He asks.

“It said, ‘I smell blood,’ and then it stopped.  And there she was. And Ron said we should go, but I wanted to help, and he started pulling me away just as the feast ended,” Harry says, voice muffled from where his face is pressed into him.

He strongly doubts that the Harry would have made up a story even worse than the lie they had already told him.  But hearing voices wasn’t particularly credible either.  

He was glad he had the truth, but he did wish he knew what to do with it.